#I can’t stop watching the micro movements of his tongue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iamnotoriginalphil · 4 years

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The 7 Times Lou Miller almost kissed you + the one time you kissed her

Synopsis: There’s always been something between you and Lou.

Words: 2910

Warnings: none

**GIF not mine**

You were sitting on the floor of the loft, a box of pizza open in front of you. The place was quiet, everyone out for the evening and you were getting ready to settle in for a nice evening alone full of bad movies and junk food. You were just lifting a large slice into your mouth when you heard footsteps.

“Oh, hi.”

You smiled up at Lou. She stood over you, one hand on her hip, a sceptical look on her face. You held up the slice of pizza.

“You want some?”

She lowered herself beside you, stretching her legs out in front of her. You pushed the box towards her, finally taking a bite of the cheesey goodness. She took a slice, considering you over the top of it.

“I thought you had to be at your club tonight,” you said, wiping some grease away from the corner of your mouth.

“Turns out things run smoother when I’m not there micro managing everyone,” she replied, “something about less pressure and stress on the employees making them perform better.”

“I can’t believe your one of those overbearing bosses,” you said, laughing, “I thought you were meant to be the cool one.”

“I am the cool one.”

You laughed, leaning towards her. You pressed your forehead against her shoulder, trying to stifle your giggling. You could practically feel her rolling her eyes.

“Okay, okay, no need to make such a big deal out of this,” she said.

She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling despite the stern look on her face. You were still giggling, your tongue trapped between your teeth. Her eyes flickered down then back to yours. Your giggles stopped.

“I can think of a much more pleasurable way to spend the evening than being the overbearing boss at the club.”

You watched her draw steadily closer, heat rising in your cheeks. She was so close you could see every single eyelash, you could count the colours in her eyes, you could feel her breath ghosting over your lips. You might not have put it in to words before, but the yearning inside you was almost unbearable.

“Well that was a waste of time.”

You jerked away from Lou, your face feeling as hot as the sun. Daphne was striding past you, not even bothering to look at the two of you. You watched her go, shuffling away from Lou just a little. You picked up your slice of pizza again.

“There goes my quiet night,” you muttered.

“It was already gone, sweetheart.”

Lou got up, leaving you too.

You sat on a bench in the park, people watching as you waited for the rest of the team to show up. A lake was in front of you, ducks quacking as they chased tourists for food.

A warm body bumped against yours as it sat down. You turned your head, recognising the blonde hair in your peripheral vision. An arm looped through yours, a body pressing close in the cold air. You shifted against it, drawing closer to share in the warmth.

“You’re here early,” Lou said.

“I thought I’d get some fresh air,” you replied.

“I’m glad to catch you alone.”

Something in your lower stomach tightened. You drew away from her, wanting to put some space between the two of you. If what you thought was coming, you did not want to be sharing the same breathing space as her.

“Oh?” You tried to sound light but weren’t sure you’d managed it.

“We were interrupted last time,” she said.

“By Daphne.”

“Yes.”

Her hand came up, cupping your cheek to turn your head towards her. You stilled, not sure what she was doing. This was hardly the let down you’d been expecting.

“I intend to fix that now, sweetheart,”

Her breath ghosted over your lips. Your eyes slipped closed, waiting, every atom in your body straining towards her. She paused.

“Or another time.”

You blinked your eyes open. Lou was staring at something over your shoulder. You turned, looking too. Debbie was sauntering up the path, her hands in the pocket of her coat. You sighed, drawing away from Lou.

“To be picked up another time,” she said.

“Sure.”

The beat was thrumming through your body, your hips swaying in time. Alcohol had loosened you up, giving you the confidence you needed to join the dance floor. Your eyes were closed, feeling the music rather than watching the other dancers. You wanted to get lost in the moment forever. You were glad you’d accepted Lou’s invitation to visit her club, despite your initial anxiety. She hadn’t spoken of the almost kisses since that day in the park. You were hoping this was the olive branch to change that.

Warm hands settled on your hips. You jerked away, your eyes flying open. You turned your head, only to be met with blonde hair and the sting of vodka in your nose. You sighed, letting out a relieved chuckle.

You lent back against the strong body, following Lou as she picked up the rhythm you’d lost in your surprise. Her breath was ghosting over the skin of your neck. You shuddered, pressing against her more insistently.

One of her hands slipped around you, her fingers slipping under your shirt, brushing against the skin of your stomach. You groaned, turning your head to try and find her.

Blue eyes met yours, dark and all consuming. Your skin was hot, a coil within you tightening. Your eyes flickered down to her lips then back to her eyes. She tightened her hold on your hip.

Before ou could close the gap you felt someone grab your arm, pulling you out of Lou’s grasp. You turned, ready to shout at whoever it was. You met large dark eyes, Daphne grinning at you. Her eyes were a little glazed but other than that she looked as fresh as the start of the night.

“Come dance with me,” she shouted over the music.

You shot a glance at Lou over your shoulder but she’d already melted back into the crowd. You pushed the disappointment back down as you let Daphne lead you back into the dance.

You were lying on your bed, legs stretched out in front of you as you lent against the pile of pillows against your headboard. You had a book open in your lap, your finger running along the rough edges of the paper. You weren’t taking in the words, your ears straining for noises from the rest of the loft.

You’d heard movement before, the door closing, voices coming and going. It had all fallen silent a few minutes ago but it was hard to tell if you were alone in the building. You turned your attention back to the book, assuming that if the person you hoped to see was still there then she would come see you. Your business was unfinished.

You turned the page in your book. Your door creaked as it opened. You dragged your eyes up, watching Lou slip in. She climbed onto the bed beside you, leaning back in your pillows. You closed the book, putting it on your bedside table.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said, flashing you a smile.

“I have something more interesting now,” you replied.

“Must be quite captivating to keep you from an interesting book.”

“Oh, it is.”

She swung herself over, straddling your lap. Your hands settled on her hips as she wrapped her arms around your neck.

“Fourth time is the charm,” she murmured.

She lent down, drawing closer to you as you strained up towards her. Her nose brushed against yours, her lips close enough to feel as she spoke.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

You heard the door below open and close, loud as a gunshot in the silence. Lou stilled, a hair’s breadth from you. You dug your fingers into the flesh of her hips, trying to bring her attention back to you, but she was listening to whoever had returned.

“Hey guys, is anyone here?” The voice called up to you.

“Tammy,” you said at the same time as Lou.

Lou hauled herself off you, her hands slipping from you. You let out a frustrated groan.

“Can’t we ignore her?” you asked.

“She’ll be knocking on the door any.” A knock sounded on the door, “second.”

“Anyone in there?” Tammy called through the wood.

Lou gave you a pointed look. You threw your hands in the air in surrender and fell back amongst your pillows. Lou climbed off the bed and opened the door.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tammy said.

“You weren’t interrupting anything. We were discussing literature,” Lou replied, stepping out and closing the door.

You sighed, picking up your book again. It was the only company you’d have that night.

You had your hands cupped around a warm mug of coffee, leaning backwards on the bench in the kitchen. You were watching Tammy cook with a glass of wine in her hand, stirring something in a large pot. Whatever it was, it was making your mouth water.

“I didn’t realise Lou had such an interest in literature,” Tammy said.

“What?” She gave you a penetrating look, “oh, right. Yeah. She has all kinds of interests.”

“Interests you share?” You ignored the amusement in her voice.

“Sometimes.”

“And should we be worried about those shared interests?” she asked.

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“I hope not.”

The door slammed open, Lou striding in, a look of determination on her face. You gave her a smile but she ignored it, jerking her head to the stairs you. You followed behind, ignoring the penetrating stare of Tammy as you left.

Lou held the door to her bedroom open, waiting for you to enter. You slipped inside, looking around the room. It was clean, almost meticulously so. A large bed, white and soft, stood in the middle of the room, just waiting for someone to fall into it. The light streamed in through a huge window, bathing everything in warmth.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked after Lou had closed the door.

She plucked the mug from your hands, wrinkling her nose when she saw how milky you’d made it. She put it down on a shelf as you watched, not sure what she was doing. She stalked towards you, a fierce glint in her eye. You backed away, uncertainty keeping you from her. Your back hit the far wall. You inhaled sharply.

“I think it’s time we finished that discussion from the other night,” she said.

One hand landed on the wall by your head. You looked up into her face, feeling your skin burn with the intensity of her gaze. Her other hand grasped your chin, tilting your face up to her. She shook her hair from her eyes as she traced your bottom lip with her thumb. Warmth pooled in your stomach.

“I can’t take it any longer,” she said.

“Then kiss me.”

A loud banging started up on the door. Lou ignored it, drawing closer to you. Your eyes fell closed, waiting, every atom of your body straining towards her. The banging didn’t stop. With a growl she tore herself away from you, ripping the door open.

“If you can bear to, Tammy has finished cooking and we’d quite like you both to join us.”

Debbie. You pushed yourself off the wall, ignoring the way your legs wobbled beneath you. You walked past Lou and Deb, trying to regain your composure. You didn’t need to endure any more teasing. From any of them.

There was something to be said for the quiet of a library. All you could hear was the rustle of paper, the scratch of pens, the click of keyboards. You scratched the back of your neck as you looked over the old newspaper.

Debbie had sent you off to do some last minute research. She needed some leverage on someone, and given how the last job went, you were willing to trust her on this despite not knowing how it connected to the new job. There was nothing that had turned up yet, but Debbie had faith in you so you couldn’t let her down.

“Are you going to keep reading all night?”

You jumped, dropping the paper to the floor. You grumbled, stooping down to pick them up again. Lou chuckled, helping you collect the scattered papers. Her fingers brushed against yours as she passed them over.

“This is not proper library etiquette,” you said. She grinned at you.

“The library is closing soon,” she said, “c’mon, there’s a great Vietnamese place around the corner.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Yes.” She put her hand over yours, “you are.”

You hadn’t realised how close she was to you. You turned your head, ready to tell her what she could do with her Vietnamese place, only to find your nose brushing against hers. You jerked back but one of her hands shot out, grasping the back of your neck.

Her eyes flicked down to your lips, your tongue darting out to wet them. You took a deep breath in, waiting, seeing the precipice before you. You were ready to jump.

“The library is closing for the night.”

You jumped. A woman was standing at the end of the stacks, looking at the two of you. You drew away from Lou, putting the papers down on the closest table. You walked past the librarian, assuming Lou would follow.

“So Vietnamese?” you asked over your shoulder to her.

“Vietnamese,” she agreed.

You were growing restless, Lou had been gone for a few weeks, putting plans into motion for the job. You didn’t like to admit you missed her but the loft felt empty without her snarky comments. You were lounging on the sofa, your eyes closed, listening to Amita and Constance talking.

You’d declined Daphne’s invitation to go out with her, you had ignored Amita and Constance’s attempts to draw you into conversation, and you hadn’t bothered listening to Rose’s mumblings about fabrics. All you wanted to do was lie there and think about things.

It was no secret there was something going on between you and Lou. Tammy had picked up on it weeks ago, Debbie probably knew longer, and finally, finally, the others were cluing in. If only something had actually happened.

The number of near misses were leaving you breathless. You were anxious, your stomach a roiling mess every time you saw her. It was a very specific type of torture. It was driving you crazy.

“Well, we’re ready to go tomorrow.”

You sat up, Lou had managed to enter through the door without you hearing it, masked by the chatter of your teammates. You blinked at her. She looked windswept, disgruntled, but satisfied with whatever she’d been doing.

“Then tomorrow we move out,” Debbie said from the upper level.

“Move out where?” Amita asked.

“To the west coast. Nineball will get us the tickets for tomorrow.”

“For all of us?” you asked.

“You better pack a bag.”

She disappeared back into her room, presumably to go through her extensive closet and pack what she’d need. You got off the sofa, wandering over to Lou.

She grabbed your face, pulling you towards her. She gave you an intense look, pulling you closer to her. Finally, you’d feel her lips against yours. Her eyes shone.

“Hey, there’ll be plenty of time to do that when we’re done with this job,” Debbie called down to you, “get packing.”

You slipped away before the disappointment could overwhelm you.

+ 1.

The job was a success. Or so you’d been told. You’re part had gone flawlessly, exactly to plan, just as Debbie had described. You assumed it had gone well with everyone else. Constance seemed to think so when you’d passed her as you’d left the building.

You rushed back towards the loft, detouring by your place to get changed to give you a better chance of not being recognised on any security cameras. Just like Debbie had told you.

The loft was quiet when you got back. You were used to people making all kind of noise, not the quiet strains of music from the upper level. You wandered up, hoping it was more than a forgotten radio.

You pushed the door open, knowing what you were hoping to see. A tall frame was laying on the bed, arms behind her head, eyes closed as her foot bobbed in time with the music. You smiled, closing the door too quietly to be heard over the music.

Her eyes opened as you hauled yourself onto the bed, slinging one leg over her lap. Her hands grabbed your hips, ready to push you off. You smiled, leaning down.

“Eighth time lucky,” you said.

You pressed your lips to hers before she could say anything, before anyone could walk in, before anything could stop you. Her fingers tightened on your hips. She kissed you hard, intense, like a drowning woman looking for air. You couldn’t stop yourself moaning into her mouth.

You didn’t stop when you heard other people come in. You didn’t stop when there was a knock on the door. You didn’t stop when you heard an exasperated noise from the doorway.

Nothing was going to stop you this time.

#writersmonth2020 #lou miller #lou miller imagine #lou miller x reader #lou miller x you

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years

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Imagine

Erik talking real nasty and the reader can’t take it.

“You got some big ass titties on you. Them bitches look like they got nipples a nigga can suck on all fucking night.”

Why your friend set you up with this horny ass, hoe ass nigga was beyond you. It was a double date and your best friend and roommate from M.I.T set you up with her new boyfriends child hood friend and fellow Annapolis classmate, Erik Stevens.

Tall. Chiseled. Full pouty lips. Eyes like a hawk. Sponge curled fro atop his head. Scruffy facial hair. A real fuck boy for sure.

You weren’t with that shit especially after getting over a break up with your high school sweetheart about five months ago. You vowed to stay single for as long as you needed, and to never allow yourself to get some rebound dick.

Currently, you were all chilling at what appeared to be Erik’s off campus apartment since he was only getting his Doctorate in Engineering. He was around 30, you were only 23 years old. Your friend liked them a lot older, roughly 5 years older and she was 25. While your girl and her man sat on Erik’s balcony sharing a blunt you kept Erik company on his couch within his living room. It was only fair and you weren’t a rude person. Your head was throbbing already from the few sips of hard liquor Erik offered you since you were a light weight.

Rubbing your temples, you secretly scolded yourself for not bringing ibuprofen. His words were clean cut and to the point, throwing you off completely. No man had ever talked to you like that, not even your ex. He really just openly talked about your titties like he was about to get some of that pussy you had.

“What did you just say?” You sounded so embarrassed by his words.

“Girl, you heard what I said,” he took a sip of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you a big titty girl. I like big titty chicks with pretty faces.”

Your eyes left his and cascaded down towards your breasts slowly. Dammit. Your nipples felt like they were jumping. Hard like stone pebbles, obviously visible through your white crop top. You couldn’t hide them things if you wanted to.

“You...you always talk like this when you’re drunk, Erik? What happened to all that science talk?” You we’re enjoying that talk better, or at least that’s the talk you preferred.

“Nah, shit ain’t even hit a nigga yet. Ain’t no way I can get faded from just once glass of Henny.” He chuckled, giving you a teasing smile.

“Well, Id appreciate it if you don’t look at my breasts.” You ask him with an even tone. His eyes were stuck on your face, watching whatever movement you made. He was dissecting you with his sharp eyes. He took in the lie you tried to convince him to believe.

“Well,” he looked at your lips then, “I could talk about how much I wanna suck on that bottom lip cuz it keep pouting like you want me to bite it.”

He leaned back on his elbow while balancing his half empty glass in hand, “Why you uptight? A nigga tryna tell you what he like and you acting like I’m bothering you.”

Closing your eyes you turn to him, fighting the way his voice grew all demanding.

“I’m sorry it’s-its my nerves. I’m...I’m not used to this it’s been a minute, Erik.”

She couldn’t look at him. It was hard to look at his sexy face she couldn’t even push herself.

“Can you at least look at me, Y/N?” His voice was softer and more pleading.

You close your eyes briefly before looking back to him. He had these low domineering eyes, mouth parted like he was thinking about fucking you, hands all warm on your exposed thigh since you wore a pleated skirt that day.

“See? Was that hard?” His voice cracked a little with his laughter, “get comfortable, ma, night ain’t over.”

“Yeah,” you look at the TV screen, some irrelevant show on.

“You wanna listen to music while I blow some trees?” He asked, sitting up fully to pour himself another drink.”

“Sure.” You fold your hands within your lap, fingers twiddling with nerves. Erik looked like he could ruin you. This night was going be a long one. Who knows how much further he planned on taking you with his sharp tongue and hungry eyes. He looked like wanted to eat you alive.

“Your last boyfriend, how he fuck that up?” Erik leaned back into his couch, legs swinging. You try not to react to the way his knees kept hitting the side of your exposed thigh.

“He fell outta love with me apparently.” You laugh to cool off the growing anger you still felt towards it.

“Fell outta love with you?” Erik scrunches his face in distain, “fuck kinda nigga falls outta love with a fine ass girl like you.”

He shook his head with laughter, eyebrows raised, “nigga wildin’ he prolly punching the air right now, prolly thinking about what other niggas want a piece of that lil thang you got.”

He said that shit so casually, rolling up his blunt and rapping to the music from his latest trap music playlist. You just studied the side profile of his sexy face,

The Damn dimples.

Jesus take the wheel.

“He’s missing me alright,” you spoke before you could stop yourself, “He’s been blowing up my phone, telling me he miss me.” Your eyes rolled to the ceiling.

“Oh yeah?” Erik leans into the couch, licking the blunt to seal it, “I bet you used to put it on him.”

You could feel your lips go tight from restraint.

“What made you come to that conclusion?” You we’re finding yourself to be curious as to what he had to say next. This Erik was something else.

“Like, you must have that real good pussy to have a nigga missing you.”

I mean, you might be shy but that didn’t mean your shit wasn’t golden.

“You didn’t deny it either,” he laughs, “I like that. I think I just found out some shit I needed to know.”

You shake your head, licking your lower lip to fight a blush. Erik caught that, sitting up straighter now. He took you by your thigh, pulling you closer to him so that you were sitting in his lap. You didn’t object but your body was so rigid.

“Damn, why you so stiff, ma?” His hand rubbed along your back all soft and soothing.

“You just- it’s nothing.” You shake it away, looking around the room timidly.

“You shy with me?”

He knew the answer to that already but he wanted to toy with you. That’s clearly his thing, toying with chicks. You didn’t want to admit that to this experienced man but damn.

“You just...I’ve never had a man talk to me like this so...”

“That’s a fucking shame. I’d talk like this to you any chance I get. I got a serious thing for letting a woman know what I want.”

His thumb stroked the side of your leg. It was so delicate but it held an edge to it. You take a chance and look at him, his eyes magnetic with yours. It was too much. You couldn’t imagine yourself underneath him while he beat into your pussy something serious. He didn’t play about that it seems.

“You like sitting in my lap, Y/N?”

You simply nod your head.

“You feel this?”

You didn’t know what he meant at first but then the solid firmness of his dick that had to be long and fat rested between your ass through your skirt. Sheesh. He was a big one. You didn’t even have to touch it to know. If things ever went far with the both of you how in the hell were you supposed to take that?

“Erik,” you close your eyes, pushing at his chest. He was giving off too much and that shit was making you feel real bold at the moment. You wanted to get on your knees with curiosity and see what he was hiding away in his jeans.

“My guess is you ain’t used to that,” he rubbed at the back of your neck with his finger tips, “if you let me get to know you I can help you out, I’m a good teacher, ma.” He made his dick jump again and you close your eyes, lower lip trembling.

“Shid, you can’t be used to all that. You look like you need to be opened up some.”

The gasp that left your mouth was loud and clear. He was straight up nasty.

“Why are you so freaky?!” You ask with pure shock. Since this never happened to you it stroked your curiosity. He had a way with words. Very persuasive.

He smiles up at you, dimples deep, “I been wanting your little ass since I saw you around campus, girl.”

You blushed deeply, biting your lip while your clit jumped in your wet panties, thighs squirming.

“I was thinking like, damn the shit I would do to her little thick ass,”

“What?” You asked with glossy eyes. You wanted him to keep talking. No matter how much you couldn’t take it he just needed to keep talking to you like that.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” He asked while his head was already leaning in.

“Yes, please,” you were telling him without a second thought. Damn, that was quick.

He sucked on your bottom lip, pulling moans from you before clashing his mouth to yours. The taste of the liquor on his tongue mixed with his saliva was a taste you now craved. He had the back of your head while his lips did dangerous things.

“Mmhmm, so fucking sexy. You gonna let me finger that tight pussy with these?” He held up his fingers, all fat and smooth with manicured nails. He could dig them things deep in you anytime. He asked you because he knew from the size of them they would have your ass crying.

“Yes,” you whisper, thighs rubbing to gain some kind of friction.

“You sure? I know I’m not dealing with just any pussy, Y/N. You look like you need to be opened up though. Shit prolly micro mini.” He laughs again and that only makes you blush with arousal.

“I said yes,” you speak with slight irritation. You already gave into his fine ass but he clearly wanted you to beg.

“Then open that pussy up.”

You open your legs, wet panties cooling from the air. Erik places his hand there, rubbing up and down before peeking lower, pulling your panties to the side while your wet folds slipped out.

“Damn, that shit is straight dripping. You always get this wet little mama?”

He was driving you crazy. The fact that he called you little mama or little baby because you were younger than him made you weak and fucking horny. Erik spread you open, his eyes closing.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He shook his head, biting his bounty bottom lip.

“I couldn’t wait to bring you back to my place, you wearing the fuck out this little school girl shit, tryna tease a nigga.”

You whispered softly at how gushy your pussy was at the moment. This man had a way with words. It was as if he hypnotized you.

“You ready for all this mature dick, huh? After I’m done with your pretty ass I’ll have you regretting being with that nigga in the first place. You gon’ take some good dick.”

Mature dick meant big ass dick that would have you paralyzed from the waist down. Dick that he would have to fit into your tight pussy and make open up for him. A dick that would have your walls tugging and sucking in every inch, stretching you out beautifully.

“Erik,” you looked fully aroused and your skin was covered in sweat. This shit had you hot and ready to fuck. You told yourself you wouldn’t do this but it was Erik. You couldn’t help yourself. His fingers teased your pussy lips that were swollen and sensitive. You could cum just like that and the whimpers you were making only made him keep it up.

“Easy baby, easy. I’m not going no where. We got all the time in the world, little mama.”

Erik’s dick jumped, it felt thicker and it only made you get wetter. How many stages of growth did his dick have? You shuttered.

“It’s okay, you’ll be sitting on Daddy’s dick real soon.”

#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #erik killmonger #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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wolfsgravity · 3 years

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I look up from my computer, eyes shining with a determined and curious light. Franken takes note of me from his work desk, a shadow of a smile on his face. His scientific curiosity and mine are so similar, yet show on the two of us so differently. While he's angles and math and madness, he sees my own style as bubbly and bright and only a touch fragile to outside opinion. I know when to reluctantly back down, a trait he's still not sure if he admires in me.

As it is, I get up and all but scramble towards his desk. I take a breath to speak, then see that he's writing, so I bite my tongue and stand by the side, rocking eagerly onto my toes and back onto my heels a few times.

I hear him chuckle, then feel his attention shift back onto me. At first, he just looks at me with his eyes, body still hunched over whatever he's doing. But he seems to reconsider, pushing up and away before turning his chair to face me fully. He regards me with interest now, turning the bolt in his head a few notches before breaking the weighted silence between us.

"What's on your mind, sunshine?"

I giggle somewhat nervously, suddenly unsure how to even pose my thoughts now that I have his full attention.

"Um.. You know how you're, like, the best Meister around?"

"Flattery is unnecessary, but yes, go on."

I snort, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt in a habit as I think.

"And um. You can weild me as a weapon, right?"

This time, he snorts. "Yes, we both know from experience that I'm very capable of using your weapon form adeptly."

"Right, yeah, I know that." I trail off. I know what I am going to propose is going to sound wholly stupid, which means a lot considering my intro to my idea has been me pointing out obvious truths.

Franken Stein waits patiently, his hands tensing ever-so-slightly with the urge to hold mine while I clearly fumble through my thoughts.

"Can decorations be added to my weapon form?"

He pauses. His steely eyes behind his glasses look at my face, yet seem to be looking beyond me. Then, in one of his tells, his head tilts and he reaches up to crank his bolt a few more notches.

"Well, isn't that a thought," he half-murmurs, "you want... decorations?"

I squirm, but the light comes back into my eyes. "I think it'd be really interesting! Since transforming preserves my clothes onto my human form, I just. Wonder how it could work!"

I keep a watch on his eyes, as they begin making micro-movements, as they often do when he starts plotting logistics.

"Remee, what kinds of decorations were you considering? Because a lot of things that add on would just fall off as you're being weilded in battle."

"Stickers! They're flat, so they won't have that much effect on any aerodynamics with waving me around. And the adhesive can be strong enough to hold them in place while I smack stuff around. As an extra fuck-you, we could get a glittery sticker to leave a stamp on our opponents."

Stein laughs, a genuine laugh. I smile, because if it's a stupid idea, at least it got a laugh out of him.

Through laughter, he says, "You actually have thought put into this, huh?"

I blush, that certainly sounds like mockery. "I mean, yeah, I can't expect ribbons or stuff like that to stay on."

"You're the cutest little scientist I've ever had the pleasure to work with," he winds down his laughter, taking his glasses off to rub some tears out of his eyes. "And honestly, I'm not making fun of you."

"You're not?"

"No! I was laughing because I've ruined you!" He snorts as though he's about to get started again. "Remee, you're thinking of experimenting on yourself out of a needless curiosity. It may be low-level, but we all start out somewhere." He points to one of the many scars adorning his skin, and I understand what he's thinking. Then, in a warm murmur, he pulls me into an embrace down in his chair and says, "I won't let you hurt yourself, though. The stickers idea should be tame enough to keep me in check, too. You know how to stop me if I get carried away, though."

I nod, though in my position, it's almost like nuzzling into his neck. He gets the idea though.

"Alright, my love. We're going to make this sticker idea work."

#ship: we resonate

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windupnamazu · 5 years

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if i never see you again words: ~1060 notes: g'raha tia/wol, post-crystal tower raids. a microstories prompt fic! but i didnt reblog the ask meme, i just asked @winduphaurchefant for three prompts. disclaimer: this is not actually a micro story. inspired by kyoukai no kanata and kimi no na wa, and... the title taken from the beatrice letters.

also. peepo, i lied.

music: kataware doki

[1] don't leave [15] trembling hands [16] in dreams

“Wake up, silly,” the illusion whispers, its stolen voice tender and honeyed with affection. He feels a hand brush across his forehead, tracing a crease worn into his brow through long nights of studying and candles melted to stubs. “You can’t stay asleep forever.”

The sky is a rich violet when he awakes, like twilight over the Rhotano, a dark canvas that makes the spectre’s hair glow white like starlight when he looks up at it. It smiles at him — (and for all the time he spent staring at her in the waking world, he doesn’t think he could ever perfectly recreate just how her eyes glowed when she did) — and watches contentedly as he pushes himself up from its lap.

He yawns though there is no need to, and rubs dew from his eyes where there is none. When he pulls himself to sit across from his companion, his tail sweeps petals loose from the crumpled bed of flowers beneath them, a warm crimson in the last dredges of an eternal dusk.

“Good morning,” he tells the ghost. It doesn’t respond, but the way it slowly, deliberately blinks and tilts its head lets him know he was heard. It stares into the distance, to the far edge of their garden, where the flowers blur into nothingness and the dream begins to end. He doesn’t know what it sees, but he follows its gaze anyway, trusting it will tell him if it’s important - and it is.

“It’s time,” it tells him after a heartbeat, violet eyes still trained on the horizon.

His hands curl into the earth, grabbing a handful of crushed forget-me-nots in his palm. He knows he’s pouting, and he knows he has no right to, but— “Must I leave?”

Strands of starlight whip around the mirage’s face as it turns to glower at him. “You already have.” For a moment he sees the girl he left behind in another time, mouthing a broken don’t leave me too as the doors closed on all their possibilities. It looks at him through a veil of lashes, glare softening at what he knows must be guilt writ on his face. Then, it grips at the end of his sleeve and pulls itself up to stand, a train of white silk pooling around its feet.

There are few chances for them to be at eye level with each other, and his breath catches as it steps forward. He knew, when he first fell asleep, that conjuring her image was trouble - but it does nothing to stop how his heart does a calamitous jolt in his chest at the movement.

(The years he spent fixated on Allag feel like nothing, now, compared to how fascinating he finds her.)

The borrowed face of the woman he abandoned sends his pulse skyrocketing, and he wonders if it can hear the way his ears begin to ring as it leans in until their noses are gently touching tip to tip, and when it breathes he can feel a facsimile of her warmth on his lips, and he finds himself closing his eyes and leaning forward too—

“—I thought it’d be easier if it was like this.” It laughs quietly, sinking back onto its heels, abashed and ashamed in equal measure as his eyes flutter open. “Even in a dream, I’m still a coward.” Its hands slip down into his own, though he doesn’t know which of them is trembling until it lets go and he’s left holding only the air in his lungs, which stutters out in shock and rattles him with want.

His mouth is dry but the scolding words make him lunge forward anyway, to grip it by the shoulders as a protest wells onto his tongue. “You are not a coward, you’re—”

“The bravest person you know,” the girl in white interrupts wryly. “And still... neither of us will remember this once we wake up, so I... I should have... Well, this shouldn’t have been possible to begin with.” She reaches out, her small fingers hovering over the crease on his forehead, where her aether singed a physick as they fled from a world of darkness. “But you and I, we’re a pair made for the impossible, aren’t we, Raha?”

Realization knocks G’raha’s heart sideways. “Lunya?” Some Sharlayan scholar he’s turned out to be if he hadn’t noticed the one nearest to his heart was with him all along. “Is this really... how could this... how are you—”

“You’re usually more eloquent than this,” his dearest friend teases, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with fondness and sadness in the fading light of their sanctuary. “Did any of your tomes tell you that in Eorzea, twilight is said to be the time when worlds intersect? When the veil grows thinnest?”

Stars begin to glitter in the corner of his vision as he stands, his head spinning with the revelation and a dozen more questions. His tail coils anxiously around his leg, looking for some semblance of balance as the boundaries of their world begin to blur and the wind picks up, taking with it a shower of petals in a dance.

“Time’s up.” The sigh Lunya exhales is heavy, longing as she looks at the darkening sky and the river of stars that starts to twine across it. “This was a good dream, wasn’t it?”

“Wait!” he says, desperately reaching for her as the earth shakes beneath them, beginning to draw them apart as ink begins to spill across the floor, swallowing him in night. “I know I do not deserve forgiveness but - Lunya, I’m sorry I left you behind, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything—”

“I know!” Lunya calls back, her final smile for him gentle and grateful as her image breaks into motes of light. She is swathed in moonglow, luminous and radiant in their last moments together, and he thinks that even if he did stay around to write her biography he could never describe just how beautiful - how inspirational she is. “I know, Raha! And I— I’m in love with you too—”

As the dream dissolves into nothingness, the last of her aether entangled with his own finally fizzling out as he begins to awake, G’raha allows himself to cry, exhilarated and heartbroken for reasons he can’t remember, all while a worried crowd whispers around him.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #g'raha tia #lalafell #wol x g'raha #oc: lunya #s: let me find you #tales from the warriors of light #[passion pit-adjacent voice] I GET CARRIED AWAYYYY

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mysweetestcreature · 5 years

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Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 2: After You

(Banner by the wonderful @ noblewomankat!)

***

Masterlist

***

Thursday, September 18, 2008

“Wait, so you’re actually on the team?” Y/n gasps as they navigate through hallway traffic to their lockers. (They ended up being only a few down from one another, something that came as a relief to both since they’ll be the first to admit that they enjoy each other’s company.) “But you’re a freshman! The last time a freshman made the team was in like...like...1987!” She marches straight up to him and swats his arm without a second thought. “Harry! That was seven years before we were born! How are you so calm about this!”

Harry’s lips form in a smirk as he works his combination into the lock. “So, I take it you’re impressed?”

“Was it not obvious?”

She returns to her own locker, exchanging books between it and her bag while she continues to go on and on about her amazement in short mumbled breaths. When Coach Davis had posted this year’s team roster on the official bulletin board just by the main entrance, everyone had been shocked to see that a freshman had made the lineup. It’s not like she didn’t believe that Harry could do it, but she knows plenty of boys in their grade who had failed to make the high school team, and they were considered the best of the best in middle school! A boy named Jimmy who she’s known since the second grade hadn’t made the team, so he ended up transferring to Ashwood’s number one sports competitor, Pleasant Valley Academy out of spite. “And you’re starting? As quarterback?”

“Mhmm,” his response is short and sweet and irksomely chirp, even for her. He shuts his locker and leans against it on his side, one foot tucked under the other, both hands in his pockets as he watches her amusedly. He thinks it’s cute how her nose scrunches up the way it is now. “I mean, it’s a big part of why I’m going here.” Who would give up such an amazing opportunity to attend one of the best schools on the East coast, and for only a fraction of the cost? As it turns out, he’s liking it here a whole lot more than he’d ever imagine.

“I’m just amazed, is all. I’m really proud of you though,” her words decrease in volume at the end of her confession. She quickly looks up and shoots him a grin before reapplying some lip gloss in the magnetic mirror.

He hates that he can’t look away as the wand strokes over the suppleness of her bottom lip, leaving behind a subtle shine. From where he is, the scent of sweet candied strawberries reaches his nose and causes him to rub his own pair of lips together on impulse. A whole lot of ‘what ifs’ form at the forefront of his mind that would surely leave him embarrassed if he were to ever allow them to spill from his mouth. Although, he soon realizes how creepy it is that he’s still staring at her so intrusively, and so he shakes his head of any further thought. “Um...” he clears his throat. “So, you’ll be watching me from the bleachers then?”

“Or who knows, maybe from the sidelines.”

This has his left brow cocking up in question. “Are you in marching band or something?”

“Oh yeah, I play a real mean recorder,” she snorts before closing her locker shut with a push of her hip, then twisting to face him. There’s something in the way her eyes glint as they bore into his, it’s almost unnerving. She takes a few steps forward, and now only a few scanty inches lie between the two. He swears his heart stops beating when she rises on the tips of her toes and leans in even closer. “You’re not the only one full of surprises.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Now it’s his turn to be left stunned.

She backs away and starts in the direction of the library with a content smile on her face. “See you in Algebra, Harry.”

***

This morning she’d woken up from a reoccurring dream she’d been having over the last couple of weeks, and in it she was on this hilltop that was decorated with most beautiful array of flowers of endless varieties, and a wooden bench with metal railings that sat underneath the shade of a luscious cherry blossom. When she sat up in bed, the image was still so fresh in her mind. It’s like she’s been there before, as every detail had seemed so authentic, tangible even. It’s familiar in a way that no words would be able to describe.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” She nearly jumps out of her skin. Looking up, she sees Maxxie’s worried appearance staring at her straight on. “Oh yeah, I’m just... Here, look at this. I’ve been dreaming about it like every night.” She slides her sketchbook across the table.

Maxxie examines it carefully, the pads of his fingers gently running over the drawn lines as his eyes follow their movements. “Have you ever been?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t think so.” She runs a hand through her hair a few times before letting out a defeated sigh. “I probably just saw it on TV or something.”

“If you say so,” Maxxie hums, surely unconvinced. He slides back the book and continues on his own sketch. They relax into a steady rhythm of work, and for so long the calming sounds of pencil against paper soothes the ears as they let their creative vision take control of the actions of their hands.

However, it’s only a matter of time before Maxxie speaks up once again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she chirps, although she keeps her attention on shading in the top side of the tree where she imagines the sun would hit it. “What’s up?”

The blonde boy’s tongue runs over the surface of his teeth as his eyes narrow in on her. “Well,” he starts, letting his pencil see-saw between his fingers. “I was just wondering...”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think of Harry?”

This successfully steals her attention away, and she slowly slides back to sit properly in her chair. The mention of his name makes her smile in a different way. “Harry? He’s...well he’s funny and sweet, and I think it’s adorable when...” she trails off when she realizes that she’s probably said too much already. “Wait, why do you ask?”

A knowing smirk takes over his once curious expression. “Like I said, I was just wondering.”

“Oh, no. Don’t you do that, there’s definitely something,” Y/n says in protests. Maxxie sighs, pretending to feel aloofly about the conversation as he lazily leans to the side. “People are allowed to wonder things, you know.”

“But no one ever just wonders something unless there’s actually something to wonder about which means you’re obviously not just wondering!”

“I... huh?” Maxxie’s face creases in such confusion, and he mouths the words over as though trying to make sense of it all. Y/n smiles triumphantly, returning all her energy into finishing her scene.

***

“¡Hasta mañana, clase!” Señora Gustavo says as she waves off her Spanish 1 Honors class.

Nearly everyone rushes out at once, their hearts set on toughing through their last class before they get to go home for the rest of the evening. Y/n isn’t in much of a rush though, since Dr. Davis has conference about microorganisms in the body somewhere in Denver, and Coach Allen was the only one available to cover her class (and everyone knows that he never takes attendance, instead he opts to playing Tetris on the computer until the dismissal bell rings).

“Do you think you’ll be ready for the test next week?” Y/n asks, holding her notebook and Spanish textbook close against her chest. Señora Gustavo scheduled a test on the preterit tense next Tuesday, where they’ll have to write a few paragraphs that show their understanding of how to use it.

“I don’t know, the irregular verbs are kind of a pain in the arse,” the dimples in his cheeks caving when he sighs.

“Do you maybe want to study together?”

“Like after school?” His footsteps cease abruptly in the middle of the hallway, and the person walking behind them grumbles at the unforeseen blockade in his path. “Shit. I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes, but is quick to focus back on her. It’s like his US Politics class doesn’t exist to him at that moment (thank goodness there isn’t any assessment scheduled for the day).

Y/n suddenly feels hyper aware of where she stands, feeling incredibly small after making the suggestion so capriciously. “...Yeah,” she tries her best to make herself sound nonchalant. But why is this so hard for her? She and Maxxie study together all the time, and she’s never felt intimidated about inviting him over. Ever. With Harry, it’s like she’s always on edge, and it’s becoming more and more exasperating to say the least. She grows even more weary when he takes too long of a pause. “I mean, only if you want to... I just figured we could-”

“Yes,” he blurts out, his vocal cords stretching greater lengths than would be considered normal, almost like he’d just been hit in the groin with a football. He clears the tickle in his throat and then wets his lips. “That’d be great. Yeah, cool.” A nervous laugh escapes him as his hand moves up and rubs the back of his neck out of sudden discomfort. His mouth opens, and for a second, he hopes something intelligible might come of it. Instead, it hinges closed, and he briskly strides in the direction of his next class, unintentionally leaving her without another word. When he realizes this, the soles of his feet squeak against the well-polished floors as he comes to another hasty stop. Sheepishly, he shuffles back, this time being extra mindful to calculate every next one of his step. “Sorry, that was weird. I don’t know why I... we’re going the same way.” He takes a deep breath to collect himself. “So, uh, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she affirms with a bashful grin. They continue down the hall in a comfortable silence.

*** Friday, September 19, 2008

When Harry wakes up the next morning, it’s like he’s suddenly some sort of perfectionist, or something pretty damn close. He uses a little more gel in his hair to keep his quiff intact for the rest of the day, he irons his already smoothened polo shirt because he claims he can see some micro wrinkles on its left sleeve. Last night he’d watched over a dozen YouTube videos to see how to tie the perfect knot because sometimes he feels like his tie always looks a bit out of sorts. Finally, he polishes his school shoes over dozen time until he can basically see his reflection staring back at him.

“How do I look?” he asks, standing in front of the breakfast table where Anne and Gemma finish up their cups of coffee and scrambled eggs. Both women stare at him blankly, Gemma stopping mid-bite, while Anne keeps her mug suspended below her parted mouth. They look at him and then each other, then back at him as though he were a mad man, and it starts to bug him when minutes go by without a single peep from either. “Well?”

“I’m a little confused,” his sister is the first to answer. “Is this a trick question?” Harry groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands in mild aggravation. Sure, he wears the same thing practically every day (although, he does like to change up his second layer between his usual cardigan and a pull over, sometimes a sweater vest if he’s feeling up to it), but how can they not notice how crisp his shirt looks?

“I’m being serious here!”

Anne, is tad more thoughtful with her response. “I think you look very cute, love.”

“Cute?” He’s absolutely scandalized! “Cute” is not the end product he wants! He runs to the nearest mirror to view his reflection. Maybe it’s the gel, it probably makes him look like some snotty ten-year-old who loves dressing up whenever he leaves the house.

“Dashing! What I meant to say is that you look very dashing!” his mother calls to him, trying her best to correct her mistake. “But sweetheart,” she begins, standing up and putting her used dishes in the sink. “What is this for?”

And then he asks himself the same thing: what was this all for? After all, they were just going to study for a stupid conjugation test.

*** “What time’s your date?”

“It’s not a date. We’re just studying.”

“My mistake. What time’s your study date?”

“I literally just said that it’s not a date!”

“Then why’re you so pressed?”

“Because,” Y/n sighs, closing her book. She’s obviously not getting any reading done before homeroom with Maxxie bombarding her with all these trivial questions. She knew she should’ve just kept it to herself, especially after yesterday’s conversation. But she couldn’t help it! He had come over unannounced yesterday with milkshakes from Riley’s Fountain, and one sugar high later, she couldn’t stop herself from recounting every detail of her day. “I don’t know, Max.”

“Okay,” he concedes.

She narrows her gaze at him. “That’s it?” He simply nods his head at her. “No follow-up?”

“Nope,” he makes sure to put an extra pop on the ‘p’. He sits back in his seat, propping his legs up on the table and crossing his arms behind his head.

*** After Spanish class, they had agreed to meet at their lockers at exactly 5 o’clock since Harry had football practice and Y/n said she had something to take care of as well. The day had gone just like any other, classes after classes with a few breaks in between and those valuable minutes where they’d talk about silly things on their way to shared subjects and when they’d stand in front of their lockers as they quickly traded books in place of others.

As he walks out of the locker room, freshly showered –– and in his own clothes, thank god he’d decided to bring a more comfortable pair before leaving home –– and exchanging the ghastly mixture of sweat and sun for a more aromatic vanilla mango cocktail, he notices a vibration coming from underneath his feet. He follows the sound music as it increases in volume to the entrance of the gymnasium, where he then looks through the slim windows before opening the door just a wee bit.

He realizes that it’s a cheer practice that’s being held, and it’s also then that he can make sense of the words to the song, and a smile sneaks up to on him when an infamous pop track from the 90s plays over the speakers in the room as they run through their routine.

“Okay.” He hears someone shout over the fading outro. It’s the coach, he’ll assume, and she tucks a clipboard under her arm and claps her hands together. “That was good, that was good,” she says in a cheery tone that still manages to sound firm. “So, on that note, let’s call it a day.”

The group disperses to different areas of the bleachers. He sees Zoey from homeroom, who struts to her bag with such purpose, her hands perched on her swaying hips. She’s followed by two of her friends, Amber and Bree, that always seem to follow her like lost puppies. Matt Riley from his Biology class is also on the team, he’d seen him, and another boy lift one of the girls on top of their shoulders. Harry resumes to scan the gym for anyone else he might know. What he doesn’t expect is to see her scrunchie. His lips pull apart. “Y/n?” he says her name under his breath, his eyes growing wide as she walks towards him (luckily, she hasn’t noticed him) to rummage through her bag. She pulls out a pink water bottle, giggling into the nozzle as one of her friends talks animatedly at her.

He backs away from the door, letting it click before he begins pacing on the spot. So, this is what she’d been hinting at yesterday when she said she would be closer than he thought. “A bloody cheerleader.” He runs both hands through his hair, his eyelids tightly pushed together as he lets his system absorb this new –– and vital –– information. “You’re fucked,” he tells himself, even laughing at his own self-pity. “You are so fucking fucked.”

“Text me how things go with Jared!” His ears perk up at her honey-like tonation that he’s surely grown to appreciate these last couple of weeks. Y/n has this tendency to go on and on about anything and everything (especially whenever he brings up her baking, she’ll go one for hours) but it’s oddly satisfying just to listen to her talk so vibrantly about life. HE starts to panic when her voice gets closer. “Oh, stop it! I’m sure it’ll go fine!”

***

“I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere,” Cici says jadedly as they push through the doors in to the deserted corridor. “He’s cute, and he thinks I’m cute, but that’s about it.” She reaches back and begins to fuss with her raven-black hair, running her fingers through each of stubborn knots.

Y/n bumps her hip with hers before linking their arms together and skipping down the rest of the way. “You’ve been talking nonstop for the last six weeks! That’s like a record for you! Just see how it goes, and if it’s really that bad, you can always do that thing in the movies where she sneaks out the bathroom window.” Cici rolls her eyes at the suggestion. “Oh, come on! You can’t say the idea doesn’t sound exciting,” Y/n giggles as she pokes her side.

“You and Maxxie watch way too many romcoms, seriously. It’s like I’m friends with freaking Julia Roberts.” She’s known Cici since they were in diapers as their parents had been friends in their youth. It was only right that their girls become best friends. In many ways, they’re opposites of each other, Cici being the rougher and tougher of the two, especially when it comes to people she doesn’t trust a hundred percent (many people in their grade are a tad bit afraid of her, but she prefers it that way), while Y/n tends to be more empathetic and softer around the edges (for the most part, that is) that makes her more approachable.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Y/n sticks her tongue out.

“Speaking of Maxwell,” Cici begins, and her lips quick to the side suggestively, “he tells me you have a date with the new boy.”

Y/n scoffs, shaking her head. “And I told him repeatedly that it’s not a date.”

“Do you want it to be?”

“To be what?”

“A date, duh!” Cici all but screams.

“I’ve only known him for two weeks!” How many times does she have to explain that what her and Harry and going to do is strictly educational and as friends/classmates? Sure, he’s good looking and has eyes so mesmerizing that she finds herself getting lost in them and... oh shoot. And she’s sure by the way Cici gives her the same shrewd look that Maxxie had given her earlier, that she knows exactly what’s running through her head. “Shut up.” No one better tell Maxxie, or else he’ll never let her live it down!

“Listen, all I’m saying is that if you like him, you better make a move before someone beats you to it,” Cici warns. “I heard that Zoey has a major thing for him.”

Y/n tries her best to hide a pout. She and Zoey used to be friends once upon a time, but as they excelled through school and life, Zoey started to get overly competitive with her. If Y/n showed up to school with new school shoes, Zoey would have a pair twice as expensive the next day. If Y/n got the highest test score in math, Zoey would try to beat her on the next two. It’s petty, Y/n will be the first to admit it, which is why she usually tries to ignore things like that now.

“I mean, she is really pretty.”

“Too bad she’s a total bitch. Besides, you’re way prettier, babe,” Cici winks. “Anyway, I have to go get ready for later.” And she starts towards the exit, walking backwards. “If I call you in the middle of dinner, it means I’ve just climbed out the bathroom window and you need to pick me up immediately.”

Y/n sniggers at her words. “I look forward to it.”

They officially part ways, and soon enough Y/n turns the corner and arrives at her locker to find Harry standing against it. The bottom of his shoe is flat up against the metal, and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans. She cocks her head to the side when she takes note of his heaving chest. “Why are you so out of breath?”

***

When Y/n and Harry arrive at her house, she leads him into the kitchen to offer him a snack. “I woke up really early this morning, so I made a bunch of treats!” she exclaims. Harry watches as she prepares everything on the table. Her house is just as he had expected, it’s ambiance warm and welcoming, the same vibe he always gets when he’s near her. It smells distinctly of warm sugar, and he guesses it’s because she’s constantly whipping up sweets and other goodies.

As she gets things ready, he wanders into the connecting living room. The first thing that catches his eye is the 1963 Hofner 500/1 “Violin” bass in the corner of the room. He’s more of a guitar kind of guy, but he’s always appreciated a catchy bass line. “Do you play?” he asks, looking back into the kitchen.

“It’s my grandpa’s, actually. He was a huge McCartney fan, and so this was his little homage to him.” She walks over and slowing extends her hand and grazes her fingers along the neck. It’s then he sees the falter in her expression. “We had to put him in a home since he’s having some trouble remembering things now,” she confesses. “But when we bring this old guy along, it’s like he never left. It’s like he’s the same guy that used to hum Yesterday to put me to sleep.”

Harry is quiet as he absorbs it all in. He can’t imagine what it must be like, especially since he also has a close bond with his grandfather.

He frowns when he catches her wiping beneath her eye. “Hey,” he says softly, and he gently wraps his fingers around her wrist to bring her hand away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head and tries her best to laugh it off. “I always get a little weird when I talk about Pop-pop.”

“’s fine,” he assures her. “You’re allowed to feel.” About a year ago, his granddad had suffered a stroke. He’d been alone since his grandma had been out at the grocer’s. It was a good thing a neighbor had heard the ruckus of his fall and immediately brought him to the hospital. So, he knows what it’s like to worry oneself constantly.

The next thing he does shocks them both. He breathes in deeply before he lifts his hand close to her cheek, moving a loose piece of hair behind her ear. When she peers up, she’s nearly paralyzed as his beautiful green eyes stare deeply into hers. She bites hard on her bottom lip, her heart hammering beneath her chest.

“I-” but words are a loss to her in that moment. He searches her, looking for any sign to tell him to stop. There’s nothing. And for once, the quietness relieves him. Feeling a rush of confidence flow through his veins, he slowly lowers himself. The closer he gets, the more he can feel each puff of her breath tickle the small hairs on chin.

Her eyes flutter closed as she anticipates his lips.

“Y/n!” a little voice squeals, and it’s followed by a tiny pitter patter of feet. Both Harry and Y/n snap their heads at the sound, and she’s quick to push him away. A space to accommodate at least four people now falls between them.

“Hey, buddy!” She picks up Mason and spins him around in her arms. “How was school? Did you share those cookies with Madison?”

“Yeah!” he says proudly, wrapping his arms around her neck. “I’m a good sharer!” Mason wriggles his legs, begging to be put down. When he notices Harry –– who is still quite flustered –– he cautiously backs into Y/n’s legs until he’s hidden behind her left one. “Who’re you?” the little boy challenges, lip protruding into a small pout as he clings to his sister’s leg tightly. (He usually doesn’t do well with strangers. Heck, last Christmas he cried when he saw Santa at the mall.)

Harry bites his tongue, glancing at Y/n. She nods down at the little boy with an encouraging smile. If someone would’ve told him even an hour ago that he’d be –– somewhat –– terrified of such a tiny human, he would’ve sniggered and walked away. Yet here is, about to get on his knees for a six-year-old. And he ends up doing just that. He bends down to Mason’s height. “Hey there, little dude. I’m Harry.”

Mason eyes him skeptically, slightly treading away from his sister’s protection. “Do you like cupcakes?”

“Cupcakes?” Harry playfully repeats, he pretends to be surprised by such a question. “I love cupcakes!”

Mason giggles loudly and tackles Harry in a big hug. “I like you, Harry!” Mason tells him. He grabs his hand and leads him back into the kitchen. “Come on, Harry! Y/n made Neapolitan cupcakes! They’re my favoritest ever!” Her little brother sits Harry down in one of the chairs and grabs a cupcake from the dish. “We can go halfsies if you want!” he offers.

That leaves Y/n alone in front of the bass guitar. She glances out into the kitchen, where her little brother has managed to say everything what she could never muster up. What had happened, or almost happened –– that had been enough to send tingles to cover every inch of her frazzled skin still lingers on her, and she touches her cheek where his hand had once been.

***

#president!harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #one direction #one direction imagine

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carry-the-sky · 5 years

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there is the road,

and there is the story of where the road goes—

(or: jesse finds his way. tw for brief descriptions of ptsd-related nightmares.)

+ one day after.

Haines is—different. You sure as hell aren’t in the ABQ anymore. There’s like, no people here, for one thing, and that makes you nervous. You’re a strange face, a newcomer. People will notice, right? They’ll notice, and then—

But you make it to the grocery store just fine. You push your cart around, pay for your food the same as everyone else, and no one looks twice at you. Then you’re driving back through town, past a post office and a bank and at least three different seafood restaurants, which, hell yes. The classiest seafood place you’ve been to is Red Lobster, and only then because their biscuits tasted fucking phenomenal when you were high. Skinny had once convinced Badger to bribe the waitress for the recipe, which went about as terribly as you thought it would. Later, Skinny looked it up and found out you could just buy the mix at the store.

God, you miss them.

It hurts more to try not to think about them, so you let yourself. All the way out of town, you think about Badger hitchhiking up from the Mexico border, Skinny taking heat from the police, covering for you. You think about the last words you said to each of them, and how you wish you would’ve said more.

The turn comes up faster than you’re expecting. Asphalt gives way to mud and snow pack, and you shift the Toyota into four-wheel drive. The street doesn’t even have a real name—Road S.7, reads the battered sign at the turn-off—and you can’t help but feel a swell of gratitude towards Ed. Quiet, he’d promised, and he definitely delivered.

Your house is the only one on this street. It’s an a-frame, like the ones your parents always talked about building. They wanted a place up north, somewhere like Wyoming or Montana where they could take you and Jake skiing, or whatever it is normal families do. Maybe that’s what they would’ve done with the extra cash from selling your Aunt Ginny’s house.

You put the Toyota in park, open the back hatch, and grab a bag of groceries in each hand. The snow here is still fresh, and it crunches under your boot when you take a tentative step.

Start over. Start fresh. Put things right.

No. Sorry, kid. That’s the one thing you can never do.

Maybe, maybe not. You take another step forward anyways.

+ one week after.

The a-frame is nice. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but the place is fully-furnished, down to the shower curtain in the bathroom, and the living room windows face south, so it’s warm and light most of the day. It’s the last type of place you ever saw yourself living, but it’s yours. It’s safe.

This morning’s routine is the same as the last few have been—coffee, breakfast, get a fire going in the wood-burning stove. There’s a deer outside the window, and you watch her for a moment while you sip the rest of your coffee. She lifts her head to look at you, the length of her statue-still—and then she’s turning away to resume foraging. You aren’t a threat.

You have more money than you know what to do with, but you still give the job classifieds a once-over. The thought of hanging around the a-frame day after day makes your palms itch—you want to stay busy, stay doing, so you circle a few part-time stints, places you’re reasonably sure won’t laugh you and your lack of a resume out the door.

No flashbacks today, when you finally make it to the shower.

This life you’re carving out is a work in progress, but that’s okay. You’re building it from scratch, sanding it down and filing away the jagged edges. It’s gonna take some time, and you’re okay with that. You’re okay.

There’s a dog curled up on the porch when you open your front door. Definitely a mutt, some kind of lab mix maybe. No collar. You ease the door shut as quietly as you can, but it stirs at the noise and lifts its head.

“Hey, bud,” you say, squatting and reaching a hand out.

The dog takes a tentative sniff in your direction, so you shift closer. It’s the wrong move. The dog scrabbles to its feet and tears off into the trees before you can blink.

“Yo!” you shout, but it’s gone.

You make a mental note to grab some kibble when you’re in town.

The first three jobs on your list are a bust. One of them has been filled already, another wants at least a year of previous experience, and the lady at the last place takes one look at your ink, plasters a fake smile on her face, and tells you she’ll be in touch.

“Bitch,” you growl under your breath as soon as you’re back in your car. Your fingers itch for a cigarette, and you dig around in your pocket before remembering that you don’t have any, that you’d purposefully avoided buying any at the store. Fresh start, and all that.

You tip your head back to rest against the seat. For the first time since getting here, it starts to sink in just how alone you are. It has to be this way, you know that. It’s like your life’s been split cleanly in half—everything before Alaska, and everything after. You can’t go back, and you can’t fit the pieces together again. You get it.

Doesn’t mean it’s not gonna suck, sometimes.

You pick up some dog food on your way home—a bag with words like “natural” and “grain-free,” because why the hell not—and you’re almost out of town when a sign by the road catches your eye.

Morley’s Custom Woodworking, 2 miles south on 3rd Ave

When you get to 3rd, you turn automatically, like you know exactly where you’re going. It’s your foot pumping the gas, your hands on the steering wheel, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being pulled towards something.

Fuck off, universe, you think, but you keep driving.

Morley’s sits where the road dead-ends. You duck inside, and the first thing that hits you is the smell, all pine-y and sweet. There’s a table and a couple chairs sitting by the entrance, and you run a hand over the closest one. Smooth as glass.

“How can I help you?”

You turn. There’s a guy walking towards you who looks like a lumberjack poster boy—big and tall, full-grown beard, arms like tree stumps. He’s older, maybe Mike’s age.

“Uh,” you say stupidly. “Yeah, hey, man, I was just—I was in the, y’know, the area, and I just wanted to see if you maybe needed help with, I don’t know, stocking inventory or cleaning up, or whatever—”

The guy’s looking at you like he’s trying not to laugh, and honestly you can’t blame him. You sound like a rambling moron.

“You know what, I’m just gonna—” you gesture towards the front door.

“You new in town?” the guy says, looking thoroughly amused.

Shit. It’s that obvious.

“Yeah, been here about a week.”

The guy appraises you. His eyes are soft and kind, which kinda flies in the face of the whole lumberjack thing, but, hey, no judgment here.

“Got any woodworking experience?” he asks.

Sure, if making half a dozen boxes for a vo-tech class in high school counts.

“Not exactly,” you say. “But—I’m a fast learner, and I’m good with my hands. In a totally non-pervy way,” you quickly clarify, “which you probably didn’t need to know, but it’s always good to, y’know—” you trail off and heave a sigh. “Okay, how badly am I screwing this up?”

The guy quirks a smile. “Depends on if you’re gonna keep talking or not.”

You’re laughing before you can think better of it, and the guy’s chuckling too, and then he’s saying, “I’ve got a workshop this Saturday. Why don’t you come by? We’ll see what you got.”

You’re not sure if it’s the universe making the decision or if it’s you, but you don’t really care. Either way, it’s another step forward, and you’re gonna take it.

+ one month after.

You still have nightmares. Sometimes you’re in the cage, and sometimes you’re on top of it, and they’re pressing you down, pressing your face against the bars.

“Open your eyes, Jesse,” someone—Todd?—is saying. “Open your eyes and look.”

Sometimes, you fight back. You strangle Todd with your handcuffs, the metal digging into his neck. You beat the shit out of Jack, or one of his other inbred thugs (you never bothered to learn their names). You shoot yourself in the head.

Sometimes, it’s Walt holding you down instead of Todd.

You’re not sure when, if ever, the dreams will stop, but maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the point is that they’re all gone and you’re still here. Whatever that means, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.

It’s a small comfort, but it’s something.

It’s taken you a couple weeks, but the dog is starting to warm up to you.

You’ve started calling it Skinny, and yeah, you tell yourself it’s because the poor thing really is skin and bones, and no other reason. It still sits a comfortable distance away from you whenever you’re outside, but it’s stopped bolting every time you make a movement that’s faster than not moving at all. You don’t know shit about dogs, but you know enough not to try approaching it again. Just let it be, let it see that you’re here and you mean no harm.

You keep a handful of dog food with you when you’re outside, just in case.

You’re stacking cords of firewood in the shed out back when the dog comes up to you, right up to you, tail wagging tentatively.

“Hey, there,” you say, but as soon as you stick a hand out, the dog growls.

“Okay.” You fish around in your back pocket. “You don’t know me, I get it. I totally get it. But maybe this—” you proffer the hand with the kibble— “will change your mind.”

You’re careful not to make eye contact as it sniffs your hand. Then it’s crunching the food up, tongue licking your palm enthusiastically as it searches for more where that came from.

“Right on, my kind of guy. Or, uh—” you duck your head and quickly scan the dog’s underside— “girl, I guess. Sorry about that.”

It’s another few weeks before Skinny will let you pet her, and one more after that before you can coax her into your car to take her to the vet. She’s not micro-chipped, and no one’s reported a missing dog, so they give her a routine series of shots and tell you it’s okay to take her home.

You’re not sure if this is a good idea—can you really even take care of yourself?—but it feels right. She’s like you, lost and alone. Maybe this is what both of you need.

You rent out a space at Morley’s after hours to work on the projects he gives you. Small things, at first, like cabinet drawers and birdhouses. During the week, you take orders and receive shipments and assist him with the larger custom pieces he’s working on. It’s hard work, but it’s good. You like working with your hands, making things instead of breaking them apart.

You think a lot about that box you made. You wish you would’ve actually given it to your mom. She would’ve been proud of it, of you.

You wish—

+ one year after.

“...and I’m gonna gently, gently tap, following the angles in the mountain. Always follow your angles.”

“Follow the angles,” you echo, bringing your brush up to the canvas. “Hell yeah, I can follow the angles.”

You must be pressing down too hard, because the colors are starting to smear together. If you’re being honest, most of this painting is a mess, but the mountains actually look halfway decent. You’re starting to get the hang of those.

“...and then just beat the devil out of it.”

“That’s my favorite part,” you tell Skinny, who’s watching you with mild curiosity.

Netflix freezes for a moment, the percentage ticking upwards slowly as the episode renders, but you’re not concerned. That happens pretty frequently. You take advantage of the pause to clean your brush beat-the-devil style, which startles Skinny. Her claws clack against the wood floor as she scrambles away from you.

The rest of the painting is relatively painless—you mix the phthalo green with your purple instead of phthalo blue, but hey, happy accident. You’re getting used to accepting those.

Skinny re-emerges, eyeing you warily. You laugh and stoop to ruffle her ears.

“Sorry I scared you,” you say. “But, hey, it’s part of the process, yeah? Can’t jerk around with the process. Especially not Bob’s.”

Skinny just licks your hand in response.

You finish your first major piece at work, a two-leaf, red oak dining table. You’re almost a little sad when the couple who ordered it come to pick it up, but it would just sit in the shop otherwise. And you’d never live it down if you admitted it to Morley, who likened selling the first piece of furniture he ever built to sending a kid off to college.

“It’s beautiful,” the couple tells you. “Even better than we imagined. Thank you.”

You do your best to ignore all the knowing looks Morley shoots in your direction for the rest of the day.

You write to Badger and Skinny (the human) on a semi-regular basis. The letters are pretty general—you try to avoid any details that might give away where you are—but you tell them about the wood shop, and Skinny (the dog). Once, you accidentally write your return address on the envelope. You briefly consider sending it anyways. They’d come, they’d absolutely come if they knew where you were, and you’d be selfish enough to let them.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss them, but it’s gotten better. You picture them playing GTA on Badger’s Playstation, or smoking a bowl, and it hurts a little less. They’re safe and they’re happy, and your loneliness is a small price to pay for that.

You’re, like, my hero and shit.

They have no idea it’s actually the other way around.

You watch the Northern Lights from your porch, a mug of hot tea in your hands and Skinny’s head resting on your knee. You think, this must be what heaven is like.

“So, where should we go?”

Skinny looks at you like she’d like nothing better than to murder you, but you figure that probably has more to do with the car than you. She’s quivering in the backseat, and you haven’t even turned the key in the ignition yet.

“C’mon, don’t look at me like that. You love car rides.”

Skinny whines and paws at the door.

“Okay, maybe love’s a strong word, but you love the mountains right? And the only way to get to the mountains is to ride in the car, so. We cool?”

Soon you’re on the highway. The back windows are rolled down, and Skinny’s sticking her head gleefully out the passenger side, all thoughts of murder gone from her head. You think you both might be happiest when you’re driving like this, wind in your hair and your ears, nothing but open road stretched ahead.

You don’t know where you’re going, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll find your way.

#jesse pinkman #el camino #el camino spoilers #breaking bad #my fic

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one-of-us-must-be-crazy · 5 years

Note

"I can explain."

HERE YOU GO AND I’M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR IT.

Turns out if I get really sick, light headed, and take cold meds, I’ll write some Explicit Things for you guys.

Enjoy and I’m sorry!

Christopher knows damn well what a ‘micro aggression’ is, he’s lived with this amazing human nearly a year, and they’ve been noticeably a couple in public for three months. He can pick up on small and delicate changes in human mood and social cues, he’s designed for it. Amanda’s teased him more than once by calling him a protocol droid.

But he couldn’t quite grasp the series of small remarks, quips, and too-close brushes against him throughout the day, not until she invited him directly into the shower that night. Oh. Seduction.

Processors and logic drives burned in him to think that a human found him worthy of that level of want and persuasion, and he appreciated it deeply. Not quite foreplay but a drawn out question of his mood. A drawn out, beautiful prelude of a question of consent, presented by Amanda in various states of dress and amorousness. And she did it for him.

That was two weeks ago. Not that they hadn’t had any contact during the fortnight, but it had been drowsy on Amanda’s part, gentle and slow–he likes it, it’s a sort of intimacy different from the rough and overt sexuality of some encounters that she’d initiated. Elements of trust, safety, and the implied security that Amanda must have felt to fall asleep next to him when they were done. If he had to choose a favorite form of contact, the slower, sweeter touches were what he gravitated to. His partner on the other hand….

Surely she might be waiting for him to initiate something along those lines now? She doesn’t usually go so long without starting something, or asking him if he wants to start.

Amanda’s in the bath now, and he’d love to join her, but if he does, the heat will make his environmental sensors buzz pleasantly, and he’ll get as close to ‘tired’ as a synthetic can get. And he does like simply….sharing the space with her, sometimes even squeezing in on the same side of the tub so she can snuggle into his chest and doze in lavender bubbles….

But perhaps she’s not the only one who may be a little–on edge.

He’s been watching her eagerly all day, looking for those minute little signs of dilated eyes, of biting her lip, watching him when he’s unaware. But nothing. Nothing different other than the usual beauty in the curve of body, the smooth muscles of her arms, and the scars across her here and there, the way her tattoos seem so much part of her that she could have been born with them, the contrast of her bright hair and pale chest against that low slung shirt she had on today. the first of the freckles over her heart visible, that constellation he loves to trace with his lips softly before and after giving attention to her breasts, or kissing up her stomach from between her legs, sharp hipbones and too-thin belly that makes him worry she’s not eating enough again.

Gods he could get lost in her. Shape of her mouth as she pouts, not really, it’s just her resting face but it looks so distraught that he finds himself wanting to make her smile even though he finds her distressingly beautiful regardless, her peach lips soft against his artificial skin–his surface fully laced with nerves, adjusting sensitivity to something close to a human, but sometimes, sometimes making it even higher to feel the exact imprint of her lips on his, on his chest, on the ugly ‘scar’ on his back where he had been torn open for make shift repairs on that same trip that gave her so many of her own scars. Her lips around his member, guilt eating at his core becuase she wasn’t getting anything out of this other than a sense of secondhand pleasure.

The faux muscles of his stomach tense as he recalls the memory of her kissing down them, lightly, lower, and lower, down his shaft to the very tip of his head before her tongue slipped under it and her mouth closed around him.

He could draw her fingerprints from how committed to memory her touch was.

If she knew the depths to which he adored her she’d recoil immediately, having told him to put a stop to worshipping her, to the hero idolatry but it was impossible to deny it in his mind, that for as short of a time as he was anything nearing sentient, she has been the center of his universe for most of it.

And she’s relaxing in their bath now, and if he doesn’t bloody do something she’ll fall asleep not knowing that he’s been looking for her all day.

“Chris?” she sits up in the bath, no shame between them, her breasts visible from under the foam. “You didn’t even knock?”

“I can explain.”

“Did you want to join me?”

“Not…exactly, I just thought that if you’re in the mood for a bath, perhaps,” he looks for words as he’d rather articulate the art of water droplets sliding down her skin. “You’d like a back rub?”

“A back rub.” she repeated incredulously.

“If you don’t, it’s fine, I only wondered if maybe–”

“No, no. It sounds fantastic, let me dry off first though,” she braces herself against the cool air and stands up. Mechanically he hands over her towel, trying to not look at her as she leans forward to dry her hair first. She’s quite flexible, he’s learned, delightfully, fantastically flexible.

“Ri-ight.”

“The couch or the bed?”

“What?”

“Back rub. You do mine and i’ll do yours?”

“Sounds fantastic, and…couch? That works.”

“Give me a minute, babe.”

“Of course.”

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“Oh, er, sorry.” he makes a motion to walk away, and when she says nothing else, he keeps going, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt in the mean time.

“I’m all yours,” Amanda standing, in her underwear and nothing else sits in front of him on their couch, and Samuels has to remind himself that her bra would have only gotten in the way of a back rub and that’s the only reason she hasn’t put one back on yet.

“Right…” She melts across his lap as he gets to work on this thing he’s done a dozen plus times for her, working out knots as she hums softly. Now what, now what to do, she can’t see him, but he doesn’t want to take liberties either, so he starts by trailing lower down her spine.

Or he could just activate one tiny line of code and she’d feel it with a positive or negative reaction or—

“Amy?”

“Yeah? Don’t stop…”

He doesn’t, but continues talking.

“I couldn’t help but notice that today you didn’t….seem–”

“To notice your bedroom-eyes attempts to seduce me?”

“WHat? No, no! I was–I was going to say that I was watching you and–I wasn’t trying to–oh.. Oh, no. If I’ve done this wrong–”

“Fuck, you’re cute,” she gets up, looks at him as if she was sizing up a difficult broken bit of equipment. “Do you want to keep trying, or get right to it?”

“Well you didn’t–leave much to…”

“I figured it would take you long enough to get just my underwear off,”

“Your confidence in my abilities does wonders for my self image,” he reaches for her, but she inches back.

“Not yet, keep going. Get me in the mood.”

“But–But your eyes are dilating and your heart beat is–”

“Physically I might be turned on but I mean mentally. You’re cute. Let’s see how much farther you can get.”

“Do…Do I lose if I don’t do it right?”

“No! Chris, if you want to learn this sort of shit, I’ll help but I’m not. I’m not going to tell you, you can’t have what you want until you’re perfect. It’s okay.”

“In that case, take off the pants. I want to see you.”

“Bossy. Works for you,” she starts to wriggle out of them gracelessly, but they’re not on the floor when she looks up to meet his eyes: “Yours too.”

“Only fair,” he pulls his shirt over his head, and pushes down his joggers. Amanda doesn’t ask for him to lose the boxers too, he’s amusingly shy about total nudity outside of their room.

“Now what?”

“Do I have permission first, to do several things in short succession that I don’t…typically do without telling you first?”

“Chris, full flat out hell yes to whatever’s in your–” he at her side, arm under her knees and another supporting her back as he scoops her up in one fast movement, “—mind.”

“I’m going to take you to bed,”

“Okay…” he walks her down the hall and into their room, dropping her softly on the bed; she catches sight of the erection forming beneath the cotton boxers with a grin and a sense that she should have called him out on his randy mood hours ago.

“Now….” he looks much less sure of himself than his voice presents. “Mrs. Samuels.”

“Mr. Ripley.” she leans back onto the bed, looking up at him. He’s tall, but so is she and she doesn’t fully appreciate it enough.

“Do you want….me to do this or,”

“Or what?” she tries, help the poor bastard a little.

“To quote you, would you rather you ‘fucked out my batteries?’”

“Get.” She hissed at him as he gingerly stepped out of his boxers, and turned off the lamp. “Down here….now.”

“Did I do it right?”

“Oh fuck, Chris, either you did or I’m just weak for your cute shit, come here,”

They don’t usually start with him on top of her, but she looks worn out already, and after watching her slide her own fingers into herself and out, he settles a fraction of his weight on her, she’s wet enough that he fills her easily, and she wraps her limbs around him tight as she can.

“So…successful?” he kisses her mouth softly before she can answer, it’s chastity a strong contrast to her clenching around him.

“Absolutely,” she answers, softly, truthfully, rocking her hips to his to encourage him to start, and when she does she sinks into the pillow, wide content grin, only for moments though as he starts to draw sounds from her throat she’s never heard herself make before she was with him.

#outreotter

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heartofsnark · 5 years

Text

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Seven): There’s a dog in your heart

Notes: Okay, I hate to do this, but I think following this chapter there will be a hiatus for this fic. This chapter took a lot out of me and left me drained, I’ve fallen behind on writing chapters. So, I think I’m going to take a break, get some motivation back, and get some more chapters done in advanced. Thank you all for the support and I hope it won’t be too long before I’m coming back to you with some more chapters.

Word Count: 13,273

Warnings: POV Switches, Panic Attacks, Angry Outbursts, Drinking, Drunk Kisses, Masturbation, Wasted Pastries

Missed the last chapter? Link Here!

Tsuneko sighs as she takes a seat on the bus, mostly empty at this early hour. She checks her texts; two from Chisato and one from Sakiko. No messages from Shinobu, this is the longest he’s ever ignored her. She shakes off the thought, bigger problems.

2:25am

Chisato: Np I’ll take care of kiyo, is something wrong tho? Are you working this late???

7:35am

Chisato: Is something up, you’re never been this late.

7:29am

Sakiko: where r u? erika is pissed u ok?

They must have been working or in a meeting when they messaged her, they didn’t have to check on her. She made Chisato take care of Kiyohito in the middle of the night and made them both worry. She sighs and sends them both quick messages.

Tsuneko: Thanks so much, sorry for the trouble. I’m fine. I’ll be there soon.

She searches for a moment before choosing an animated Cinnamoroll sticker that says sorry with the little mascot looking down in shame.

Tsuneko: I’m headed that way, I’ll deal with Erika, don’t stress.

Sakiko gets another animated Cinnamoroll sticker of him flying that says on my way. It’s something small but the little stickers make her happy, kill her in micro-transactions, but it’s worth it to make her conversations that much cuter.

Her stomach growls and she slumps further into her seat when a few people stare. Once she’s back she needs to check on Kiyo again for the morning and then hurry her ass into work before Ichinomiya can call her out on being late.

She opens up Monster Lovers, romancing her favorite snake boy as she waits for the bus to reach the stop nearest the Tres Spades. He’s still acting cold towards her, he’s a kuudere brat and she’d hit him if she didn’t want to kiss him.

The bus reaches the stop just as she’s reaching a rare soft moment with Tatsumi in his story. She tucks the phone away and gets off, her movements are slow and groggy. Lately, her life just seems to be just one panic attack after another and it’s taking a toll.

She’s exhausted, it’s like she’s trudging through tar with leaden limbs. Everything is just a half-hearted slow drag of movement.

A heavy yawn escapes her as she makes it into her dorm to check on Kiyo. He’s sleeping and has plenty of food to last him, Chisato made sure he’d be taken care of just in case.

She’s content to head back to the hotel when something catches her eye, a bright pink sticky note on her counter. It’s not one of hers, it’s the basic kind found at dollar stores over the cutesy stuff she keeps around. The little note is stuck on top of a large pack of raspberry Kit-Kats.

Sweets to keep your energy up!~

-Chisato

Chisato thinks Tsuneko is just working extremely late shifts for the penthouse guests, she was texted randomly in the middle of the night and not only took care of Kiyo, but wanted to watch out for Tsuneko too. She didn’t have to do that. Neither of them had to check in on her or worry. Tsuneko isn’t sure what they see in her and it’s only a matter of time only they realize she’s not worth the energy, but for now she’ll enjoy it.

She’s not sure when she started crying, but her face is wet as she devours the food. The taste soothing and sweet, she swallows down what’s left and guzzles down a soda.

Tsuneko grabs a quick shower, tears washing down the drain with the water, and throws on some clothes before rushing back to the hotel. The candy seems to have done the trick, if only for a moment she’s able to run and bustle.

The locker room is vacant, Ichinomiya didn’t schedule or mention any events, so at the very least it’s a normal workday. She throws on a uniform and pulls her hair back. She’ll go to the penthouse first, make sure Ichinomiya doesn’t think she skipped out on work.

She closes her locker with a harder slam than needed and jerks back when she nearly runs into Erika. The head maid is alone at the moment, not a twin in sight, eyebrows furrowed and hands on her hips.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Tsuneko’s nerves are already frayed and Erika’s shrill voice is only making matters worse.

“Look-”

“Do you think just because Mr. Ichinomiya likes you that you can just start slacking off?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m late, but I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.”

“You’re not in the mood for this!?”

“I said I’m sorry, can you just let go, right now.”

“You just got a major promotion, you can’t afford to stop pulling your weight around here!”

“If you’re that fuckin’ worried, stop bitching at me and go do your own work!”

“Excuse you!?”

“Oh my god, would you get off my dick!? I’ve literally never been this late before! I’ve never taken sick days, I’ve never taken a vacation day, and I work over time and cover everyone else’s shifts when they need it! I had one bad day out of a year, excuse the fuck out of me.”

Erika chews her lip and the tension in her face seems to ease for a moment, her eyes soft but her voice stays sharp.

“What the hell is in your tongue?”

Tsuneko narrows her eyes, confused for a second, then she feels the metal of her tongue piercing click against the roof of her mouth. Shit, shit, she forgot to take that out.

“Uhhhh…that would be my tongue ring, which will be removed right stat now.”

“Don’t be so careless, what if a guest had seen that,” Erika grumbles, her face turning red with irritation as Tsuneko removes the piercing.

“So, we’re good now?” Tsuneko sticks her tongue out after dropping the piercing in her pocket.

“Whatever, just get to work.” Erika turns, her cheeks turning a slightly deeper red, and starts to rush out.

“Would have gotten to work ten minutes ago if someone wasn’t yelling at me,” Tsuneko taunts as she trails after the head maid.

“Yeah and someone would have saw that ring in your tongue.”

“Still would have been working.” Tsuneko shrugs as they leave the locker room, going their separate ways to work.

She grabs her work schedule and a cleaning cart. The penthouse is notably vacant when she arrives, Kishi is the only person she sees and he’s sleeping on a couch. She’s able to quickly clean the lounge, the only noise is the old man’s chainsaw volume snoring. While irritating, it’s still preferable to the teasing and threats of the bidders.

The lounge and suites are clean, she manages to escape the place unscathed for the day. Just a small comfort in the hell of her life. She leans her weight against the back of the elevator as it descends downward, fiddling with the good luck charm still in her pocket. She’ll have worn a hole in the fabric by the time she gets it back to its owner, if she ever manages to do that.

She needs to apologize to Chisato and Sakiko properly, she made them worry. Maybe she’ll treat them to that bakery at lunch. She’ll need to apologize to the Hatter too, for running out in the morning without any notice. He still hasn’t shown her anything to do with the auctions either, other than rambling about a few items.

Her throat tightens for the millionth time it seems. Her gaze lingers to her hand, she didn’t bother to bandage it this morning, the skin has closed and she was in a hurry after all. The small cuts across her fingers are just a faint pink mark away, almost nothing than but a memory. As expected there still a large angry red scar across the middle of her palm. The bruises on her face are mostly gone as well, having turned to a faint yellowing color. She doesn’t bother paying special attention to it with makeup anymore.

A lot of the physical reminders of that night are fading, but just the thought of the auctions puts her right back there. It’s cruel of them, to make her go back to the place and event that ruined her life. But, she can’t expect anything less than cruelty from them, now can she.

She has to see this as just another part of work; compartmentalizing and burying her feelings are key points in her limited skill set. Maybe if she tried walking the stage without the auctions going on it would help? Just having a memory of it not attached to that night, or at least get the initial panic attacks out of being there again.

The elevator comes to a stop and she gets back to work. It’s the usual monotony of her job, that lets her just focus on doing things without those dangerous hurtful thoughts creeping in. Making beds, cleaning bathrooms, restocking amenities, delivering brochures and answering guest questions. It’s all muscle memory at this point, allowing her to block out every intrusive thought and operate on autopilot.

She gets through to lunch break; Chisato and Sakiko are getting in line to buy food. Tsuneko tentatively walks up behind them, poking them both in the sides, snickering when they both jump.

“Tsuneko, you made it in!” Sakiko is the first to talk, as usual.

“Yeah, sorry for the worries, and,” she looks to Chisato, “thanks for taking care of you know who.”

“It’s no problem, but were they making you work that late?”

“Uh, not quite don’t worry about it.”

“Tsuneko, you already work a lot, even V.I.P’s can’t expect you to work that late. You’ll run yourself ragged.”

“I’m fine really.”

“Hmmm,” a smug grin pulls at Sakiko’s lips, “Mr. Ichinomiya wants you working late into the night, hmm.”

“You want me to treat you for lunch Chisato?”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Hey, I’m invited too, right?”

“You hear something, Chisato?”

“The A.C must have kicked on.”

“Don’t ignore me!”

“C’mon there’s a bakery I wanna go to.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Tsuneko and Chisato start the walk out of the lunchroom, not paying mind to the flustered Sakiko.

“Hey! I want free food too,” Sakiko whines before following after them, knowing despite their jokes she’s more than welcomed to come along.

Tsuneko leads the two of them to Parolee, there’s a cute girl at the register. She doesn’t see the cute boy from last time, but there are worse things in life. They each pick out a treat and a drink before tucking themselves away at a table.

She’ll finish up her shift, walk the stage, and then take a visit to Wonderland. She’s memorized most of the items; she figures the Hatter will be taking over most of the descriptions given that’s more of his expertise than hers. She doesn’t want to go near that stage, but there’s no way to fight it. She’s been getting bold enough as is given that Oh is more than willing to end her life.

She’d rather die on her own terms. A silly distinction it might seem, death is death after all. But it’s important to her. That’s the one thing she’s sticking to, no matter what. If she wins the bet….she knows making a genuine attempt to get her life back on track is the best choice, logically. But, even when she was in University, even when her life was on track she wasn’t happy. She hasn’t been happy since she was nine, a few bright spots now and again, but she can’t say she’s ever been a happy person. If she’s going to be miserable no matter what, is there any point? She always thought if she graduated top of her class, passed the bar, became a lawyer, and finally made something of herself she’d be happy. But, now she’s not so sure. Every setback and time her goals get crushed, she feels like it’s all for nothing.

Maybe the gloomy situation is just getting to her, she’s been like this before, and she thinks she’s been like this since the expulsion. The bet and kidnapping just cranked it up to eleven. It was during that time between university and the Tres Spades that she first bought the rope.

If she does make that decision, she’ll take care of everything she needs to first, make sure everything will be taken care of before she goes. She doesn’t want to leave a mess behind her. She’d have to find Kiyo a new home and have some uncomfortable talks with her family. There a lot of things her dad deserves to know, from her directly and not from some posthumous investigation. Some final words to those she cares about, lots of apologies for being who she is.

Once that’s taken care of it shouldn’t be too hard on anyone, most people will probably be thank-

“Tsuneko!”

Sakiko’s yell makes her jolt in her seat, knee banging against the table. Sakiko and Chisato are looking at her like she’s a wounded puppy and her stomach knots. They’re both half way through their desserts, Tsuneko’s tiramisu is mostly gone and the taste of espresso in her mouth tells her that she’s been mindlessly eating with every depressive thought.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t said a word; you’ve just been zoned out and jittery.”

“Seriously, your leg has been bouncing nonstop. You were making the table shake so much I thought my drink was gonna spill.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tsuneko rubs a hand over her face, “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“Maybe you should consider taking tomorrow off,” Chisao offers as Tsuneko downs her water, when did her throat get so dry?

“No can do. Big promotion, can’t slack, all of that jazz.”

“Tsuneko, I’m saying this as your friend,” Sakiko’s voice is soft, “you look like shit.”

“Thanks asshole.”

“She’s right Tsuneko, you’re getting bags under your eyes and, I mean, you look like you’re a second away from a breakdown.”

“Pffft, I’ve been a mess since day one, it’s nothing new.”

“You need to take care of yourself Tsuneko, I know the penthouse guests must expect a lot from you, but running yourself ragged isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Hey, Yayoi still owes you for taking over the day you got hurt right?”

“I guess,” Tsuneko grumbles, she wasn’t even meant to be working the day she was sold. How she has such shit luck is a mystery.

“She’s on night shift tomorrow, why don’t you switch with her. You can relax tonight and sleep in tomorrow, but you’ll still be working.”

Night shift in general is easier, given most guests are sleeping. It’s mainly cleaning the lobby, halls, etc. It’s quieter and minimal customer interactions. Would Ichinomiya call that avoiding work? As long as she cleans the penthouse suites when she first arrives in the late evening, it should be fine.

“If I say yes, will you shut up?”

“For now,” Sakiko offers before taking another bite of her cake.

She ordered the strawberry shortcake the same kind Ichinomya and Tsuneko had to share last time they were here. The red strawberry on top has been put off to the side, before Tsuneko realizes what she’s doing she’s grabbed it and takes a bite.

“Hey! I was saving that!”

“Snooze you lose.”

“I didn’t even say anything stupid!”

“Everything you say is stupid by default.”

“That’s not even fair.”

“That’s life.” Tsuneko shrugs, eating the last of her dessert.

“You two ready to head back?”

“I wanna buy some stuff to go, you wanna get something for Itsuki? I’ll buy.”

“Sounds good.” Chisato’s smile brightens at the mention of treating her girlfriend. Tsuneko has only met Itsuki a few times, but each time her and Chisato are together they’re nauseatingly in love.

Tsuneko looks at the display of treats, she prattles off the name of everything that catches her eye. If she’s going to be forced to take a break, possibly earn the ire of Ichinomiya, then she’s going to spend the night stuffing her face and drinking.

She’s still looking, about to just settle on what she’s picked, when fresh cupcakes are being placed into the display. Soft yellow cake with white meringue frosting, the little placard says lemon chiffon cupcakes. The Hatter would probably like those, given his like of the pie, maybe if she bought a few he’d forgive her for just bailing this morning.

She starts to look up, meeting soft brown gray eyes. It’s the boy from last time, tucking sweets away into the case. A smile pulls at her lips, seeing a cute familiar face. His face flushes up to the tip of his ears and he jolts to stand up.

“Do you know her, Rin?” The cashier asks him, smiling as he tries to cover his ears.

“She’s just the girl who came in here fighting with her boyfriend over cake.”

“Hey,” her face twists in disgust, “he is not-“

“Tsuneko, we’re gonna be late, hurry up!”

“Okay, that’ll be all then.”

Tsuneko gets out her card as her order is all boxed up, pays, and they head back to the hotel in a hurry. She’s a little upset she couldn’t clear up the misunderstanding about Ichinomiya or grab the cupcakes for the Hatter.

They make it back to the hotel, Tsuneko hands Chisato the box of macaroons she picked out for Itsuki, tucking the rest into her locker to take home later before heading back to work. The rest of the work day passes by easily enough; a few guests point out she looks sick, but nothing else of note.

She’s finished the last room on her schedule and takes a deep breath, calming her nerves before she ventures to the auction stage. Her hands wring together, her heart is already racing.

She counts off seconds to track her breathing as she takes the stairs to the lower level. Tsuneko focuses on her senses, the only way to push through the panic, to stay off those trains of thought.

The in and out of her breaths, the click of her heels against each step, her uniform clenched under her fists, and her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Her chest grows tight when the scenery gets more familiar, the path she was pushed along that night.

Gilded bars, yelling out at strangers who don’t care, fresh blood seeping through her palm and being trapped; memories and phantom sensations flood her brain.

She digs her nails into the scar on her palm, pain grounding her to reality as she pushes forward towards that stage.

Her heart beat is like a pounding drum beat in her ears, drowning out every other bit of noise. She can’t even hear herself counting seconds.

The backstage is a ghost town, not the same bustle of activity. A quick glance up shows her the hook and suspension system that was used to hang her over the stage and bile rises in the back of her throat.

There’s no gilded birdcage and she wonders if it’s back in storage, is it still stained with her blood or did it get washed off? It must have been someone’s job to mop up her blood and remove all traces of what was done to her.

Another deep breath and a stab of her nails into her hand, a burst of pain to lead the way onto the actual stage.

No lights or audience now, just rows upon rows of empty red velvet seats. There’s well over a hundred, maybe closer to five-hundred or so, she’s not sure. It would take her too long to count.

All of those seats that night were filled, hundreds of people watching her torment with pride. Hundreds of possible buyers, each watching and thinking of just how they could use her if the money was right.

What if someone else would have bought her? That creepy man from that auction night or god knows who else. She could have ended up in someone’s basement, dead or worse and those people would have just moved on like she’d never been there.

And for what fucking reason?

It’s all so fucking senseless. It’s just rich pieces of shit getting together to waste money on things they’re not supposed to have, because it makes them feel special.

She’s a mess, suffering, struggling, hurt and looking for any escape because a hoard of rich people wanted a thrill.

She was already fucking up her own life, but apparently not fast enough, because the rich assholes came in to speed the process up.

Fuck, she can still feel them all looking at her, staring and gawking. Hundreds of people waiting and eager for the chance to hurt her, own her. Her greatest value has been just how much someone’s willing to pay to break her.

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The Hatter hums, the sound soft and cheerful in his throat. He’s ventured outside of Wonderland, in search of Cheshire. She’s gone for one of her walks and he’d like to have her back in time for the tea party. The floor where the auctions are held are the furthest he’s willing to stray from his safe haven of Wonderland. That is when they’re not being used for other events.

He likes the storeroom, looking over every potential item and finding the perfect description. Connecting to the items, letting them tell him their stories. It’s like magic, bringing every little thing to life with nothing but his words.

He likes being on stage for auctions, performing and everyone’s eyes on him. Seeing their intrigue, how they hang on his every word. He can feel every emotional shift, the impact of his words on every person in the crowd. The stage is his second home after Wonderland.

But, he can’t say he likes people in any other context, not really. He knows he’s odd, strange and unwanted by everyone’s standards.

Except Alice’s.

There’s an extra bounce in his step and his humming gets louder, just the thought of her makes his entire being lights up.

He waited so long for his Alice, someone who’d accept him.

He was sad to see her gone this morning, but he knows she has other responsibilities. He’s found his Alice, but she’s not his alone. A part of him, the majority of him, wants her to stay in Wonderland with him forever. Wonderland is always beautiful, filled with only the best of things, but it seems to brighten up even more when Alice is there.

For that fact alone, he’ll accept sharing her. He’d rather have her some of the time than none of it. Despite her responsibilities, she always returns and as long as that continues, he can be happy.

He’s always preferred and sought out eternal joys. Painted roses never wilt, in Wonderland he can have the best parts of life with none of the pain or hurt regular life comes with. But, perhaps he can learn to appreciate more temporary forms of happiness. Maybe cloudy days make the sun shine brighter?

Maybe going without her just means he’s that much happier when she comes back?

He’d still prefer to have her forever, the sun, the roses, and everything else beautiful forever. But, some compromises must be made he supposes.

He finds himself wandering near the auction room, perhaps Cheshire got curious about where he goes for those nights and wanted to investigate it, she’s a curious girl after all.

The Hatter nearly avoids tripping over the steps to the back stage when the sobs echo from the main stage. He freezes, his entire existence seized in an ice cold grip. Someone else is here. Who else would be here? Should he leave?

The wails and whimpering cries sound like a mix between a banshee and wounded animal. Pure pain echoing through every noise as he inches close to the curtains, to see who it could be.

Sitting curled up with knees to her is a woman in a maid uniform, from behind he can see a tied up mess of chocolate brown hair but not a face, despite this he knows who it is.

“Alice….?”

She doesn’t respond, just sniveling and whimpering against her own knees. Her body trembles with the force of her cries. He walks closer, her hands are clutched tight to her temples, leaving angry red lines across the skin and knotting her hair.

Why is she so upset? They had so much fun in Wonderland last night; she should be happy, right? It must be something else; she left Wonderland and got hurt. His heart twists painfully in his chest. If she stayed in Wonderland with him, this wouldn’t happen.

He gently brings himself down on one knee in front of her and brushes his fingers over one of her hands. That forces a response, Alice jolting like he’s burnt her and the pain in his chest doubles. Why would she not want him to touch her?

She looks up at him, the pain in her heart triples, no quadruples. He can’t keep track, he just knows it hurts. Her face is red and splotchy; her eyes swollen, her nose is running, her lip is quivering, and a waterfall of tears run down her face.

Wet amaranth eyes stare up at him; she blinks a few more tears join the downpour. He doesn’t like this, seeing her like this, it hurts. There’s a vice grip around his heart. He stares back for a moment, just taking in the pain on her face. He touches her again, placing his hand against her cheek. The warmth of her skin seeps through his gloves and she leans into the touch this time, like she’s desperate for the contact.

“What’s wrong Alice? Why are you crying?” He asks, a pout on his lips and his head tilting just so.

“I-uh…”

Her voice cracks and she breaks eye contact. His Alice isn’t beautiful, not right now, her brightness dimmed by pain. Bile churns in his stomach, he doesn’t like this. Everything is supposed to be happy. Wonderland is meant to be happy, even happier with Alice, but she’s suffering and he doesn’t know why.

“Your tears are not beautiful.”

Her entire body tenses, her knees curling closer to her chest, like she’s trying to be smaller.

“What….?”

Her voice has never sounded so fragile, as if the softest of touches could shatter her very being.

“They’re like fake diamonds, cheap pearls. I...can’t bear to look at them.” He looks away from her, grimacing as bile builds in the back of his throat.

“I-“

“Tears do not belong in Wonderland.”

He doesn’t have time to take another breath before she pushes him back onto his butt. Alice rises to her feet and stands over him. He swallows hard staring up at her; her eyes aren’t soft or sad anymore. They’re harsh and angry, his skin feels hot, like the fury and hatred in her is burning through him.

“Is that what you care about?!”

He tries scooting further away as she steps closer, feeling like prey about to be devoured. It’s been so long, he almost forgot what it felt like to be looked at with so much hate and disgust. He can’t speak, every word caught in his throat. Even if he could speak, she has no intention of listening.

“Well, I’m so fucking sorry, that I can’t be pretty while my life is falling apart. Do you even get that? Or are you so deep in your own bullshit that you can’t even understand that you helped destroy my life!”

Tears start falling again. She rubs them off, forceful enough to leave red marks across her eyes. She crouches down, hovering over his sprawled out body, so she can look him in the eyes again. There’s a shift, hot rage becoming cold fury. She’s a viper about to strike.

“You were so excited, weren’t you? That night, when you finally met me, your Alice, the chance to complete your little fantasy, right?”

Her tone is saccharine and she pauses like she’s waiting for an answer. He nods, softly, unable to speak.

“That was one of the worst days of my life,” she snarls at him, “Everyone involved, including you, ruined my life…and no one cares… “

Her voice breaks and a fresh outburst of tears make their way down her face. She sniffles and stands up straight before rubbing the heel of her hand to her eyes.

“Fuck, you’re no better than those penthouse assholes. The only thing you people care about is yourselves; I’m just another person to use. You don’t give a damn about me, the only thing you wanted was someone to play Alice. Someone to feed into your bullshit and look pretty while they do it. That’s all you fuckin’ wanted…and I actually thought- I’m an idiot.”

A heavy sigh escapes her and with it all the emotion seems to drain, a tired shell standing where Alice once was. Her heels click against the stage as she turns to leave, heading back off the stage.

She’s leaving.

She’s leaving him.

She’s leaving him and he doesn’t know how to stop her.

“Ali-!”

“Tsuneko! For fucks sake, my name is Tsuneko! This is exactly the shit I’m talking about; you can’t just rename me and expect me to fall in line with your fantasy crap! You just do whatever you want, expect everyone to play along, then pout if you don’t get what you want! There’s a reason you’re alone, dumbass.”

She disappears back behind the curtain to the backstage, her steps echoing as she leaves. His eyes sting, tears streak down his face and fade his makeup. He tucks his knees under his chin, hugging himself tight.

He finally found his Alice and he’s already driven her away. Maybe he was stupid to think anyone would want to stay with him.

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The door to Tsuneko’s dorm slams shut behind her and she throws the box of desserts down on her counter, which shakes when her foot collides with it. She screams out and kicks it again, her hands knot and pull at her hair. Her body feels like it’s on fire, tears and anxiety replaced with rage. She knocks her fists against her own skull, the pain and feeling of hurting something even herself is cathartic in the moment. So, she does it again and again.

She’s an idiot, a fucking idiot. Clinging to the idea that some stranger in makeup gave a damn about her, how could she be so pathetic? The second she was vulnerable, the second she wasn’t pretty enough, the second she wasn’t what he wanted he insulted her. Her tears don’t belong in Wonderland. She rips open her fridge, she needs alcohol, something to shut her down.

Tsuneko isn’t supposed to cry when everything is crashing down around her because god forbid she’s ugly for second. She cracks open a bottle of honey flavored vodka, what right does he even have to criticize her appearance? He runs around dressed up in some harlequin Tim Burton costume, but her tears are ugly.

She takes a heavy swig of her drink; it’s sweet on her tongue and burns down her throat, before putting it aside to get Kiyo out of his cage. It’s best to take care of him before she’s completely out of her mind drunk. She makes sure to keep her movement gentle and steady, coddling him before putting him down. He scurries out, finding a stuffed animal to play with. She cleans up his cage, restocks his food, and water.

He bounces after her as she walks back to the kitchenette area, bottle in hand. Another gulp and swallow, before she unboxes the goodies. She opens the top of the box with her fruit sponge cake roll and her eyes widen, just next to it in the corner is a little lemon chiffon cupcake. It’s nowhere on her receipts and she knows she didn’t buy it, Rin from the shop must have thrown it in because she was eyeing it.

She runs a hand back through her hair, tugging out the knots she finds. The cupcakes she wanted to give to the Hatter. A huff of hair escapes her lips, it’s a sweet gesture on Rin’s part, but it pisses her off. She swallows down vodka until she needs a breath then puts the desserts away.

Tsuneko crams the bonus cupcake in her mouth; her feelings keep it from tasting as sweet as it should. But, as long as the Hatter doesn’t have it, she’s fine with it. Eating a cupcake out of spite, that’s what she’s become.

She sits down on her little living room floor and washes the cake down with another gulp of vodka. Kiyo plops down in her lap and she idly scratches him as she drinks.

“Uhhh,” she groans out as the burn of it settles in her stomach, “I’m fuckin’ stupid, you know that Kiyo.”

He makes a soft dooking noise and chews on her sleeve, she takes another drink.

“I let him see me like that and I actually thought he’d comfort me, fuckin’ stupid. No one likes a crybaby…Not allowed to cry, can’t break down, can’t be ugly, can’t be pathetic.”

She takes another drink, her face is starting to flush and she’s nearing the bottom of the bottle. Her head lolls back against the seat of her couch, a soft sigh escapes her lips.

“I just wanted someone I could be comfortable with even just a little bit, but no. No one wants a crybaby, no one wants a burden.”

Kiyo nuzzles against her hand and she thinks about the Hatter, alone with only Cheshire as a friend. It’s been just him and Cheshire for four years. It’s just been her and Kiyo for almost one year. He hid himself away in Wonderland away from everyone and he’s desperate to keep his little fantasy world intact, hurting her for it. She thought she could be safe with him…because he’s so disconnected from reality, barely human.

But, that’s wrong to think, isn’t it?

Of course he’s human and just like every other human; he doesn’t want to deal with her bullshit. To have expected any different, isn’t really fair is it.

She thinks to this morning. The second there was a chance of seeing him underneath the costume she ran…she didn’t want her part of the fantasy world ruined….

Is she any better than him?

He doesn’t want to see her ugly; he wants pristine pretty Alice who suits his Wonderland fantasy. She didn’t want to see the real him, she wanted her fake Hatter who couldn’t hurt her.

And that went to shit real fast.

But, she never made him behave differently and she never insulted him for not being what she wanted, so she’s not as bad is she?

Her bottle is empty; she tosses it and grabs a different bottle, marshmallow vodka this time. She takes a few more bottles with her as she gets back to her seat, so she won’t have to move again.

He didn’t have to insult her, tell her she didn’t belong in Wonderland. But, it’s her fault too. Expecting people to comfort her is ridiculous, she’s an adult and she should know better. Should have just wiped her eyes and moved on. She needs to be stronger.

Of course, he’d be disgusted by her. Anyone would be, seeing her sniveling and pathetic. Expecting him to act any different isn’t fair. There’s a reason she keeps her guard up, she let it drop and she got hurt, that’s just life.

There’s a reason she’s alone, too.

Keeping everyone at arm’s length suits her best; hurts less when they decide they don’t want her anymore.

People only want someone for as long as they serve a purpose, what that purpose is of course varies from person to person. No one wants to deal with the gross, emotional garbage crap.

The next bottle of vodka is drained before she realizes it and she starts her third soon after. Her thoughts are getting hazier, lighter, the beauty of alcohol. Only for the night, or however long her vodka fueled stupor lasts, the deep pain in her heart is forgotten.

Kiyo nudges his hand against her hand, after she’s taken another gulp of chocolate vodka. He’s so sweet, a precious good boy trying to be here for her. She scoops him up in clumsy drunk hands nuzzling her cheek against his head.

“Ah, you’re suuuuch a good boy,” she kisses his nose, “good boys get kisses.”

He makes soft noises and she snuggles, giving him more kisses. Her body relaxes against the couch, it’s a shame Kiyo is the only good boy or girl she has around. She doesn’t have anyone else to give-

Rapid knocks against her dorm door catch her attention, making her glassy eyes go wide.

“Tsuneko, are you home?” Sakiko asks from the other side of the door.

“We came to check on you.” Chisato adds.

“I’m right here! ~” Tsuneko waves at the door as if they could see her.

“Uhh, we’re coming in.”

“Ohhhhhh kaaaaay~”

Sakiko and Chisato push open the door. They’re both in casual clothes, they look so cute, as they step into her dorm sort of apartment deal. Both of them go wide eyed when they see Tsuneko in her little vodka bottle nest.

“Hullo, Sakay and Chisaw! ~” Words slosh and slur in her mouth.

“Tsuneko, how much have you had to drink?”

“Uhhhhh,” she looks down at the bottles around her, “one….two….threee…five…two…eight, a lot.”

“This isn’t exactly what we imagined when we told you to take care of yourself,” Sakiko comments as they throw away the empty bottles.

“Why are you here?”

“We were worried about you, obviously.”

Chisato sits down beside her once they’ve cleared away the bottles. Her body is warm and comforting, Tsuneko leans her head against Chisato’s shoulder. The soft scent of fabric softener tickles her nose.

“Ahhhhhh,” she whines, “you’re toooo nice.”

“You weren’t even this drunk at your welcome party,” Sakiko says as she takes a seat.

“Well, Erika got her out of there before she got too bad, why are you nuzzling me?”

“Mmmm, warm and nice,” Tsuneko mumbles before looking up at Chisato. Tsuneko’s face is completely red, eyes glassy, and her hair a mess. But, Chisato is so pretty, short and tidy blue black hair with warm doe brown eyes. She’s beautiful and nice.

“Okay, it’s time for-AHHHH!”

Chisato yells and scrambles backwards when Tsuneko leans over to kiss her. The two of them fall back, Tsuneko still trying to steal a kiss. Chisato presses her palms against the shorter woman’s shoulders, keeping her and her lips at bay.

“What are you doing?!”

“You deserve a kiss! ~” Tsuneko beams, big smile and dimples showing. Why is Chisato so confused? It makes perfect sense. Kisses feel good, Chisato is a good person, and good people deserve good things.

“I’ll get some from Itsuki, okay?”

“Buuuuut, I wanna giiiiive kisses?”

Why doesn’t Chisato want her kisses? Aren’t her kisses good?

“I think that’s enough of that,” Sakiko hooks her hands over Tsuneko’s shoulder and pulls her back toward her chest, away from Chisato.

Tsuneko cranes her neck to look up at Sakiko, her chest is soft and warm against Tsuneko’s back. Sakiko is pretty too, long brown hair and bright honey brown eyes. She’s nice too, always sweet and bubbly no matter how much Tsuneko picks on her.

“Why are yo-MMMPH!”

Tsuneko’s lips muffle Sakiko’s question, she’s managed to twist around and throw her arms around Sakiko’s neck. Her tongue slides in easily, rubbing against Sakiko’s as she deepens it. Tsuneko shifts and pushes against the sober woman’s lips, they’re soft and her mouth still tastes faintly of sweets. A small noise, a cute soft moan, escapes the back of Sakiko’s throat and she grabs at Tsuneko’s shirt. Whether the gesture is meant to dissuade Tsuneko or anchor herself, is unclear.

The drunk half of the pair isn’t deterred, she’s intent on tasting every part of Sakiko’s mouth, delivering her reward. She tastes sweet, she’s soft, and it all feels so nice. That’s all Tsuneko wants, to feel good and make someone else feel good. She tilts and moves her lips against Sakiko’s, finding new angles to work her tongue in deeper and find any little spot she hasn’t run her tongue over yet.

A different pair of hands grab Tsuneko’s shoulders and yanks her back, disconnecting her and Sakiko’s lips. Tsuneko’s eyes open at the loss of contact, Sakiko is still on the floor, seemingly frozen. Her face is a vivid red, honey brown eyes glazed over, and her lips are spit slick. She looks so pretty and needs more kisses, Tsuneko decides in her drunken haze. But, she’s being held back by Chisato.

“Uhhh, Sakiko, you okay?” Chisato asks, voice soft and close to Tsuneko’s ear in this position. It’s pleasant, but it would probably sound even nicer if she was moaning like Sakiko did. When Tsuneko goes to twist around in order to steal a kiss from her other friend, she finds Chisato’s hands are gripping too tight for her to maneuver.

“Um, uh,” Sakiko stutters and blinks, touching her slightly swollen lips, “fuck.”

“Earth to Sakiko? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, um, I’m just shocked,” her voice cracks.

“Okay…?” Chisato grins, “Are you still straight?”

“Um, uh, I’ll get back to you on that one.”

“Ahhhhh, I want more kisses,” Tsuneko whines as Chisato drags her towards her bed.

“No more kisses, Tsuneko, you’re confusing the straights.”

“Buuuuut, I wanna kiss pretty girls! ~”

“I get that, but no more kisses tonight.” Chisato clumsily puts Tsuneko into her bed, pulling a blanket over her.

Her bed is warm and soft, nice, it feels so nice. Tsuneko pulls her pillow close to her face nuzzling against it. Her eyelids and limbs feel heavy, Chisato’s voice becomes a murmur of white noise before fading away into silence.

Warm light on her face and a dull pain in her head is what wakes Tsuneko up. She yawns and swallows, her mouth is dry. A few blinks help clear her vision and she sees a glass of water on her side table with aspirin next to it. That’s right, she groans into her pillow, Chisato and Sakiko came in while she was drunk last night.

She swallows the pills and gulps down the water, before she falls back onto her bed. It’s her warm and snuggly safe haven at the moment. Physically, she feels better after getting some decent sleep. Long easy sleeps are few and far between for her, alcohol is the easiest way to kill any dreams. But, the entire situation still makes her sick mentally and emotionally.

She knows she was too cruel with the Hatter, lashing out like a wounded animal. But, that doesn’t change the fact that any semblance of a friendship she thought could be built with him is gone. Any hopes she had of letting her guard down around him have been shot to shit. He was still an asshole and no matter how she looks at it, he saw her tragedy as a chance to benefit.

But, she was using his little fantasy character to make herself feel better, to give herself a safe place. Isn’t that kind of taking advantage of his mental illness, or problems at the very least, for her benefit?

Ugh, she doesn’t want to think, that’s the whole reason she was drinking. Her memories of last night are fuzzy, as always. She knows Chisato and Sakiko showed up, already an awful thing. Tsuneko is a messy drunk and doesn’t like other people seeing her like that. She closes her eyes and thinks on it for a bit, foggy memories of Sakiko’s lips and the sweet taste of her mouth, the warmth of her body.

“Ahhh!”

Heat shoots up Tsuneko’s face and she burrows into her pillow. She kissed Sakiko, on top of all of this bullshit, she kissed Sakiko. She must be furious. Tsuneko not only acted like a pathetic loser, she was super gross and forced a kiss a Sakiko.

She grabs her phone off the charger, bringing it under the blankets with her, back into warm safety. Sakiko and Chisato would be at work, she sends quick apologies. She seems to be apologizing a lot lately, a heavy sigh escapes her. Additionally, Shinobu still hasn’t texted her back. He’s never gone this long without talking to her, maybe he’s finally sick of her.

“Ugh.”

She tosses her phone until the floor, sick of looking at it, and looks into Kiyo’s cage from her bed. He’s sleeping, food and water still filled. At this point it feels like Chisato and Sakiko take better care of him than her. She’s beyond fucking useless.

Another groan and sigh slip out as she burrows back into her nest of comfort. This is supposed to be a self-care day, or some shit.

Tsuneko only knows a couple coping mechanisms for when she's desperately trying to shut off her brain. It's too early for more alcohol, plus she has to work tonight. Eating her emotions is nice, but she'd have to get up out of bed to raid her fridge, which sounds like a fate worse than death at the moment. Same thing with going for a run or going to a nearby gym. Her other favorite coping mechanism keeps coming to mind.

Drowning her brain in pleasure sounds a lot better than driving herself insane for the rest of her down time. Her body already feels primed for, alcohol turns her on enough to demand make out sessions, but she always wakes up feeling like her body wanted more.

She pulls her favorite soft pink body pillow under her, wrapping herself around it. Her sleep clothes are thin. The seam of the pillow case is thicker and presses against her sex through the fabric of her shorts. She's already a little wet and the first grind of her hips against the pillow sends a jolt of pleasure through her body.

Her fingers tighten around the pillowcase and she buries her face into the plush of it. She can almost imagine she's grinding against someone, hot friction against her swollen clit.

A little imagination is all it takes to feel like there's someone underneath her. Her mind turns the plush of a pillow into the firmness of a body, the thick seam into the grind of someone's hardening cock. Her hips hump harder, a steady pleasure building between her thighs and tension winding tight in her stomach.

She can envision her nails digging into someone's back, firm muscle instead of soft give. Pants and whines of pleasure muffle against her pillow. Her entire body feels hot, sweat beading across her skin, the heat amplified by the blanket covering her.

Her nipples rub against the pillow, her tank falling off her shoulders and revealing more of her. She can almost convince herself her chest is rubbing against someone else's, firmer than her own.

The fantasy partner in her head grows clearer and clearer with every frantic grind of her hips. Someone much taller, hard muscle where she's soft squish. She can just picture, a man beneath her, letting out low groans, as she grinds her slick cunt against him.

Dark hair falling into his face as sweat makes a mess of it, a flush over his handsome face, dark stormy blue eyes shut tight as she-

"Ahh!"

She kicks her pillow away like it's burned her, realization of who her fantasy man was hits her like ice water.

Oh, the man who threatened her with a gun.

She was actually fantasizing about grinding on the cock of a sexist asshole who was going to shoot her over candy.

No, no, no.

Tsuneko scrambles from the bed, she's not that fucked in the head. She can't help he's attractive and if anything it's his fault for taking his shirt off in front of her that first night. He’s confused her damn brain; it's getting it's fear and lust wires crossed.

She needs an ice cold shower, something to clear her mind and cool her libido. The sound of an engine, closer to the dormitories than usual catches her attention before she can reach the bathroom. She pushes up her window and peeks out, what’s going on? From her window she can look down at the backlot of the Tres Spades.

There’s a truck just outside the back entrance, parked but the engine running. The back trailer is open with a ramp. Two men loading items onto it, she can’t clearly see everything from her vantage point. Something glints, catching the sunlight and her heart drops. A bronze goddess statue that she’d recognize anywhere, the one with a nice rack that he showed her. Why are they loading up his stuff?

She barely has enough sense to grab her phone and shove on sneakers before she’s out the door. The elevator is too slow, she runs down the stairs jumping over several steps at a time desperate to reach the lot as soon as possible. She narrowly avoids tripping as she leaves the dormitory.

The truck trailer is closed and it’s pulls out with wheels squealing just as she reaches the lot. She tries to take a picture of the license plate. It drives off too fast for her eyes to catch it and when she checks the photo it’s too blurry. She curses under her breath as she darts into the hotel.

The Mad Hatter rarely leaves Wonderland, which means he must have run into those people. Did they hurt him? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She cuts a path to the stairs and sprints down towards Wonderland. Her foot catches on the second to final step and she goes tumbling forward, she manages to break her fall with her hands. An ache goes through her hand, but she rushes back to her feet and keeps running.

Her heart rabbits in her chest as she throws open the door to Wonderland. It’s a whiplash of relief than pain when she sees the Hatter is safe then sees the look of pain on his face. He’s sitting curled up in his chair with his knees to his chest, completely despondent, the tea room is now practically barren aside from the table and chairs. Cheshire is standing near him, mewling softly.

“Hey,” Tsuneko calls out as she rushes near him, “hey, talk to me.”

She crouches down in front of him, trying to make contact and get him to talk to her. His eyes are sad and there’s a pang in her heart.

“Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?”

He slowly shakes his head no, at least some sort of response. She chews her lip, they need to try and get this figured out. There are security cameras near the backlot, around the majority of the hotel. It might have gotten a clearer look at the truck.

She dials up Kenzaki’s phone number, her phone has a few more scuffs from her fall, at this rate it won’t be long until she needs a new one. It takes a few rings, but finally Kenzaki answers her.

“Tomori, is something wrong?” His calm complacent voice greets her.

“Yeah, um, the guest in the tea room,” Tsuneko chooses her words carefully, “he was just robbed, I saw them leaving the backlot. We have security camera there, right?”

“Hmm, that is concerning. Yes, we do, but I’ll have to contact Mr. Ichinomiya about this.”

“Uh, oh, I don’t think-“

The phone clicks as Kenzaki hangs up on her, great, now she has to deal with Ichinomiya. She lets out a heavy sigh, the Hatter’s artificially blue eyes are looking at her. There’s a mixture of pain and curiosity in her eyes. Just yesterday, she was tearing him down and now she’s trying to help him. She has to be giving the poor man whiplash from hell.

She’s still not quite ready to apologize for her outburst yesterday, especially considering he hasn’t apologized for his own comment. But, that’s not the most important thing right now. Regardless of how she feels about the Hatter, this is wrong; no one has a right to just take his things. Even if she truly hated him, she wouldn’t want him to suffer through this alone. As recent a development as it might be, she does have some empathy. She grabs a chair and pulls it up to sit next to him.

“Okay, sweetie,” she talks low and calmly, like she’s speaking to a child, “do you know who the people were that took your stuff?”

“The Dormouse and March Hare…”

Heat simmers under her skin, she’s not sure how long those two had been here, but they were here before her. They must have just been waiting for a good chance to take everything from him. The Hatter saw them as friends too, despite their despondent nature, he saw them as crucial characters in his Wonderland. He must have. And then the assholes go and rob him.

“This is why you never trust a furry,” she tries to joke, not even earning a smile from the Hatter, “or at least not the half-assed ones. I mean if you’re gonna be a furry commit, right?”

He looks up at her from his curled up position and she gives him a little smile, hoping to get him to crack up even a little bit. He’s usually so jovial, but between her verbal assaults yesterday and this, it feels like he does nothing but frown lately. After a moment, a soft smile pulls at his painted lips.

‘That’s better, now, do you know what the Dormouse and March Hare’s real names are, outside of Wonderland?”

He shakes his head no and her breath catches in her throat, he doesn’t know who those people really are? At all? This entire time he’s allowed strangers into Wonderland and just trusted them not to hurt him… He really is like a child, who puts that kind of blind trust in strangers?

“Sweetie, how exactly did you meet them?”

“They were selling dropping off items meant to sell at the auction, I offered them roles in Wonderland.”

“And they just accepted…?”

“I offered them payment.”

“You were paying them to be here?”

She bites her lip, that’s so fucking reckless. The fuckers must have gotten greedy and decided they wanted more, so they robbed him blind. They saw someone vulnerable and they jumped to take advantage. She runs a hand through her tangled mess of hair.

“Look, you can’t ju-“

“What’s going on here?”

Tsuneko’s nose wrinkles, her face contorting in disgust at that familiar voice. She managed to be free of him for a whole day and she wishes nothing more than to have stretched that time out longer.

She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of how thin her pajama shirt is. Ichinomiya strides into the room and the other penthouse guests trail after, why are they all there? She avoids looking at Oh, given recent…events.

“He was robbed, I saw the truck leave with his stuff, but I couldn’t get a look at the license plate.”

“And you were here, dressed like that?” Kisaki is the one to pipe up, staring at Tsuneko’s outfit.

She wishes she would have had the foresight to at least grab a jacket. Her white top is cropped, white, low-cut, and her lack of a bra isn’t doing her much favors. The pajama shorts are embarrassing in a whole different way, pink gingham and little strawberries decorating them. Her face burns hot with shame, but there's something far more important to worry about.

“I have the later shift; I was at home when I saw them taking his stuff from my window. Somehow trying to stop a robbery was more important than throwing on jeans.”

“And we’re all blessed for it,” Baba says with a wink and her stomach churns.

“If we could shift our focus from my tits to the crime that’s been committed, that’d be great.”

“Who would have been able to rob him?” Oh asks, his disdain for all things feminine working in her favor at the moment.

“Guys who were part of the whole Wonderland spiel. He doesn’t know their names, though.”

“What did they even take?”

Kisaki is poking around looking into rooms, his face contorted into disgust, over what she’s not sure. His face is particularly punchable at the moment.

“They took the decoration for the tea party and the stuff from my room…”

“Is that all?”

Ichinomiya’s voice is harsh and cuts like a knife, what little bit of happiness had returned to the Hatter’s eyes leaves. Her nails dig into her arms.

“Seriously, he’s just been robbed and you wanna be an asshole?”

Ichinomiya meets her glare, neither breaking eye contact.

“And what would you suggest I do?” His condescending tone makes her nails dig harder into her skin.

“Literally anything, you have security cameras for a fucking reason. Figure out who took his shit, get it back. Be nice for half a second, something.”

“If it was serious enough, he knows how to contact me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re just so easy to talk to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What would have happened if I didn’t see them taking his stuff away? Would you have ever found out?”

“I’m not his babysitter.”

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?!” She stands from her chair, nearly knocking it over and clenching her fist tight as she glares at him, “What if he got hurt? Just gonna find him down here dead, next time you needed him?”

“Pff,” he scoffs, “you’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? Do you know who those men were, ‘cause he sure as hell doesn’t! All he knows is that they were involved in one of your auctions. So, you know, real stand up guys. I mean the men who sold me were just so kind when they bashed my skull against the ground and threw me in a cage, I’m sure no one like that would hurt him!”

Her throat feels raw and Ichinomiya breaks eye contact for a moment. Whether because of annoyance or she’s managed to actually break through his thick skull, she can’t be sure. After a moment his eyes meet hers again and steps forward. She meets his gaze and stands her ground.

“I have more important things to do than watch him every second.”

“So, you’re just too damn busy to keep an eye on who’s in your hotel. What if they had gone upstairs, robbed some guests while they were at it! Or, maybe since they know about the auctions, they manage to get into the storeroom and steal some shit from there! How careless can you be?!”

“You sound like parents arguing over how to raise a child,” Baba teases and bile rises in the back of Tsuneko’s throat. Kisaki snickers and Kishi chuckles, Oh even looks vaguely amused by the comment.

“Gross.”

“Enough of this,” Ichinomiya sneers, “we’re having a dinner meeting with the Buccis, now go make yourself presentable. If you’re capable of that.”

He starts to stride out of the room and Tsuneko groans, gritting her teeth and clenching her fist tighter.

“Seriously!? You aren’t going to do anything!?”

“Don’t waste your time worrying about this, be ready in ten minutes.”

He leaves the room and Tsuneko pinches the bridge of her nose. Is he serious? His event matters more than the Hatter being robbed? Oh’s gray suit passes by in her peripheral and she focuses her eyes on the ground.

“What a waste of time.” He scoffs before leaving the room and Tsuneko bites her lip, they don’t even care about one of their own.

“I’m not staying in this creepy place for another second.”

Kisaki leaves and Tsuneko flinches as Baba puts a hand on her shoulder;why is he touching her?

“Don’t worry, just go ahead and get ready pretty lady,” he tells her before leaving and Kishi starts to follow after.

“Aren’t you a cop!?”

“Not my department.”

And just like that, the Hatter and her are left alone in Wonderland. She wants to scream, do they seriously not care? He’s a part of their little group, even if only tangentially, then again she’s not sure how much they all even care for each other. Baba and Kisaki are clear friends, same for Oh and Ichinomiya. Kishi and the Hatter are outliers. The Hatter is the weird man in the basement that none of them seem to bother with until they need him to host auctions. Kishi is some boring old guy who sleeps up there and…he has to have contributed something at some point, she assumes.

“Okay,” she spins on her feels to look at the Hatter, “they’re useless, but I’m going to try and get this sorted.”

“But…you have to help Eisuke.”

“Unfortunately, yes, as much as I wanna skip out on, that would be breaking our bet. But, I will be finished with that at some point. And in the meantime I need you to do something.”

His eyes widen and blink a few times. He tilts his head as she rummages around Wonderland, finding pen and paper in his room.

“While I’m dealing with his bullshit, I want you to write down everything you can think of that you know about the March Hare and Dormouse. The date you met them, what items they were selling that night, anything. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah…I can do that.”

He nods and starts writing stuff down. Tsuneko’s heart feels heavy and she has to resist the temptation to hug him. She needs to get this figured out for him.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Promise?” He offers his pinky finger and she hooks her own around it.

“Promise.”

She reluctantly leaves the Hatter alone in Wonderland and ventures back to her dorm. Tsuneko showers and throws together an event outfit as quick as possible before heading back to the hotel

Her brain keeps straying back to the Hatter and the robbery; if she had gotten out of bed sooner maybe she would have caught them? Maybe, if she’s lucky Kenzaki will let her look at security camera footage. But, even if she did what could she do about it? Would filing a police report even be an option? They’d probably question a strange Hatter in the hotel basement and it could lead to them discovering the auctions which are a whole different kind of shit show. Maybe, she can pretend it’s her stuff that was stolen?

“You’re late.” The curt voice of Ichinomiya makes her stop outside the hotel, in front of his limousine.

“You’re not wrong.”

Tsuneko shrugs, her mind still wandering, and Ichinomiya sighs.

“Ridiculous.”

Then he’s in her space, the scent of his cologne tickles her nose and his hands are gripping her blazer, pushing it off her shoulders. His hands are warm where they brush against her skin, heat floods her face.

“Hey!? What are you doing!?”

“It’s inside out, do you not even know how to dress yourself?” Ichinomiya sneers as he takes off her jacket, sure enough it’s inside out. Her face flushes a deeper red and she fiddles with her earring.

“I wasn’t paying attention, shut up,”

She reaches out to grab the blazer back, but he lifts it above her head and she stumbles forward, nearly falling into his chest as she tries to reach it. He smirks at her feeble attempt to get it back.

“It looks better without it.”

“Fine, whatever.”

She rolls her eyes and starts to move away when he places his other hand on her hip, pulling her tighter against him. Tsuneko presses her hand against his ribs, trying to increase the distance.

“Having fun, you two?”

Mr. Bucci’s voice rings out and Tsuneko is finally able to squirm away from the smirking Ichinomiya. Mr. Bucci is smiling pleasantly while Carolina is glaring daggers at her.

“Sorry about that,” Ichinomiya says, not a hint of remorse in his voice.

He opens the limousine the door, putting her blazer out of the way, before keeping the door open for the rest of them to file in. Ichinomiya slides into his seat, close beside her. She tries to make herself smaller and avoid any contact. He hands her his tablet, fingers stroking over her wrist as he asks her to take notes for the night.

“So, what were you two talking about earlier?” Mr. Bucci asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, like he’d caught two lovers flirting. Meanwhile Carolina is glaring at her in disgust, fair enough, the thought disgusts Tsuneko just as much.

“Nothing much, I had to correct a minor wardrobe issue, it would have been done sooner but she was running a little late.”

Tsuneko glares at him; he didn’t miss a chance to throw her under the bus, that’s for sure.

“Can’t dress herself or be on time, you should just fire her already,” Carolina huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“That reminds me,” Ichinomiya reaches into his jacket and produces a neatly wrapped box, “a gift to thank you for all your hard work, Tsuneko.”

Tsuneko narrows her eyes, he’s laying it on thick and she forces a smile as she takes the box. He watches her with that fake soft look as she opens up the box, the cat shaped watch she was looking at during the shopping trip with Carolina. The band is a soft pink color and the metal is a rose gold. It’s cute but subtly so.

“I saw you looking at it the other day; I figured it’d be practical as well.”

“You’re too nice,” Tsuneko forces a smile but she’s glaring, “I couldn’t possibly-“

“It’s the least I can do for all the work you do for me.”

If she doesn’t accept it, he’ll give her hell, this is all for his business agenda. She murmurs half hearted thanks as Ichinomiya fastens it around her wrist, making a point of skimming his fingers across her skin. Every bit of contact makes her want to lash out. They’re sitting in the back of a limousine with Ichinomiya making fake goo-goo eyes at her while the Hatter is sitting in Wonderland hurt and suffering.

She’s not sure what the relationship between the Hatter and the other bidders is exactly, but shouldn’t he come before some networking event. Carolina is still glaring as Ichinomiya steers the conversation with Mr. Bucci back to business.

Tsuneko tries to stay present enough to keep coherent notes, but they’re less detailed than last time. Her mind continually wanders back to the Hatter and what she can do about getting his stuff back.

She’s sleepwalking through the rest of the evening, she’s just focused enough to do what’s asked of her, but she doesn’t talk or respond unless absolutely needed. She tries not to bristle or avoid Ichinomiya’s fake lovey dovey too much, so not to earn any extra ire. Tsuneko doesn’t properly taste any of the food as they go through the dinner, running completely on autopilot. Mr. Bucci and Ichinomiya prattle on about business while Carolina glares daggers, getting in occasional insults at Tsuneko’s expense. Her brain continuously wanders back to the Hatter.

What if she can’t get anything back for him?

What if those robbers come back? What if he gets hurt?

She’s running through every what if and disastrous possibility and before she knows it the dinner is coming to a close and they’re all leaving the restaurant.

“Oooh,” Carolina’s eyes go wide at the sight of a designer store, “c’mon Eisuke, you can pick me out another dress!”

“I’m afraid that I have work to do back at the hotel, so Tsuneko and I will have to end the evening here. But, I’ll arrange for my driver to come back when you’ve finished your shopping.”

“Understood,” Mr. Bucci says despite Carolina’s pouting.

They go off into the store and Ichinomiya opens the limousine door for Tsuneko to slide in. He follows suit and the second the door has closed his fake smile falls away. Hazel eyes glare at Tsuneko, she digs her nails into her thighs as the car starts to move.

“That was pathetic.”

“Excuse me?”

“A brick wall had more personality than you tonight.”

“Are you actually complaining about me being quiet?”

“Your moping ruined the evening for everyone, are you still worrying about the Hatter?”

“Yes, obviously! While we’re eating some five star meal, he’s down in the basement scared, hurt, and miserable!”

“He’s an adult, he’ll be fine. I’m not going to stop everything for one incident.”

“I’m not asking you to stop everything, you dramatic fuck. I asked you do something, anything! I asked for the bare minimum and you still disappointed me!”

“I disappointed, you? Who do you think you are?”

“Someone who’s disappointed in you,” he huffs and looks away, “have you even thought about him this entire time? Those people know where he is, what if they come back, what if they hurt him?!”

“Working yourself up into a panic attack won’t help anything.”

“I’m well aware of that, so why the fuck, aren’t we there doing something that will help? Oh wait, because all you care about is your own business!”

“Yes, my business is more important than a few trinkets being stolen from the Hatter.”

“It’s not just what’s been stolen; did you see how hurt he was? He’s in a bad place and you don’t give a shit. God, I knew you were a jackass, but don’t you have an ounce of empathy?”

She rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. Ichinomiya doesn’t respond now, but the frustration and anger radiates off of him. Tsuneko understands that he needs to make money and run his company, but he just dismissed the Hatter without another thought. He could have worked something out, done something. But, no, nothing, not a single shred of kindness or empathy. The Hatter was already in a bad place, thanks to her lashing out, she thinks back to the hurt look he had as she tore into him. At the time she didn’t care, but now it’s eating her alive.

She’s hurt a lot of people in her life. She doesn’t want to do that anymore. What the Hatter said still hurts her, that he saw her vulnerable and decided to tear her down further. But, her reaction wasn’t right either. He called her an ugly crier and she tore apart his entire being. Someone pinched her and she tried to rip their throat out.

Tsuneko notices a few familiar buildings passing by the limousine, they’re near Parole and she remembers the lemon chiffon cupcakes, maybe those would lift the Hatter’s mood?

“Hey, can you stop up here?” Tsuneko asks the driver.

“What are you doing?” Ichinomiya gives her that all too familiar look of annoyance.

“I need to go to the bakery.”

“We just had dinner, are you that much of a glutton?”

“Just stop the fucking car.” Tsuneko’s voice is clipped, he’s such an asshole.

She swings the door opens and hops out before the car has come to a complete stop, but close enough and rushes to get in before they close. All she wants to do is something nice for the Hatter, even a little thing that might brighten up his garbage day.

The cute guy, Rin, is behind the counter when she comes in. He raises an eyebrow at her as she rushes over.

“You’re cutting it close again,” he comments.

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you have any more of the lemon chiffon cupcakes?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, can I get like a dozen of those?”

“Sure, you must have really liked them,” he says as he starts packing the sweets away in a box.

“They’re for my…” what exactly is the Hatter? No word she thinks of feels right, friend is too familiar. Acquaintance or someone she knows from work are too distant, “there for someone, he’s had a bad day.”

“I don’t really care,” he tells her as he rings it up, is everyone an asshole? She thinks for a moment and decides to add an iced frappuccino concoction, extra sweet stuff. Maybe that will lower Ichinomiya’s asshole threshold and he’ll be more likely to help the Hatter, catch more flies with honey and all that. She’s not fond of the idea of extending an olive branch to that man and perhaps it’s more manipulative than peaceful.

“Well, thanks for putting up with me coming in late all the time.”

She pays for the order and picks up the large box; these should bring a smile to the Hatter’s face if nothing else.

“You remind me of someone,” Rin says suddenly, staring at her for a moment.

“Really, who?”

“This stray calico cat that’s always here begging for food and is always fighting the bigger cats.”

Tsuneko’s face falls, Kisaki compares her to a dog and he compares her to a stray cat, what kind of bullshit is this?

“You’re no longer cute.”

His face flushes red up to his ears again and he tries to cover them, irritation clear.

“I’ve never been cute, shut up.”

“Are you done wasting my time?”

Ichinomiya’s voice makes her jolt, he’s standing in the doorway and glaring at them with his arms crossed over his chest. Everything about his body language makes her blood boil, she’s been here maybe five minutes.

“Yeah, I’m done, asshole.”

The insult makes Ichinomiya rolls his eyes and leave the store, she follows after him after waving a bye to Rin. The door nearly hits her in the face where she’s carrying the box and drink. Ichinomiya is walking away to where the car is parked, no concern for her.

“Do you have to be so impatient?”

“I don’t have the time or desire to watch you flirt.” He doesn’t bother to turn around, like she’s not even worth the energy to do so.

“I was trying to buy something for the Hatter, because I want to make him feel better, god why are you such an asshole!?”

“I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“Can you at least turn around and talk to me, if you’re gonna be a dick!”

“Go back to being quiet, you were less annoying.”

“You know I got this drink for you, right? As a peace offering.” Her nails dig against the cup.

“Pfft, are you so stupid you think I can be won over with a drink, pathetic.”

“My mistake,” she says before throwing it at the back of his head.

He freezes in place as it bust into a mess; whip cream, chocolate, and iced coffee slush matting in his hair before running down the back of his fancy suit. She’s reaching into the box for a cupcake as he starts to turn around.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

The dessert splatters against his chest as the question ends. Whip cream from the drink somehow made it into his bangs, threatening to drip into his glaring eyes.

“I’m sick of your shit,” she tosses another cupcake, smashing against his cheek before he can smack it away, “you’re a condescending rude asshole!”

“Are you done with your tantrum?”

“Don’t patronize me!”

"You're a child," he spits back.

"You're a selfish prat, all you care about is your damn self!"

"Maybe so, but I won’t stand for you trying to make me look like an idiot.”

"Yeah, I'm just humiliating you in front of everyone," she gestures at the empty streets, "you know, maybe it's my fault for actually expecting better from you! I should have known that someone who bought me can't show kindness to anyone, even the people in his little fucked up circle."

"Is that how you see it?"

He steps closer, glaring her down. He'd be intimidating if not for the mess of icing and whip cream smeared over his face.

"Yeah, that's how I fucking see it. You're nothing but a heartless bastard."

"Believe it or not, buying you was a kindness," he's in her space, looming over her, "do you know what kind of people could have purchased you that night?"

"I-"

His hand on her chin cuts off her words, his nails pressing into her skin as he keeps her head in place. He leans his own down, keeping eye contact. A panicky thought he might be trying to kiss her rushes through her brain. But he stops just before their noses touch, his breath hot on her face.

"Would you have been happier in some pervert’s cellar?” he pauses for a moment, “You should be thankful, I found you pitiful enough to help."

"But not pitiful enough to let me go free."

"I'm not stupid enough to throw away things I can find a use for."

"Don't act like you gave a shit about saving me that night. I don't buy it. I could drop dead tomorrow and all you'd care about is your precious little deal."

She smacks his hand away from her face and walks off, she's done with this. He seriously wants to act like he's some fucking savior, he's the reason her life has gone to such shit lately.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm walking back to the hotel."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Fuck off."

She ignores anything else he says and starts heading towards the hotel. There's a hum of an engine and slowly she sees Ichinomiya's limousine driving at a snail’s pace so the back of the car is beside her as she walks. The window rolls down, messy Ichinomiya glaring at her.

"Enough of this, get in the car."

She throws another cupcake, but he rolls up the window before it can hit him, coating the fancy car's door and glass. It rolls back down smearing and streaking the mess.

"Fine, be stubborn."

The window goes back up and the limousine drives off. Such an asshole.

Her feet are aching and she pulling off her heels to walk barefoot when she reaches the back lot. The walk isn't that far but in high heels it takes longer and leaves her with blisters.

She hobbles down the stairs to the sub-basement and knocks on the door to Wonderland.

No answer.

She knocks again, harder and faster. Her throat is tight.

No answer.

Did those people come back? Could he be hurt?

She wrenches the door open and pushes her way in.

"I'm coming in, are you-"

Her yells die in her throat as she lays eyes on a startled man. A towel around his waist, water clinging to the exposed skin. His thick dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, but the style is mostly familiar, as is his height, thin figure, and he's around the same age...as the Hatter. His dark eyes are wide as he stares at her.

Then he's gone.

#kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #eisuke ichinomiya #Soryu Oh #Mitsunari Baba #ota kisaki #mamoru kishi #rhion hatter #Voltage #black market wonderland

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changingourdestiny · 5 years

Text

Burnt Memories Part 5: These Feelings

Summary:

Blaze regains her memories of her past life - the life she had serving Uldren as a bodyguard and advisor. But the questions still remain: how is her ring linked to this, how did Uldren know about it, and how did she wind up on Earth?

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

Uldren slowly entered the arena, the ground scorched by Blaze’s flames. Blaze was sitting in the centre of the arena, still with her head hidden in her knees. Uldren spoke up, being careful not to startle her, “Well…I have to say, I never expected you to be that skilled at fighting.” Blaze just sat there in silence, refusing to even acknowledge Uldren’s presence. “You know, it’s rude to ignore someone if they’re talking to you.” No response. Uldren sighed in frustration before noticing a training dummy beside him had one of Blaze’s arrows in it. He glanced between the arrow and Blaze a few times. Jolyon, who was watching from above the arena, just sighed as facepalmed, “Don’t. Please don’t.” Uldren silently removed the arrow from the dummy, aimed at Blaze, and proceeded to throw the arrow straight at Blaze. *Whoosh!* *THWAP!* *CRUNCH!* Uldren gazed in shock at Blaze. In the blink of an eye, Blaze caught the arrow without even looking behind her and crushed it in her hand before throwing it to the side. “How did-?” Uldren began but was cut off by Blaze. “How did I know you were going to throw the arrow?” Blaze stood up and turned to face Uldren. The hair that was covering her right eye was no longer concealing it. Her right eye had no pupil or iris and was just a gradient of reds, oranges and yellows. “It’s part of the curse. One eye sees the present, the other sees the future.” “Curse?” Uldren seemed confused, and a little taken aback by Blaze’s serious tone – she was usually cheerful and happy, “What curse?” “Seriously? You never once found it weird how my markings are so different to the other Awoken? I have this curse called ‘Phyonys’s Wrath’. I can react to some things before they even happen, I can see visions on the future every once in a while, and…” Blaze glanced down at the scorch marks on the ground, causing her hair to fall in front of her right eye again, “I can do that. I can create, manipulate, and even set myself on fire without getting injured. However, the latter usually only happens when I get angry. I’ve gotten the ‘affectionate’ nickname of the Phoenix of Wrath. The other guards take one look at me and bail. Nobody wants to get burned during a sparring match…or worse…” Blaze just sighed as she turned away, “Look, forget I said anything. If you want to tell Mara that you want a different bodyguard, go ahead. I don’t blame you in fairness. It was only a matter of time before you saw the ‘monster’ everyone’s so afraid of.” … … *Whoosh!* *Thwap!* “Your highness, I just told you. I can see you throwing those before you do it.” *Whoosh!* *Thwap!* “Uldren, I’m not in the mood for games.” *Whoosh!* *Thwap!* “Uldren. I’m serious. Stop.” *Whoosh!* *Thwap!* *Whoosh!* *Thwap!* *WhooshThwapWhooshThwapWhooshThwapWhooshThwapWhooshThwapWhooshThwap-!*

“UGH!!! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!?!?!”

Blaze spun around and lunged at Uldren in a furious rage. Uldren dodged and blocked her attacks as Blaze kept trying to land a hit on Uldren. Jolyon just looked on in horror as Uldren sparred with the furious guard, “Has Uldren gone crazy? He’s going to be burned to ashes!” Jolyon’s face then shifted to confusion as Uldren briefly shot him a reassuring smirk as he countered some of Blaze’s blows. “Just what is he planning…?” An hour later… Blaze and Uldren stood several feet from each other, facing each other, both out of breath. Blaze growled as she whipped out her knife and charged at Uldren. However, Uldren quickly grabbed her arm which held her knife with one hand and held his own knife at her throat with the other. The two glared at each other for a moment before Blaze sighed in defeat and flopped backwards onto her back. “Alright, alright…I give…” she sighed, trying to catch her breath, “Geez…what was that for anyway…?” “Well, you wanted to spar with someone, didn’t you?” Uldren asked, “Also, if this fire power of yours is linked to your anger, maybe you need a healthy outlet to help control it.” Blaze sat up and looked at Uldren in surprise and confusion, “You…you’re not afraid of me…?” “What’s there to be afraid of?” “Heh…that’s a first…so…you’re okay with a living fireball being your bodyguard and advisor?” Uldren just chuckled as he extended a hand to Blaze to help her to her feet, “I can think of worse Awoken to fill the position…” Blaze took Uldren’s hand, a small blush dusting her cheeks, as the prince helped her to her feet. “If you’re up for it,” Uldren began, “Jolyon and I are going on a…how should I put it…'secret mission'. We could use an extra hand.” “Secret mission, huh?” Blaze smirked, “Sounds like fun. Count me in!” Blaze glanced down and noticed that her hand was still in Uldren’s, causing her blush to worsen. Uldren followed her gaze and seemed to notice the same thing as the two both let go at the same time, playing it off as no big deal. Uldren cleared his throat, “Well. We leave for Mars tomorrow morning. Meridian Bay.” “Y-yeah. Sounds like a plan!” “Alright then. See you tomorrow.” Uldren turned towards the arena entrance and began to leave. “H-hey, Uldren?” Blaze called after him, causing him to look over his shoulder. Blaze smiled at him – not a cocky smirk or a playful grin, but a genuine smile, “Thanks. I mean it.” Uldren seemed caught off guard for a moment before smiling, “You’re welcome.” And then proceeded to leave the arena. After Uldren was out of earshot, Blaze let out an exasperated sigh, “Whyyyyyy? I can’t feel like this…! Ugh, this sucks!” ——————————————————————— The Gate Lord towered above them. Uldren whooped and hip-fired a couple rounds into the sand at its feet. "Can you dance, sir?" he bellowed. "Have you got the footwork?" “I think Uldren’s finally lost it.” Jolyon sighed. “I think he lost it a long time ago, Jol.” Blaze laughed. Inside the Vex entity, there are mighty algorithms constructing a model of this merely temporal place, calculating potential threat, weighing the utility of weapons discharge against the good that power might do elsewhere. This computation is the only reason Uldren was still alive. The bone mic tuned to Cabal tactical channels woke up at Uldren's throat. They had localized the sound of Jolyon's rifle and Blaze’s hand cannon and were responding. He hollered up at the Vex behemoth and started to jig. "It's going to rain on Mars! It's monsoon season in Meridian Bay! Did you see the forecast?" He grabbed Jolyon and Blaze by the hands and pulled. Together, they sprinted towards the Gate Lord and its charge. The Vex machine must have known what was coming — but it had to weigh the certainty of Cabal against the tiny possibility of these micro-biotic motes slipping into the Gate. The Gate Lord raised a weapon to obliterate them. They skidded into the Gate's threshold, and Uldren activated a deflection grenade so hard, he nearly broke his thumb. A perfect sphere of topologically defective space-time blinked into being around him. He held Jolyon and Blaze close, and together they calmed their breath. The barrier was impenetrable, but it wouldn't last long. Until then there is only so much air to breathe. Outside, the full fury of a Cabal fleet carrier landed on the Gate Lord. When the barrier faded, the Gate Lord was dead, and Uldren, Blaze and Jolyon were no longer on Mars. “Well…that worked.” Jolyon muttered. “And here I was thinking this mission would be dull!” Blaze chuckled, looking up as rain poured down on the trio, “Wow…so this is the Black Garden…we should probably find someplace dry to figure out our next move…” Blaze, Uldren and Jolyon huddled together, shivering beneath a canopy of white tongues. The rain poured down. Uldren couldn't tell where it came from, exactly — somewhere up in the green mist? But the rain fell and fell; and the three turned their heads up to drink, there at the bottom of a chasm between two flower fields, where the Garden's immaculate surface divided into tropical fetor. “The flowers here sure are pretty.” Blaze commented as she gazed at one of the flower fields, “It’s kinda odd how the Vex are machines yet this place seems like it’s full of life.” "Everything grows here," Jolyon muttered, motioning to Uldren, "Look at your nails." Uldren studied his hand. He had a dreadful image of his fingernails developing into tight down-curved loops that curled around back into his fingers, completing a hideous circuit to their root. It's awful and yet it's wonderful, in a transgressive way, in a new-born screaming way. It spoke to him of new and secret things happening there. "They're dirty," he said, "but I trust you'll forgive me on that account. Rain's not letting up. Shall we move?" “Yeah.” "Aye." Jolyon hauled himself up when Blaze noticed a fistful of slithering vines on his arm, “Er, Jol? You got a lil’ something on your…” Blaze trailed off as the vines tried to coil around Jolyon’s wrist, tiny teeth shaped like letters sawing at his skin. He stared at them and jerked his arm away. "Are you all right?" "For now," Jolyon muttered. "For now." They moved down the length of the chasm, green mist swirling overhead, ankle-deep in a wet compost of flower petals and rich black soil. Wide, flat beetles with arching horns wrestled in the earth. Uldren flipped one on its back. The beetle had no interior, seen from below, it was just a hollow shell. Blaze found a Vex Goblin head covered in moss and lying on the ground and picks it up, holding it in front of her face, as she marched about in a robotic movement, repeating the phrase “I am a milk robot! All your milk are belong to us!” while mimicking a robotic voice and noises, earning a laugh from Uldren. Jolyon pulled up a fern, and its roots were the branching metallic threads of a circuit board. Tiny squirming things shaped like wet microchips milled in the exposed soil. "I don't like this place," Jolyon whispered. "We should get back to the surface…" He meant the Garden's surface, the manicured sectors of red flowers that stretch away toward a distant mesa. ‘It's far too Vex up there.’, Uldren thought, ‘They've been in here, gardening, moving earth, making walls, building their ancient constructs of stone and light, trying to tame this place.’ "It's life," he breathed. "You're right, Jol. Everything grows here…" He cannot let this place be killed. He cannot let it be looted and overthrown like everything else that doesn't fit into the narrow binary dogmas of the Traveller’s undead warriors. Excitement seized him and he ran ahead, sloshing through the muck, laughing aloud. "Uldren!" Jolyon shouted after him, "What are you looking for?" "I don't know!" he cried back. "That's what's so incredible! I can't know!” Blaze gazed at Uldren as he ran – she’d never seen Uldren this excited about anything before. With a giggle, Blaze shook away her surprise and ran after the Awoken prince, “Hey! Wait up, you dummy! I’m not letting Mara blame me for you getting shot!” As she ran after Uldren, Blaze thought to herself, ‘Maybe…even just for a while…it’s ok for me to feel this way…just for a moment…’ ——————————————————————— Those feelings, however, never left. Blaze stared out at purple, starry sky from the hanger in the Vestian Outpost. Memories of the dreams she had when training to become a member of the Royal Awoken Guard. Dreams of sailing through the stars outside the Reef, dreams of being seen as a hero in the eyes of her fellow Awoken, dreams of finally having a place to belong. But she’s never left the Reef. Most of her fellow guards are still wary of her, some calling her a monster. And yet…she feels like she does finally have a place she belongs. Not just at the Reef. But at Uldren’s side. All the feelings of loneliness, the feelings of hatred towards herself and her curse, the feelings of fear that she’ll never be good enough. Those feelings all suddenly disappear when she’s with Uldren. With him, she feels happy, at peace, and content with herself, and the fears of not being good enough and the opinions of others don’t seem to matter anymore… …she just wished she didn’t have to leave. A few days prior, Blaze received one of her visions. It flew by in a blur, but she recalled seeing a giant ship ploughing through Saturn’s rings, a large blast coming from the ship, and hundreds of Awoken ships crashing and exploding. Even if she isn’t present or involved in the vision shown to her, Blaze can see future events at random times. However, these visions can come days or months before the event happens. But upon being informed of this vision, Uldren didn’t want to take any chances. It took a while of convincing, but Uldren managed to get Mara’s permission to send Blaze to the only place he could think of where she would be safe. The Last City, planet Earth. Uldren despised Guardians as much as his sister, but he couldn’t deny that it was currently the safest place in the solar system where Blaze could stay until the tragedy that she saw in her vision passed. Blaze’s thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a presence beside her. “You know…I’ve seen the view from here hundreds upon hundreds of times.” Uldren spoke, “Yet it never seems to get old.” “Yeah. I’m really going to miss this…” Blaze sighed, continuing to stare out at the stars, “I don’t wanna leave…” “I know.” Uldren put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “But it’s only until the tragedy at Saturn passes. Then I’ll come find you. I promise.” Blaze smiled sadly, a small blush on her cheeks, as she faced Uldren, “You know, the view here…it’s only the second thing of everything I’m going to miss.” Uldren raised an eyebrow, “What’s the first?” “You.” Uldren seemed surprised for a moment, before smiling, “Well, it’s a good thing I got this then. Give me your hand.” Uldren removed his hand from Blaze’s shoulder and extended it to her. Blaze put her hand on his as Uldren pulled something out of a pocket on his belt and slipped it onto Blaze’s finger. It was a silver ring with a shiny fire agate stone in the centre that shone brightly like a flame. “I had this ring made for you. As long as you keep it with you, I’ll be right beside you…I promise.” Blaze gazed at the ring in awe, beginning to tear up a bit, “I…I actually don’t know what to say for once…thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Blaze didn’t know what exactly happened. She didn’t know who had made the first move. But she found herself in Uldren’s arms, her own wrapped behind his neck, as the two Awoken kissed each other, backdropped by the purple starry sky of the Reef. As the two slowly pulled away, Uldren pressed his forehead against Blaze’s, “I won’t forget you, my little phoenix.” “I won’t either, my crow.” Blaze grinned. ——————————————————————— “No! Nonono! Please, no!” Blaze panicked as she struggled to keep her ship flying as she entered Earth’s atmosphere. She had been fired upon by a Hive ship which had spotted her approaching Earth. “Come on, come on! Please stay flying!” Blaze begged. *BLAM!* The Hive ship fired once again, taking out her ship’s engine. “Oh no! No, no, no!!!” Blaze cried. Warning sirens blared in the cockpit as the ship began to hurtle towards the ground. Blaze could only watch in horror as the ground came spiralling closer and closer to her. ‘Uldren…Jolyon…Mara…’ Blaze thought, ‘I’m so sorry…I won’t be coming back…forgive me…’

*BOOM!!!*

Everything was dark. Blaze - a soul devoted to her prince; whose bravery knew no bounds; who sacrificed her own happiness to ensure she’d be able to live alongside those she cared about – had died on impact when her ship crashed several hundreds of miles outside the Last City on Earth.

It was the end of Blaze, Royal Guard of the Reef…

And the start of Blaze, Hunter Guardian of Earth.

———————————————————————

The darkness faded as Blaze found herself back on Venus, staring at her ring that lay in her hands as she heard Paragon speak, “Everyone has moments in their past that makes them happy and moments that make them sad. But the past can also help shape the future, if one decides to learn from it. You’re past didn’t have a happy ending, but it’s set in stone, unchanging no matter how much you wish it would change. But your future is still unwritten. And it’s what you decide to do here in the present that will shape it. Keep my relic with you, little Lightbearer. I’m excited to see how you’ll shape your future!”

And in the blink of an eye, Paragon was gone.

“Ah! There you are!” Blaze jumped a bit heard Rae climb onto the pillar and speak from behind – she didn’t notice that time had unfrozen, “We’ve finished cutting off the head, and Ghost is going to hold it until we get back to the Re- huh? …Blaze? Why are you crying? Are you okay?”

Blaze held a hand up to her cheek and, sure enough, there were tears rolling down her face. Blaze took a deep breath as she slipped her ring onto her finger.

“There’s something I need to tell you guys.”

To Be Continued…

#destiny #changing our destiny #blaze kiria #jolyon till the rachis #uldren sov #prince uldren #fireteam paralight #rae drakyx #paragonialiskalmai #paragon #destiny vex #vex #destiny hive #hive #cabal #destiny cabal

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alastair-made-me-undo-it · 6 years

Text

That One Bandersnatch Scene But It Goes Right

Colin/Stefan, drugs and music and good, good touches.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22HY7v9lWZw The background music, just in case you wanna get immersive up in here.

Sequel here

The music is sweet and soft on Stefan’s tongue. It floats past him in pearly purple clouds. For the first time in a long time, he smiles.

Colin is talking in the background. His voice is muted, opaque, softly bitter, like dark chocolate. It’s a nice voice. It makes Stefan feel nice.

The posters are alive with gentle movement. Ink shifts before his eyes like ripples in water. He touches them, watches them curl and flow and move beneath his hands. Hints of strawberry flicker on his tongue, warmer, softer than any berry he’s ever tasted. Rose-colored sparks tingle in his fingertips.

A hand on his shoulder, like the soft glow of a glass table lamp. Scent of smoke the color of a newborn fawn, shining in the air around him. Everything shining, shining, with more hope than he’d felt in longer than he could remember.

He turns, and Colin is there. Soft look in his eyes like the warmth of the sun.

“How’re you feeling?”

Stefan giggles, a little bit. His laughter is bright green, colored like limes but sweet as lemonade. It turns soft, soft blue as he quiets and stops, a grin spreading easily across his face. “Good. Yeah. Really good.”

Colin’s hand is on his shoulder. Colin’s other hand is on his hip. It warms him like a hot drink.

“Want to feel better?”

Colin is serious, so very serious, but the question, in Stefan’s mind, is light, airy, as easy as choosing a song.

He laughs a little more, can’t really help it, softer and more dignified and more solidified in flavor, lemon shortcake, cookies, lemon meringue pie.

“Yeah. Yeah, all right.”

Colin’s smile is so pleased, so good, and then his hand is on the back of Stefan’s head, their lips pressed chastely together, and Stefan’s eyes are closed but the kiss blooms like a rose in the darkness, deep dusky pink fading slowly to the velvety blue of the night sky outside.

It is so good. So good. Colin tastes like smoke and tea, music curling between them in delicious notes of grape cotton candy. So good. Hands on his back like warm prints seen through thermal vision, gentle white fading to orange at the edges. So good. Sliding under his shirt, skin against skin in layers and layers of pink. So. Good. Lips on his neck, bright as bright as bright. He turns his head in soft green surrender, vivid and healthy as well-tended grass.

Lips on his chest, color darkening now, burgundy-red as they move lower. He’s loose against the wall, every part of his body relaxed, every part of his mind content to let it happen. Blue as the sky, soft and calm, music thrumming behind his eyelids in gentle, gentle purples.

Fingers on his pants. New ground being covered in easy, easy measures. How are they here, already, so easily? Excitement zinging through him, dark, dark shapes wearing halos of light. He gasps, soft, gray sound lost in the shifting music. He whispers Colin’s name, falling from his tongue the color of laughter, flavor like a citrus he doesn’t have a name for.

Colin.

Pants around his thighs, absence of clothes an absence of color, sensation of warmth and fabric gone and leaving nothing behind. He’s never been more naked.

Colin covers him again.

Romance colors. He sees romance colors, deep, deep reds, black at the edges, shot through with flecks of light and gold. Light and dark and light, in his chest out to his fingers, filling him up like a jar of fireflies.

It is so good. Everything is so, so good.

Warm hands on his thighs feel like safety, like promises, browns and pinks in wholesome shades, substantial as bread. Warm mouth on him, around him, dark and light and everything in between, a rainbow condensed down into shades of light and shadow.

“So good.” Reverent words lost in the music. “So good.”

Colin hears them, he can tell by the soft stroking of his thumb, soothing against Stefan’s thigh in blues and browns. Appreciation wholesome, helpful, refreshing as cool water.

So good.

The sun is rising inside him. Lights are getting brighter.

It is so good.

He breathes in deep and it’s like blowing on an ember, every breath closer and closer and closer.

So good.

The shadows in his body are melting away. Lighter and lighter and lighter, his own private sunrise coaxed over the horizon by Colin’s mouth.

So good.

Dawn breaks slowly, and yet all at once. Bright white light sparks behind his eyes, the entire color spectrum distilled down to a brilliant crystal. On and on and on, and then softer, softer, fading back into darkness, night falling again, covering him like a cloak, faint stars still shining through him.

Everything is good.

He opens his eyes slowly, taking in the room. The music continues, calming, soothing purples hanging in his mind.

Everything is ordinary. Everything is extraordinary.

Colin is climbing to his feet, hands holding Stefan’s body with protective gentleness.

“Feeling all right?”

His voice. His voice. So harsh a taste, Stefan almost can’t connect it with the soft, gentle touches. The contrast makes him laugh. The laughter is good.

“Yeah.” He’s unsteady, swaying a little in Colin’s grip. “Yeah.”

“Want to keep going?”

Loaded question. Hunger in Colin’s eyes a deep, deep purple he could drown in. A look that could devour him. And yet it’s easy. It’s all so easy.

Yes. Yes, always.

“Yeah.”

Colin’s smile is hungry, ravishing, grateful and wondering. It’s a nice smile. Stefan wants to make him smile like that again and again and again. He wants to give Colin everything, everything, things he doesn’t know how to give.

But Colin does. He does. And Stefan can trust him to take.

Colin is undressing him. He lifts Stefan’s shirt up, over his head, and his gaze is like a physical thing, warm and tingly against his chest.

It’s so easy. Stefan can’t believe it could be this easy.

The pants make him stumble. Colin grips him tight, and he laughs, just laughs, and has never felt so safe.

Colin guides him to the chair, and it’s strange- but a good strange- to feel the velvety fabric against his bare thighs. He rubs his fingers over it, little soft-rough micro-bristles, subtle shift in color as he moves them back and forth going “ssssh, ssssh” in his mind. He feels them behind his ears, in his head, something between a memory and a secret.

Colin is dragging the thick, plush rug out the open door. He steps back inside, tosses a throw pillow from the couch over his shoulder like an afterthought, and extends a hand to Stefan.

“Want to see the stars?”

An idea of a response forms in Stefan’s mind, something like “You’ve already shown me stars,” but he just smiles instead, rises on unsteady legs and takes Colin’s hand, lets himself be led through the doorway.

The concept of a doorway is an amazing, amazing thing. He can feel a change in temperature as he steps through, a change in air pressure, the presence of a breeze, a deeper darkness and a lack of walls. And it’s a mile-marker. A passage from one state into another. Moving forward from a time when he has not had an experience to a time when he has, entering the physical space in which Colin will satisfy that hunger in his eyes, where he will take and Stefan will give.

Colin’s hands guide him, help him to lay down. They cup his head and tuck the pillow under it. The rug is touching every inch of him. The soft, soft breeze strokes him from head to toe, fluttering down his body like a fine lace curtain. Above him the music twinkles, carrying with it the warmth and light of the room. Then he blinks, and through the music, he can see the stars.

“This okay?”

Colin is down here with him, body over his, above him like a roof. Like shelter. And Stefan cannot stop smiling.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Colin’s hand smooths down his side, cupping around, under, finding the back of his thigh and lifting. Excitement builds inside him again, dark, dark shape expanding and expanding until Colin’s fingers find their destination, stroking ever-so-gently along the crease of his ass. He shivers, then, shape exploding in a shower of sparks.

“You want to do it like this?”

He can taste the hunger in Colin’s voice. Colin wants. Colin wants very much. Colin wants permission, and Stefan wants to give it.

“Yeah.” The word is a soft breath of air, wondering and delicate. “Yeah, I do.”

He opens for Colin, makes room for him between his legs. Colin touches him, touches him, slick, well-prepared fingers finding him and pushing, pushing, opening him like a door. He gasps and shifts against the rug, plush softness against his body, against all of his body.

Colin touches him, other hand cupping his face, looking down at Stefan with hunger, so much hunger, but buried under care.

“You need a little more to smoke?”

“No.”

The word is sudden, abrupt and wrong, and he doesn’t want to say ‘no’ to Colin, doesn’t want to deny him anything, but he also doesn’t want to take any action, alter any sensation, just wants to live and breathe this moment, so no, he doesn’t want any more to smoke, but he does want more.

He covers Colin’s hand with his own. Turns his head. Kisses Colin’s palm. Revels in the little gasp it gets him.

It feels good, so good, to kiss any part of Colin. He does it again, and again, Colin’s other hand still working between his legs, altering him, making preparations in shades of dark, dark navy.

He feels like the sky. Rich, deep blues ripple through him, pushed into him by Colin’s inexorable fingers, silver flecks flitting through him like shooting stars. It’s strange and unfamiliar and he’d never, never thought that he’d be here, but it feels right. It’s all so right.

Colin has stopped entering him, hand pulling away from his lips, and Stefan looks up at the wondrous sight of Colin undressing, skin revealed to him in quick, utilitarian motions. Clothing falls to the ground with a soft sound, little gray-brown puff beside him, and then Colin is back, body blanketing his, sliding right back into the space Stefan had made for him.

“This okay?”

The words are whispered, rich, dark color static-white at the edges, close and intimate against his ear.

He has no words. He lifts his head instead, finding Colin’s lips in a pliant kiss, delicate as an opening rosebud.

Insistent pressure between his legs makes him startle. His body wants to move, to pull away, but he doesn’t want it to, and he’s so, so grateful when Colin steadies him, hands holding him firmly in place. He slides, inescapable, inevitable, into Stefan’s body, his mind, smell of smoke and warmth of skin-on-skin surrounding him like a blanket.

Colin moves, body flexing above him like elegant machinery, inside him like a wave traveling up through water. Like Colin is adding to him, completing him, finishing him like a recipe.

And again. A repeated motion so beautiful in its simplicity. Colin is giving, giving to him, lightening him like milk poured carefully into tea.

So beautiful.

“Beautiful.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t think it was louder than a whisper, but Colin hears him, and he smiles.

“You like the view, Stef?”

Because he thinks- of and course he thinks- that Stefan means the stars. But Colin is haloed by the soft light of the room behind him, body moving over him like the pistons of an engine, pushing waves of blue and white into Stefan, and he reaches up, fingers grazing over Colin’s lips in a shower of pink and gold.

“Yes.” It feels so, so good to say yes to Colin. “Yes, I like the view.”

Colin is giving to him, still giving. Even when he’s taking, he’s giving. Advice, and then music, and now this night, this whole night is a gift to Stefan. He’s given Colin everything he knows how to give- his body, his mind, his trust- and still Colin is giving to him.

And then Colin’s hand finds Stefan where he’s hard and wanting, gives him what he hadn’t even realized he’d wanted, and he gasps out a desperate, desiring noise, orange as the sunset.

“Yes?” Colin asks him softly, squeezing him once in a burst of deep, dark magenta, and Stefan gets to say it again, gets to tell Colin “yes,” yes, he’ll take anything he wants to give, and please, please yes.

He feels everything, everything, doesn’t know how there can be room in his body to feel so much. Deep, deep shades of red bloom from under Colin’s hand, and he’s still pushing more into him, color heating up, lightening up with speed and friction, shifting slowly, slowly from blue up into yellow.

So good.

Colin seems to think so, and Stefan is grateful, so grateful, that he’s enjoying this. He should enjoy this. This was all him, all of it, this whole night was Colin, and Stefan is so, so grateful. Colin is touching him more forcefully now, moving inside him with intent, and harder, much harder. But it’s still good, still so good, and he’ll take it, he wants it, wants everything Colin wants him to have.

Colin’s hand moves faster, more and more sensation pouring into Stefan’s body, like he’s a cup in danger of overflowing, and he’s not sure how much more he can hold, thinks he’ll spill over at any moment, any moment now, until Colin grips him tightly, holding them close together, desperate gasps against him in gratifying browns and oranges, and oh- oh. Yes. Yes, Stefan can hold a little more.

Colin gasps against him, satisfied noises smooth and rich as butter, slides out of him in a wash of white empty space, sparkling with sensation. And presses close again, hand continuing its work, kissing slowly along Stefan’s neck, his jaw, still giving and giving and giving right here, on this rug, under these stars, until Stefan makes some noises of his own.

It’s better the second time. He’s full, truly full, sensation lingering in places he wouldn’t have known to ask for it. He’s not doing anything more than existing, not thinking or working or worrying, worrying, worrying. There’s nothing but Colin.

Nothing but Colin.

It’s cold, he notices, when Colin moves away from him. He shivers as he’s cleaned, rough swipes with Colin’s shirt, inside-out from the urgency of his undressing. The cold is surprising. It’s the first thing in hours- miraculous hours- that’s been unpleasant.

And then Colin is back with a blanket, heavy and woven like a tapestry, pinning Stefan down like an anchor where it falls across his body.

“What’d’you think? Worth moving inside?” Colin asks him as he tucks him in, pushing the blanket in under Stefan’s shoulders so that nothing but his head is exposed. “I don’t really feel like it is.”

“Mmm.” Stefan had closed his eyes at some point, and now they’re too heavy to open. He hums his agreement, snuggling down against the soft, soft rug. There’s a brief rush of cold against his back as Colin slides in beside him, and then they’re pressed together, warmth and comfort with nothing in between.

Nothing in between.

#bandersnatch #stefan/colin #colin/stefan #threatie having synesthesia #I love this song so much it tastes so good

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insomniac-dot-ink · 6 years

Text

Whales Aren’t Real, Ch2

Genre: sci-fi, wlw, series

Words: 5.5k

Summary: An Earth Restitution Team goes diving into the ocean to look for what remains of ocean life

The young RT member finds one of the few humans who adapted to the destruction of the planet, she asks her if whales are real or not.

Lesbian soft-apocalyptica.

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Chapters: One, Two (REWRITE!)

tw: for freaky fish and danger

Chapter Two: The Depths

“Do you think she eats kelp?” Remy kicks her feet back and forth, barely scuffing the floor each time as she swings them.

Kel glances at her flatly, “I don’t know.” He looks ready to put his head on the table and fall into a coma.

They sit in a large dark room surrounded by windows the size of trees to their left and plain plastic grey walls on the other side. The sky is black and almost starless beside them. “I mean, not kelp-kelp, but something like that, algae? There’s a lot of algae,” she holds five cards loosely in her hand and says.

“There is a lot of algae,” A distant, watery voice repeats, as if confirming some universal truth. The doctor reshuffles her cards as she stares off into nothing. “So much.”

Dr. Agatha was a petite woman with soft grey curls and deep wrinkles forming delicately around her mouth and eyes. She wore floral patterns that looked better suited to curtains and always had the air of someone lost at the grocery store.

She is their head scientist presently.

“Do you think she found her clothes at like, a Deadciv, can nylon last that long? It looked like nylon,” Remy says with a curious look on her face, “can you sew nylon?” Shang gives a disgruntled sigh and turns to her, “are you going to fold or not Remy?” Remy drags her eyes back to her cards, “oh, uh, nah, three chips in.” The table eyes each other apprehensively, “three?” She nods quickly, “you can all fold of course. I’m happy to just take home the pot now.” Shang rolls her eyes, “okay, she’s definitely bluffing.” Shang pushes his chips forward, “all in.” He gives her a victorious grin, as if it was already over.

Shang was a tall boy with jet-black hair and a mouth that quirked upward lightly whenever he spoke, he was technically the youngest crew here, but he didn’t show it. His clothes were always a sharp black and his eyes followed people’s faces like he was memorizing indiscernible mountains there.

Remy pushes the rest of her chips in too, “Do you think I could ask her about her shiny scale-freckles, is that rude?”

“Remy, I swear,” Shang looks like he might pop a vein.

Kel gives a smooth weary smile, “why don’t you go talk to her?” Remy shrugs, “it doesn’t exactly help that I’m still on probation.” Dr. Agatha chuckles, “your lab work is very helpful though.” “If only it wasn’t so boring,” she mumbles at the ceiling, “do you think she would ever talk me again?” “Can we stop talking about your fish-fiance? We aren’t even supposed to chit-chat with them,” Shang sits up straight and pushes his cards forward, “and I’m calling.” Remy sticks her tongue out at him, “fish-friend, better than a commander-crush.” “Shut up,” Shang almost growls.

“Anybody with a rank and suddenly it’s kiss-kiss, what can I get you?” She teases lightly, Shang turns away. “Five in a row crunchers!” Shang threw his hand down for the table for all to see. “A straight!” Kel frowns deeply and shows his three cards, “three fives.” “Boo,” Remy says as she bounces in her chair, she places her cards down, “four of a kind honey!” She whoops and threw her four tens down with a smack.

Shang pulls at his hair, “oh come on.” “Can’t take down the master,” Remy winks and starts doing her victory dance.

Dr. Agatha looks between all of them, a mystified look reflected in her round owl-eyes, she places her cards down one by one. Remy freezes mid booty-shake.

“Ah,” she whines.

Dr. Agatha nods, “deuces I think.” Remy hangs her head, “ah, come on.” She huffs and sits back down, “you were barely playing.” Remy pouts over her shoulder and Kel chuckles.

“I guess that’s a win,” the doctor pulls the chips towards herself and looks like she accidently walked into a studio and won a free car she didn’t know how to drive.

Kel starts collecting the cards again, “next round?” They all nod hesitantly, it was getting late, but their ‘Poker Crew’ was founded on the fact none of them were great sleepers.

Kel turns to Dr. Agatha, “though,” he hums deeply for a moment and pauses to study her, “you seem a little distracted doctor, anything wrong Aggie?” Remy cocks her head to the side curiously, she hadn’t actually noticed anything different about the doctor’s normal bird-trapped-in-a-warehouse behavior.

Dr. Agatha looks up and purses her lips, a dent forming in her brow.

“Well, first that nickname is definitely wrong,” she says astutely and adjusts her glasses, the table laughs softly and Dr. Agatha drums her fingers on the table. “But… well, it’s nothing much.” Shang puts his palms on the table forcefully, “what is it? I remember you didn’t even freak out when the lab was on fire last week.” “Oh, that was nothing.” Remy and Shang share a look.

Remy clears her throat, “is it the water filtration system? Jennison has been bugging the mechanics about it all month.” Dr. Agatha shakes her head, “no, I fixed that problem, any mico-toxins will now be thoroughly removed.” Shang blinks slowly, “were we drinking micro-toxins before?” “Don’t think about it too hard,” Remy mutters back.

Kel focuses on Dr. Agatha completely, his sunken eyes almost knife-sharp.

“What is it?” Kel asks slowly, “is it for the projects?”

Shang gulps, “is it the Planetsiders? I knew we needed to keep better track of their movements, I saw those blinking dots come close to The Observatory.” “It’s not that,” Dr. Agatha says loosely and Remy tries to catch her eye, try to discern something. Dr. Agatha frowns, “I’m missing vials of plant samples.” “Oh,” the whole table exhales and slumps down a little bit. Remy reaches for her cards. “Maybe check the last place you saw them?” She offers weakly. Dr. Agatha shakes her head, “they are The Shallows, near sector five. The trekker forgot to bring them back.” “Oh?” She had Remy’s interest again.

“Was it Steve?” Shang asks quickly, “it’s always freaking Steve.” “Hush,” Remy puts a hand in his face and Shang tries to snap at it.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Agatha says slowly, “they said there was some water bug anomaly I should see. I thought it would be quite interesting.” “Right, water bugs,” Remy sighs and looks at her two cards. A two and a four, nothing good. “Hit me.” She reaches for another card.

Kel was still watching quietly, “and then what?” He asks in a soft voice and Remy raises her eyebrows. Kel was always the observant one. There was something else.

Dr. Agatha takes a long second to respond.

She doesn’t so much as look up, but instead find the red angry scar marks on her hands very interesting. She plucks at the burn tissue and speaks into them, “when I mentioned it to Coronel Jennison… he said there was no reason to go fetch them.”

Kel’s eyes go a little wider and Remy senses Shang tense beside her, lowering his cards so he can look between them all. A stressed hush covers the table.

“What?” Remy finally asks and they all seem to be focused elsewhere, lost in their own thoughts. “Why should it matter if Jennison doesn’t want some vials back?” Dr. Agatha rearranges the cards in her hand again, “the Council… isn’t very happy with our results right now.” “Oh,” Remy blinks. “Oh, right.” Her stomach drops a little bit and she looks back at her cards, “Right. I fold.” She puts them back down.

Shang makes a face, “Already?” She just nods, “I better make this my last game.” She snaps her fingers, trying to get the attention of the large lump snoozing in the corner near the dark windows. “Come here Delaware,” she calls softly, “let’s get back to my room before the Chiv’s spot you.” Delaware turns over, his large paws sticking up in the air before he pulls himself up and comes trotting over on his big Basset Hound feet, waiting patiently for Remy to rub his ears.

“You’re… turning in early?” Shang comments with a slight annoyed twitch to his eyebrow.

Remy stands up straight and turns to her compatriots, “yep,” she gives a little salute, “I’ll need all the sleep I can get if I’m going to get up early to go get Dr. Agatha’s samples tomorrow.” “Uh,” Shang squinted his eyes at her, “aren’t you on probation?” “Just from official missions!” She sings and Kel shakes his head at her.

“Remy,” he says in a warning tone.

“Don’t worry,” she turns before they can try and talk her out of it, “I’ll take the ship out and be back before Jennison can even get his slippers on.” She waves, “cadets get visiting passes to topside,” she shrugs, “I’ll just use mine now.” They all are still eyeing her, but Dr. Agatha hums deeply, “if you have time, I could use some more gray algae samples as well.” “Can do!” She started to run off with her dog at her heels, Kel is mumbling something about not being paid enough to watch kids and something about reckless abandon.

But at least she knew none of them would turn her in. She gets ready to sneak out in the morning.

-----------------

Remy rubs the crusty gook of sleep out of her eyes and yawns widely, her limbs are rocks attached to her body and her eyelids tug back down. Five hours was not enough. But the train would have to leave the station whether she was well-rested or not. She wipes blurrily at her eyes again and teeters down the second bay corridor.

She turns the corner and her mood instantly drops as she sees a figure standing in front of the bathrooms, Remy internally groans.

“Tara,” she says bitterly and tries to shuffle forward with a nod, “morning.”

Tara was the other cadet on the mission, a certified pilot and trekker that made most everything her business. She was at least a head taller than Remy and had fluffy orange hair that tied back in a ponytail at her back.

Her expression is a remote mask that reminds Remy more of a cold stone wall that actively tried to crash into visitors. Tara doesn’t exactly look at her as she approaches.

Remy tries to slip past the stalk-still girl and make her way into the lavatory, unfortunately for her, Tara had other plans. The other cadet steps in her way.

“Yes,” she says in her flat tone, a smarmy smile filling her face, “morning to you too.”

Remy’s shoulders fall, “isn’t it a little early for you to be Medusa-ing the bathroom?” She makes a face, “some of us need to pee.” Tara shakes her head, “waking up at dawn for once are we?” Tara says slowly and her gaze seems to smack Remy in the face as she examines her.

Remy just nods stiffly, “out for a morning stroll.” She says cautiously and Tara rolls her eyes.

“You can’t just… go on a trekking mission by yourself,” Tara says hotly and crosses her arms over her chest, “it’s ridiculous.” “Were you spying on the monitors again?” Remy puts her hands on her hips, “So uncool.” Tara wags a finger in the air, “it’s against regulation to open the hanger without permission.” Remy scrunches her face up, “I do have hanger permission,” she tries to side step her, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to piss- which I also have regulation permission for.” Tara was being extra difficult this morning and thrusts her arm out to block Remy’s path, “it’s not like it matters you know.” Remy sniffs loudly, “Dr. Agatha needs the samples.” Tara’s eyes go cool and remote, “you really stuff that much cotton in your ears? It. Won’t. Matter. The Council has already made up their mind.” Remy clenches her fists and finally ducks under Tara’s arm, managing to open the lavatory door and turn toward her, “stuff it Tara. Some of us are going to actually do our jobs.” “I’m telling Jennison about this!” She sings loudly and Remy ignores her.

“You do that.”

Remy’s blood was boiling by the time she furiously started to brush her teeth, the poor enamel probably scrubbed clean off as she rapidly got ready for the day. “Doesn’t matter,” she mutters and gargles some water, “already over.” She angrily spit and imagines Tara’s face when she finally meets the whales. That would shut her up, hopefully sooner rather than later.

--------------------------

Remy gives Kel the thumbs up as he enters the hanger control room, he normally wouldn’t go to all this trouble- he liked his sleep and also liked to be in the Observatory’s good graces. Remy has a feeling he’s getting ancy too though.

She bounces around the hanger, picking between different models: the sleek 144-J with it’s speed and agility, the military grade bomber I-22 with it’s fierce density, or even the long-haul ship, Hv-88. The ship for napping in when you didn’t want to be found.

Eventually she just settles on the faithful Wb-77 as Kel bangs on the glass to tell her to hurry up. She jumps into the cockpit and gives him another wild grin as she secures her helmet.

He just presses the gate button and they both watch the thick doors below glide open with an impressive gust of air. Remy holds her breath, she always held her breath at those moments- the moment between falling and flying.

The engine hums and Remy’s fingers dance over the controls, Kel yells something nonsensical at her and she just waves. The horizon calls her as she guns her thrusters into the pale blue skies and takes off.

She whoops into the rising sun, there was nothing else like this.

Remy is still grinning throughout her twenty minute flight to The Shallows, it was a very pleasant day after all and most of the Observatory wasn’t even awake yet. The weather remains a lovely blue when she arrives at the the sandy banks of sandbars.

The samples had luckily been left in a secure box floating next to one of the many metal poles that stuck out.

Remy collects it quickly and surveys the surrounding area, it was as empty as a blank page, not even a Planetsider ship for miles. And for once that was a bad thing.

Remy takes a deep breath, she knew what she needed to do.

She streaks off across the deeper ocean, scanning and raking the waters with her eyes for any signs. The best sign would be a giant shadow underneath the waves, but she would take anything at this point.

Remy’s nerves are almost fried when she spots it, her entire body relaxing as she sees another living being- and just the one she wanted to see too.

She maneuvers a turn near the Deadciv building, gliding carefully around the area- right where she had met the girl before, Remy’s heart leaps. This had to be her sign.

She gently lands the plane a little ways from the ruins and covers herself in protective jelly from head to foot, she had brought her swimming gear just in case. It feels tingly and a little heavy as the adhesive drys.

Remy quickly finishes and makes her way over to the tops of the tall decaying buildings and starts waving furiously, it’s only a little disappointing when she sees no one there.

“Dang it,” she swivels around in all directions, looking left and right for any signs of life. She is cursing and splashing in the water when she turns and faces a sharp spear pointed in her face.

“Are you following me?” The girl, Callisto, had found her after all.

Remy’s eyes light up, “I knew I would find you again!”

Callisto’s lips curl back, “What do you want? I don’t need stalkers.” Remy frowns slowly, “not stalking! Just… finding. Again.” Callisto lowers her spear slowly, eyes still shifty and narrowed, “I was hoping you had a little more common sense than that.” Remy tries to give a winning smile, “me?” She chuckles, “never.” Callisto’s face seems to soften, “I haven’t seen your sea monster or anything if that’s what you’re looking for. I told you before, there isn’t anything here.” Remy snorts, she adjusts her helmet, “it’s a bit of a different venture this time.” She mutters, “are you hunting?” Callisto holds her long sapphire spear up, “yes. And you really aren’t helping.”

Remy swims a little closer to her, “I was actually hoping we’d meet again. Maybe we could help each other!”

Callisto makes a face at her, “I don’t need any… body gunk, or whatever it is you’re wearing.” “Protective jelly! It’s water based,” she sings happily, “and I was thinking of something a little more practical.” Callisto tilts her head to the side, she turns around, “one second.” Callisto starts swimming and climbs onto one of the Deadciv roofs so she can stand up, Remy follows after.

Remy struggles to her feet and realizes how much taller Callisto is then her, she shifts from foot to foot.

“I’m listening,” Callisto says slowly, “but I’ll have you know it’ll have to be good. I don’t go around making deals with Deserters often, it’s…. Dangerous. You must know that.” Remy hums at that and tucks that bit of information away, she grins, “yeah, but I don’t follow the rules, I make ‘em!”

“Okay?” “Yeah,” Remy itches her wrist nervously, “or uh, play with them. Just a little bit.” Callisto shakes her head, “and all to find some giant sea-beasts? There are easier ways to get eaten.” Remy lifts her chin, “whales eat krill! Isn’t that great? They don’t eat people, though I’m sure they could swallow you whole if you’re not careful.” “Alright?” Callisto was still looking at her like Remy was attempting to grow a second head. “Listen, little Deserter-” “You really can call me Remy.” Callisto gives a shallow smile, “You don’t want to meet most things down there, whether they eat ‘krill’ or not.” Remy perks up, eyes going wide, “have you seen living things down there then?”

Callisto rubs the back of her neck, “it’s not like it’s empty. But it’s not friendly either.” Remy dives to grab Callisto’s arm and shake it, “take me!” She begs, “I have my camera, my gear, it’s still only morning.” Callisto’s face screws up into a scowl, “why would I take a stranger to the most dangerous place in the ocean?” Remy sets her jaw, “I’ll trade you, like I said, we can help each other.” Callisto eyes her thoroughly for a moment, “what will you do with the creature?” “Just take a picture,” she snorts, “we don’t have to fight it or anything.” “We would lose anyway,” Callisto says off-handedly, “and these aren’t ‘whales’ though, none of them sing. They’re...” She shivers, “different.”

Remy gulps but lifts her head up, “I’m willing to take the risk, they don’t need to be whales, they just need to be… big,” she looks closely at Callisto, “I just need a guide.” Callisto meets her gaze, “what do you have to offer?” Remy taps her chin, “Money?” “No.”

“Seeds.” “Nope.”

“Tech.” “What kind?” “Water purifiers, air purifiers, hand-held blasters-” “We have those,” Callisto says in exasperation.

“Uh, fresh water?” “Don’t need it.” “Salt water?” She raises her eyebrows, “really don’t need it.” “Labor.” “No.” “Other, kinds of labor?” Remy tries to strike a sexy pose.

“Definitely not.” Callisto just shakes her head and looks ready to take off again, Remy puts her hands up. “Meat,” She says loudly, “dried fruit, medicine, proteins.” Callisto stops in place, her lips tugging down and her large dark eyes turning back to Remy, she looks her up and down, “what kind of medicine?” Remy exhales slowly, “any kind. Shots, penicillin, pain killers, uh,… band aids.” Callisto’s eyes shrink down, “can grunts get access to that sort of thing?” “I’m not a grunt,” she says defensively, “and yes. I have free reign of the medical bay. And I can also get,” she strikes a pose, “sneaky.” Callisto has an almost-smile, “well,” She says loudly, “I do need Xanim. It will be a clear liquid in a large vial, get me at least three.” Remy pumps her fist in the air, “alright!” She doesn’t mention the fact she doesn’t know where or what that is. She figures that’s a problem for her future self.

Callisto straightens her back, “right. I’ll meet you tomorrow at-” “Wait,” Remy focuses on her, “we need to do it today. Now.” Callisto looms over her, “you don’t have the medicine now.” “It’s a promise though,” Remy says quickly, “a huge promise, and you can take like, my shoe as hostage until I get it to you. We just…” She bites her bottom lip, “really need to do it today.” Something wasn’t smelling right at the Observatory, Remy knew she needed data, evidence, and she needed it now.

Callisto seems to consider her for a long, long second, her gaze curving over Remy’s small frame, her choppy brown hair and tight ponytail, the Jelly covering every inch of her body. Remy stiffens slightly.

Callisto lifts her chin up, pushing her long braided hair back, “I want the most expensive thing on your ship. You’ll get it back when you give me the Xanim.” “So you’ll take me?” Remy’s eyes sparkle. Callisto shifts in place, “I make no promises of finding anything.” Remy gives a wide, pleased smile, “no guarantees necessary, just take me to where you’ve seen them before,” she reaches for her camera, “I’ll do the rest.” Callisto shakes her head, “crazy Deserter madness.” Remy just laughs at that, Callisto looks over her shoulder, “you really want to go?” Remy nods enthusiastically, “as soon as possible.” She was technically running on a limited amount of time, Jennison would only tolerate an ‘unofficial mission’ for so long.

Callisto turns toward the dark waters, “follow my rules then. One, I lead. Stop when I stop, go when I go and don’t touch the buildings. Not all of them are sound. Two don’t make a sound, in and out. Three, don’t… flail around, if you see danger, stay still.” She blinks, “and Remy?” “Yeah?” “Don’t get eaten,” she says in her deep grey voice, “I’ll do the rest.” Remy shivers a little bit, if her mother could see her now, making deals with Planetsiders, she would never hear the end of it. Good thing her mom wasn’t there.

She doesn’t have a moment to collect herself as Callisto quickly dives into the dark with a small ripple. Remy jumps in after her with a much bigger splash, the world descends into a thick choppy bleakness.

Lost buildings stand on either side of them and pale streaks of light filter in the water all around them, Remy adjusts her helmet settings so the glass doesn’t steam up. The water is thick with clouds of dank water here and there, but still mixed with patches of clearness.

Remy can’t help but staring: crumbling dark buildings on all sides of her and a profound stillness. Most had large empty windows and concrete walls that were falling into themselves.

Tiny fish glimmer here and there, Remy is sure there must be bigger ones somewhere for Callisto to hunt, but there was nothing now.

She feels a tug on her leg and Remy remembers that she has someone to follow, she quickly turns on her shoulder light and Callisto points toward their feet. Remy turns herself around and starts swimming,

Down, down, down. They sink slowly, using the currents to swim toward the darkness below.

Callisto makes several corrections as they go, leading her first straight toward another tall building and then right and down again, Remy has no idea what this does.

It’s quiet and eery, it helped not being alone down here at least. She focuses on the back of Callisto’s head as the minutes tick by, memorizing the shape of her outline, the sleek limbs cutting effortlessly through the water and long floating hair.

Remy’s heavy air tank helped her sink into the depths, though she wandered how Callisto descended so easily, a swim bladder? Was she denser than other people? Force of will? These questions would have to wait.

The light starts to disappear as they swim against the currents, slowly dropping toward the ocean floor, Remy’s ears begin to pop and she hopes she thought this through enough.

Remy gulps as Callisto drops directly down into the complete darkness. The other girl looks over her shoulder to make sure she’s following and Remy hurries after her, she can just make out that the other girl’s irises then. They are the size of quarters, large and unearthly.

The pamphlets from her schools awareness program comes back to her: No longer human.

Remy pushes that thought away and tells herself to quiet down, she had things to do, she takes a deep inhale of oxygen and lets herself be consumed.

There is more rubble down here, piles of discarded concrete and jagged metal poles sticking up from nowhere, Remy dodges them and keeps her shoulder lamp pointed at Callisto’s back. They were still nowhere near the bottom it seemed.

Remy purses her lips as a thrum of unease goes through her system, she tries to remind herself why she is there: the project, the project, the project. You can’t find whales if there’s no project.

That doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on end. Nothing is ahead but darkness and the glare of her own flashlight.

She’s staring off at a distant rubble pile when she runs headlong into the back of Callisto, bumping softly into her and being jostled backward for a second. She opens her mouth to ask what gives but then remembers she’s not supposed to make a sound.

Callisto turns to her slowly, eyes sharp and huge in the glare of her flashlight. She mouths something, her lips moving silently to form indiscernible words.

Remy puts her palms up and shrugs at her, she tries to mouth something back, such as ‘what?’ and ‘huh?’

And then she sees it. Something in the bleakness ahead, a sparkle of light just in front of them.

Remy’s eyes go wide, she reaches for her camera around her neck, Callisto dives over and grabs her, shaking her head violently, Remy struggles away. This is what she came for.

Callisto in turn tries to cover Remy’s shoulder lamp with her hands and the world descends into an absolute darkness- all except the oscillating sparkle of light in front of them. Remy’s eyes go wide and she can’t tell if she’s breathing anymore.

Callisto pushes them back, slowly, easily, but Remy knows, she knows something is over there- and she can’t go back now. She lunges forward faster than Callisto can catch her, Remy dodges left and wrenches her shoulder light away from Callisto’s outstretched hands.

The light blares ahead and Remy lifts her camera up as fast as she can, she doesn’t click. The sparkle is a light blue, forming a long electric ribbon in the inky darkness around it, Remy can make out that they are aligned against a long, sleek body, immense and shimmering.

Against her better judgement, Remy pauses to grin, something lived here, something lived! Ancient, bright, larger than a minnow, something colorful and powerful in her flies up from her center toward the sun. It lived. And then the creature turns.

Remy didn’t know about nightmares, she always was the kid that jumped off monkey bars and begged to be told ghost stories at midnight. Remy wasn’t sure what she was seeing now, something primal heaves in her.

It’s face was as big as she was, spiked and covered in flaking scales. It had two sightless white eyes placed against a blunt forehead and misshapen jaw, all leading to a mouth that took up everything else. Rows of teeth stuck up out of its bottom jaw, caught in the gleam of her single headlight.

Remy doesn’t have a moment to scream, the creature’s body lights up, glowing in the dark and tensing to lunge. Remy clicks her camera.

This would have been the moment she felt the teeth dig into soft, puny body and break it in two, the last thing she ever sees. Instead, she feels an arm loop around her chest and violently yank her back and behind a rubble pile.

“Ah!” Remy manages a yelp and tries to take another blurry picture as the thing bobs after them, turning quickly and letting off an electric glow.

Callisto makes some deep sound in her chest, rumbling and fearful. Her whole body clenches and then she’s propeling them off the rock pile, lifting them high into the waters and ‘up.’

Callisto reaches over to wrangle with Remy’s shoulder light and tear it off, but Remy slaps her hand away.

“One more picture!” She gasps, “they have to see how big it is.”

Callisto yells something back and rows of teeth come gasping toward their feet up from nothing, long jagged tendrils ready to rip them apart.

Remy reacts quicker, she yanks at the long spear in Callisto’s belt and jams it forward. The shark-electric creature crashes its nose into the pointy end and a burst of thick blood fills the water.

Remy manages to wrench the light off her shoulder then and drop it. They creature turns and follows the bright glare, it’s powerful tail whipping around to jerk it toward the moving target.

Remy exhales, nothing is left. They are left with a quiet darkness- Callisto holding her around the chest as they fled. The spear and light disappear below them like a dream.

Callisto rises like a hot air balloon (swim bladder?). Remy is light-headed and every part of her is heavy and tense, the adrenaline pumping freely in every vein she had.

She checks on her oxygen tank and then has a sense of utmost relief when she sees the inkling of light up above, she was clutching her camera in her hands. She had made it.

Remy is shaking from head to toe when they burst up into the midday light and gasp for air, Remy collapsing onto the rooftop and Callisto giving a hacking cough. Her legs are boneless jelly underneath her as she tries to stand.

They both take a moment to collect themselves, Remy raking her hands over her helmet.

“Heheh,” she starts laughing, her mouth falling open and a rumbling, manic laughter bubbling up from her center. She rips her helmet off and spits her oxygen mouthpiece out. “Oh my God!” She laughs again and opens her arms wide to the sun, “Oh my fucking God.” She tries to stand up again and fails, spinning around on her knees and praying to some unknown force that protects idiots and sea-dwellers. She whoops, “Callisto!” She calls, “Callisto, Callisto, fuck.” Callisto was covering her face and holding her side, breathing heavily, “you, you,” she heaves and her face jerks up, “you crazy bastard! I should kick your ass.”

Remy laughs again and falls over, “True!” She spreads her arms out wide, “Crazy enough to save the projects though!” She crows, “and you,” she points, “you saved my life.” Callisto growls, “not on purpose.” Remy pushes her sweaty hair back, “you are going to get so much medicine.” Callisto blinks a couple times, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to drop kick you off into The Salts, did you even try listening to me?” Remy sheepishly scratches her nose, “we’re alive?” Callisto shakes her head, she wobbles over toward her and bops her on the head with her knuckles.

“Ow!”

“Crazy bastard,” she mutters, “you’re lucky I’m faster than death himself.” Remy blinks a couple times as she covers her head, “cocky much?” Callisto snorts, “grateful much?”

“Right, okay, I can kiss your toes or something,” she tilts her head up, “thanks. Yeah, thank you.” She flexes, “We made it! Alive and everything.” Callisto exhales slowly, “I’d keep it that way,” she grey eyes go hard, “You got what you’re looking for, you shouldn’t come back.” Callisto blinks a couple times, “but… I will be back? That’s the whole point.” She lifts herself up into the light, “so we can return to the earth.” Callisto’s eyebrow twitches and she seems to clench her fists, she opens her mouth and then closes it. She looks away, “you should get out of here.” She rasps heavily.

“Can’t I give you a hug or something?” Remy smiles, “I can’t believe we made it-” “Get. Out.” Callisto takes a menacing step forward, “or I’ll take your camera.” Remy frowns deeply, “hey, we’re in this together.” She tries to say lightly, “we just fought death himself, remember? And… it will be good. After this.” Callisto growls, “so you can all come back here muck it up again? So you can take our water and food? Get the fuck out of here.” Remy takes a step back, “We’re not like that, it’ll be different this time.” Callisto jabs a finger in the air, “Go. Get your silly dreams crushed somewhere else.” She scowls and spits at Remy’s feet, “no good deserter in the first place.” Remy scrambles away from her fury and hits the ‘Summon’ button her helmet the whirrs the engine alive on her plane. She scowls, “Jeez, stuff you too.”

Callisto’s angry eyes follow her as she backs up and jams her helmet back on, fleeing the scene before Callisto changes her mind about saving her. Remy doesn’t look back this time and swallows her bitterness.

It would be different after this, she would make sure of it- even if Callisto couldn’t see that now.

She takes off back to the white pillar in the distance with a round sphere on top, back to the Observatory and the future she would make herself.

<======= Chapter One

#wlw #sapphic #sci fi #science fiction #writers on tumblr #original story #original writing #writeblr #f/f #my work #whales aren't real #chapter two #I rewrote it I hope it's better now

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