#I don’t live where they have raising canes so I had to look up what a fucking “caniac combo” was

[coloradosnumber1dad]

excuse me what.?

So, my dog is in the yard. My dog is gonna be in the yard. White dog, about 15 pounds, crusty brown eyes. The gate is unlocked. And there's a loaded .45 in the mailbox also. Let me break this down for you:

if you dispatch the dog in 1 shot I will tip 25% and leave a 5 star rating.

if the dog has been dispatched but multiple rounds have been fired I will tip 10% and leave no rating.

if the dog is alive I will leave no tip and a 1 star rating.

Once the dog has been euthanized you can just go ahead and leave my Caniac Combo on the porch swing.

Customer has requested no-contact delivery

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’d die for you.

Viktor:

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Please don’t.’ He says almost pleading with you to reconsider after hearing you say such a thing, to be willing to trade off your own life for his own that was already on borrowed time, so wouldn’t your sacrifice be a waste if he was bound to die regardless?

He came from the undercity where loss was an constant occurrence and survival was the norm. So the idea of loosing you wasn’t one he’d warmly welcome nor want to endure as he’d only bury himself deep within his work, going to such lengths with the off chance that he could theoretically bring you back from the cold embrace of death,

‘You’ve got so much ahead of you Viktor.’ You countered. ‘So much to do to achieve your goal of helping others!’ You add.

Viktor moves to look at you from his workplace with a raised brow. ‘And so you automatically think your life is forfeit in comparison because of this?’ He asks as if to show you just how ridiculous it was to just throw your life away because you believed his dreams for the future outweighed the worth of that of your own life.

You stayed quiet as you could see the disbelief clear within his amber eyes as he grabbed his cane and made his way over to you to hold your hand in his long, slender and calloused ones as they caress the back of your knuckles. ‘For it’s not. No life is more important than the others solely based on what the person can give to others.’ Viktor tells you as sits himself down next to you.

‘Our lives are of equal value and I’d would much rather you’d live for me instead.’ He says with a small smile. ‘Do you think you can do that for me?’ He then asks softly, intertwining your fingers together. You smiled back at him. ‘I can sure try as long as you do too.’ You replied and Viktor let out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hand in thanks.

‘Then we shall live for each other.’ Viktor said but little did you know that he’d be lying and he wasn’t going to be staying very soon.

Ekko:

‘I’d gladly die for you.’

‘No, you wont.’ Those words might’ve come out more harsher than Ekko wanted but he wasn’t about to let you joke about trading your life for his own. He just wouldn’t.

Even now the idea of you being the self sacrificial hero made him feel slightly sick to his stomach. He was the one who should be protecting you, protecting everybody really and once his mind was made up Ekko was more or less an immovable object, never yielding and never budging from his ideals for nothing.

So to say he wasn’t liking the idea of you dying on him was an understatement. He didn’t like it for a plethora of reasons as he’s already lost enough people close to his heart, he wasn’t willing to have you be amongst them, painted on the mural by his own hand as he feels the guilt and grief eat away at his heart. ‘Promise me you won’t be reckless the next time we’re out on a mission.’ He gives you his pinky, something you two did when you were being serious about things.

‘Ekko-‘

‘Promise me you won’t.’ Ekko cuts you off in desperation, his eyes wide and his breathing becoming rapid and uneven the longer you didn’t immediately link pinkies with him like you usually did, it had him feeling as though his heart had dropped to his stomach. ‘I don’t want to loose another person I love.’ He adds and you interlock your pinkies with him before being pulled into his strong embrace where he buried his face into yours neck, not wanting to let go of you after hearing that statement leave your mouth.

‘I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.’ He whispered into your neck, grip tightening on you as he feels you rub his back soothingly. Ekko wasn’t ready for the day he’d have to say goodbye to you and so until that day he’ll keep protecting you until he couldn’t anymore, for he’d rather see you move on forward without him, but if he knew you as well as he did then you would just be equally as stubborn to see him live another day.

So he’ll just keep ahold of you like this everyday when you were alone just to remind himself that you were still here and here you will stay.

Silco (young) :

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Don’t say such things, haven’t we suffered enough?’ He’d say as he has you by your shoulders, his grip tightening in tandem with the idea of possibly loosing you to all sorts of things, whether it’d be Zaun or the corrupt enforcers from topside. Silco wasn’t exactly willing to lose the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

It was a day he’d never wish to see pass him by as he didn’t know what he would do should he find you dead in the rubble from a something that was purposely intended for him, he’d blame himself and be left to seek solitude in the darkness and shadows should that ever be the case.

‘But it’s true.’ You’d reply.

Silco grits his teeth at your stubbornness but it was one of your defining traits that he deeply adored. ‘Well I’m not going to allow it.’ He retorted. ‘I won’t allow you to hastily throw your life away just because you felt like being a hero.’ He practically spat out the last part as though it were poison. Hero what the hell has being a hero ever done for anyone? Nothing that’s what and Silco would refused you at every time you got like this, not once liking the implications it left within his head.

‘Not a hero, just someone who cares enough about another person to be willing to see them keep living, even if it means dying in the process.’ You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued to look him in the eyes to prove your words true, but you didn’t need to do that for Silco knew well enough you were a person of your word, never once going back on it when you probably should’ve.

‘Heroes don’t exist in Zaun.’ Silco said as he rests his head against yours, looking you in the eyes. ‘So don’t try and be the first for I don’t want to be the one to make your mural. Don’t make me have to leave you behind. Don’t make me mourn for what we could’ve had.’ He pleads with you as you gently hold his face and caress his cheeks, allowing him the chance to rest his eyes and drink you in through your touch.

He didn’t like the idea of you dying before him, not one bit, so he’ll try and make sure that you survive together long enough to see the betterment of Zaun.

[lexithwrites]

— I don’t want to hold you back from where you might belong. (Part two)

decided to carry this on since everyone was so so sweet about the original oneshot<3 ALSO part one is hereeee

Having James stay with them had very quickly turned into James living with them, and Regulus was starting to lose his mind.

The Black Brothers didn’t have a spare bedroom when they moved in. The little room beside Sirius’ had been made into an office/laundry room/bits-and-pieces-that-had-no-other-home room. And it was too small for a double bed so they never bothered with it, until James started to stay. One day had turned into three, which turned into a week, and that eventually led them to picking up a single bed from IKEA in Remus’ car that Regulus thought looked a bit like a child’s bed.

“You’re always so negative,” Sirius grunted as he and James held the huge, flat pack box above their heads and ever so slowly made their way up the stairs. “He’s moving in, so shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything bad about him moving in. I just said that his feet are going to dangle off the edge of that ages four and up bed.” Regulus muttered from the landing, leaning against the bannister as he sipped his matcha. That was the only promise capable of making him come along that morning, that Sirius would get him Starbucks. In reality, Regulus really liked being around James.

It was actually very pathetic and Regulus knew that. He didn’t have to actually talk to James to enjoy himself, he just followed him around like a puppy and occasionally grunted when he was asked his opinion. Sirius had taken over most of the day; he insisted that he had an eye for interior design. Both Remus and Regulus decided not to bring up the current state of his bedroom, or the mountain of dirty clothes piling up that had mostly certainly developed enough bacteria to come alive by now.

Regulus watched the boys huff and puff up the stairs before dragging the box into the now empty bedroom, and then looked over at Remus who trudged up behind them with his cane.

“Would you like tea?” Regulus offered.

“No,” Remus smiled softly at him, “thank you.”

“What is it with you and tea?” James panted, pulling up his shirt to wipe his sweaty face. He looked sinful, and Regulus ignored the urge inside his brain to lick his chest.

“It’s polite, and Remus is a guest.”

“Not everyone wants tea.”

“You did.” Regulus felt his neck heat up when James looked at him, both of them thinking about the night he showed up at their door. Remus raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, just wandered into the bedroom to help Sirius as he grumbled about IKEA packaging their items stupidly. “Is that bed going to fit?”

“Yes, Regulus.” Sirius mumbled, tearing open the box and making Remus wince because: “sweetheart, we can’t return it if you ruin the box.”

“Are you sure? It looks too wide.”

“I’m very sure, we measured it.”

“I don’t think it’ll fit.”

“For fuck sake, it’s gonna fit!”

It didn’t fit.

It was slightly too wide for the door to properly shut, meaning James’ bedroom would always be on show through the crack in the door. Sirius was at his wits end by late afternoon and stormed outside for a ‘well earned’ cigarette with Remus, who was petting his hair and saying how handsome and strong he looked whilst building furniture. It seemed to calm him down enough not to kick over a second garden chair, at least.

Inside, Regulus was curled up on the sofa with Luffy—a tabby that he picked up off the street the day after they moved in. He followed him home from the corner shop and Regulus didn’t think twice about letting him inside, even though Sirius nearly went mental and made his brother bathe him at least three times. Sirius and Luffy decided they were mortal enemies that day—and reading a book when James decided to bother him.

He’d showered after they finished his room, and had been singing Mariah Carey very loudly; Regulus had been intently listening even if James couldn’t carry a tune. It was endearing. But now, he was stood in the kitchen doorway with grey joggers on, no shirt, and a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He looked like a tanned god and Regulus absolutely loathed him for it. He was still glistening from the shower and water droplets were trickling down his back, and Regulus wondered how strong he would feel if he were to run his hands over his shoulder blades and down towards his—

“What are you reading?” Regulus jumped and Luffy meowed himself awake, upset that he had been jostled.

“It’s…called the pumpkin spice cafe.” Regulus replied, suddenly realising that he was eye level with James’ stomach. Christ.

“Isn’t that a smutty book?” James grinned. “Pretty sure Mary has it. How graphic are the sex scenes?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t got that far.” He lied.

“Liar, bet you have.” James was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Why do you care?”

“I can’t imagine you reading about sex. Or…having sex in general.”

Hurtful. “Good. You’d be a pervert if you did.” He said, turning a page he hadn’t even read yet whilst wishing James would think about him having sex. “My brother would punch you.”

“Sirius would never.”

“He might.”

“There’s nothing I could do to make Sirius mad at me, Reg. Nothing.”

Being with me would.

“That sounds like you’re challenging yourself.” Luffy started to purr in Regulus’ lap and rolled over onto his back to show off his tummy to James, tilting his head and swishing his tail. Traitor. Cooing, James reached down and stroked him…which meant he was leaning so close to Regulus now that he could smell his shampoo.

Apple. Raspberry. God, why does he have to smell this good?

Regulus felt his mouth go dry as he stared at James almost putting his face into his lap just to pet Luffy, and he swallowed. He wanted to pet James, he realised. Touch his hair and tangle his fingers in it, maybe tug it so he’d look at him again with those gorgeous brown eyes, watch the way his lips parted in a gasp, hearing his breath hitch, his hand going to his waist—

“Oh my god, where is he putting his fingers!?” James cackled, pointing to the book. Regulus looked down and read the lines he was focused on and went red. He’d accidentally turned to a smutty chapter.

This day truly couldn’t get any worse.

[fanfoolishness]

Senescence

Clones have always lived on borrowed time. On a trip home from the Rebellion, Omega and her family reach a new understanding. Bittersweet soft family feels, ~2700 words. Written for the @summer-of-bad-batch prompts "Just when were you planning on telling us me that?" and "Yeah, kid, we're fine."

---

Don’t go in blasters blazing, Omega thought, despite the fact that she felt so furious she thought she might climb out of her skin. She thought of Mon Mothma, working in the Imperial Senate and keeping her face calm even when she was lying through her teeth. She could do it too. She keyed in the code and her brothers’ front door opened up.

Hunter was sitting on the couch, his bandaged leg propped up on a footstool. A new walker stood nearby.  A guilty expression lodged immediately on his face, and he threw a blanket over his leg, trying to conceal it. “Hey, look who’s back!” he said warmly, though his eyes still looked furtive.

Batcher woofed slightly, creaking to her feet and shambling towards her. Omega sank to her knees in the entry area, patting Batcher furiously. She could feel the knobbiness of Batcher’s spine through her fur now, aged muscles having wasted, but Batcher was just as pleased to see her as ever. Omega closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and feeling heartened by Batcher’s excitement. “Thanks, girl,” she whispered.

She got to her feet, setting her things down.. She heard the bedroom door open and Wrecker came down the hall, calling to Hunter as he came, his cane stumping down the hall. “Hey, who’s that at the -- Omega!” He closed the distance to her, setting his cane against the wall and flinging his arms wide for a massive hug, teetering slightly as he did so. Some of her anger dissipated as she went to him and threw her arms around him, bracing herself to lend him a little extra support. She rested her head against his shoulder, sighing gratefully.

“Didn’t know you were comin’ home,” Wrecker said softly, his voice thick. He always got choked up when she came home. She hugged him extra tight. “I’d of baked a cake.”

Omega gave him one last squeeze, then pulled back. Stay calm. “Well,” she said carefully, “I wasn’t planning on it… until a little mynock told me about Hunter’s leg.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Hunter said in exasperation from the living room. 

“Oh, really?” Omega came to stand in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning down at him. He gave her an uneasy smile, then winced. Scrapes and abrasions crisscrossed his chin and nose, along with a bruise along his untattooed cheekbone. He reached up to brush his gray and white hair back from his face, looking sheepish. “So who told you? Phee? Shep? Vik?”

“Phee,” Omega admitted. “She thought I already knew. Said she’d keep an eye on you for me after your accident.” She gave them both a tight smile. “You should’ve seen my face when she told me.” 

“He’s fine,” Wrecker said quickly, sitting down beside Hunter. “Honest. AZI’s been takin’ care of him, and me and Crosshair, too.”

“It was just a little fall,” Hunter said, ducking his head defensively. “It could’ve happened to anyone. You know what the stairs are like when it rains --”

“And just when were you planning on telling me that this ‘little fall’ broke your leg?” she asked. She knew she was raising her voice, her attempt at a calm exterior starting to fail. She turned away from them, taking deep breaths. 

She gazed down at the little alcove opposite the couch, where she had put Tech’s goggles when they first moved in. Now that her brother’s goggles had a place of honor in the Marauder II, the alcove held other things: holoscans of her family through the years, portraits that Crosshair had painted of Tech and Echo, a decorative weaving from Wrecker in Lula’s colors, jewelry Omega had made. And from Hunter, a wooden carving of a familiar skull emblem.

Seeing it all again, her composure broke, and she turned back to them, angrily wiping away tears. 

“Look, kid, we didn’t want to worry you,” Hunter said. “I know you’re mad I didn’t tell you. But I’m gonna be fine. AZI’s got me taken care of, the villagers are helping out with some of our work, it’s not a big deal. Things happen,” he said, giving her one of those steady, calm looks she had so cherished when she was small.

For a moment, she almost believed him.

But she wasn’t small anymore. She was a grown woman blessed with normal aging, but her brothers weren’t, and it was catching up to them. She knew a year or two ago, Hunter could still have caught himself easily from a trip or a fall, could have bounced back with just a little stiffness and a tweaked ankle or wrist. Instead, looking at the scrapes on his face, she realized he’d not only fallen, but hadn’t been able to break the fall at all.

“Omega?” Wrecker asked. He patted the couch beside him, where there was an empty seat between himself and Hunter.

She reluctantly sat down between them, then flung her arms around Hunter, pulling him to her as hard as she could. She tried to fight back tears but they spilled out anyway, hot and damp into the collar of his shirt. He held her, whispering, “I’m sorry, kid. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Is it?” Omega asked, looking hard into his brown eyes, then into Wrecker’s. She laid a hand on Wrecker’s cheek against his scruffy white beard and gave him a watery smile. She turned back to Hunter, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. “You’re getting older so fast,” she whispered. “All of you. And I’m… I’m scared.”

She and Hunter breathed in, breathed out, like they’d done a hundred times before.  But that was different; that was back when she was a kid. She pulled away from him to rest her face in her hands. “We’re… losing a lot of people. Our base on Hoth was overrun, and it was a total mess. We’re doing our best but the Empire’s so massive. And when it gets hard I think of all of you. It’s like, at least there’s somewhere safe out there, somewhere the Empire can’t touch, where I know the people I love are going to be all right. Except I don’t know that now.”

Wrecker rested his hand on her shoulder, and Hunter reached out, resting one hand on her knee. “We take care of each other, kid,” Wrecker said. “An’ when we can’t… well, we’re figurin’ out how to ask for help. We’re not alone here, and we’re not the first people to ever get old.” He managed a chuckle, though his eyes were watery. “We’re just doin’ it a little faster than usual.”

“It isn’t fair,” Omega said, as much as she knew it made her sound like a kid. She shook her head at herself, laughing ruefully. “I know life isn’t fair. But this is hard. I wish I was here with you.”

“No you don’t,” Hunter said in a gruff voice, which he followed with a soft smile. “You thought Wrecker talked too much about bodily functions before, you should hear him get going now that he’s got actual ailments.”

“Hey,” Wrecker said, sticking out his tongue. “At least you know what mine are. Crosshair’s always moanin’ under his breath, but when you ask him why, he just goes ‘ohhh it’s nothing.’ That’s worse!”

“And I just get cranky when something’s bothering me. Like this leg,” Hunter admitted. He twitched aside the blanket covering his leg, revealing a cast that went almost to his knee. 

Omega sighed, smiling at him. “You have been extra cranky the last call or two.” She nudged him in the shoulder. “I should have realized something was up, but I was a little distracted with the whole saving the galaxy thing.”

The front door opened, and they turned to see Crosshair come in, carrying a bag of fresh fruit and a well-worn leather satchel. He stopped immediately at seeing Omega. “Omega,” he said, a smile spreading over his deeply lined face. Then he scanned the couch and saw that Hunter’s cast and the walker were visible. His shoulders slumped. “So you know about Hunter’s little spill.”

“I know you didn’t tell me either,” Omega accused, though her anger had nearly faded away. She got to her feet, giving him a fierce look for a moment as he set down the fruit and his satchel of art supplies. She tried to look as stern as possible, though a smile kept threatening to break out on her face.

Crosshair held out both hands in supplication, one flesh, one metal. His metal hand seemed to be working smoothly; she’d check with him before she left in case it needed any tuning up. He sighed. “Truce? Hunter swore me to secrecy.”

“Me too,” Wrecker pointed out. 

“So this is all Hunter’s fault?” Omega asked, looking around at all three of them.

“As usual,” said Crosshair.

Hunter shrugged. “Guilty.”

“Well, now that that’s settled,” said Crosshair, raising his eyebrows at Omega. “I believe you owe me a hug.” 

“Oh, of course I do,” Omega said. She strode to the kitchen, pulling her youngest brother into an embrace. He lowered his head slightly, resting his cheek against hers, his white beard soft against her skin. “Love you, little brother,” she whispered.

“Love you, Omega,” he whispered, quietly enough that only she could hear him.

She pulled back, letting him go. “C’mon.”

“Come on, what?”

“House meeting,” she said. “Now. I know I don’t technically live here anymore --”

“Excuse me, you’ll always have a room here, kid!”

“But there’s some things we need to talk about.”  

---

It was late, and they’d talked through Batcher’s afternoon walk, into dinnertime, well past moonrise. Through the large window in the living room Omega could see the stars spangling the night sky, a fraction of all that lay beyond them. The waning moon wheeled high. She turned to her brothers, stifling a yawn.

“Sure you can’t stay longer?” Hunter asked. “At least a few days.”

“I told you, Hunter, I’m expected back at 1200 tomorrow. I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning,” Omega said. “Hera’s working off some new intel and she’ll need backup. I can’t let her down.” She smiled tiredly. “But I didn’t want to let all of you down, either.”

“You couldn’t possibly,” said Crosshair. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he nudged them up. Not for the first time she wondered how much he and Tech might have looked alike by this age, a bittersweet thought.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, kid,” Hunter said. “But we’ll agree to your demands.”

“When’d you get so good at negotiating?” Wrecker asked, shaking his head.

“Just one of my many skills,” Omega laughed. “So you mean it? If one of you, including Batcher, gets seriously sick or injured, will you actually tell me next time?”

“As long as it’s worse than a sniffle,” Hunter amended. “You don’t need to worry about every little ache and pain. We’re going to get older. That’s just how it works.” He gave her a sad smile. “Clones have always lived on borrowed time. We’ve gotten more than most.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. As much as she wanted her brothers to slow everything down, to age slowly and gently like Shep and Phee, she knew that no one possessed the power to undo what the Kaminoans had created. She had to accept that someday, sooner than she could bear, all of them would follow Tech and Echo before them. 

But her brothers were brave. They always had been. She would be, too.

Omega nodded. “I understand. I know this is what we’ve been dealt. And I know we’ve been so, so lucky to have had the time we did.” She wiped at her eyes, blinking back more tears. “So stupid. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry again.”

“We’re not dyin’ right now,” Wrecker laughed. He was crying again, too, fresh tears on his cheeks, but his laugh was as big and booming as ever. “So don’t worry too much about us just yet.”

“Yeah, kid,” said Hunter, giving her a kind smile, his eyes a little too bright. “We’re fine. Honest.”

Crosshair brought out a fresh toothpick, angling it between his teeth. He puffed up his chest. “Don’t worry, Omega. I’ll keep an eye on these old-timers.”

“You know you’re only the youngest by a standard week, right?” Omega said, giggling.

“With accelerated aging, it could be a few weeks,” said Crosshair loftily. “I’ll make the most of it.”

“Oh sure, laugh it up, whippersnapper,” Hunter snorted.

“Okay, okay, you grumpy old men, some of us have to get to bed and go fight a rebellion,” Omega laughed. “Come on. Let me give you all another hug.”

“Won’t say no to that,” said Wrecker. He went to foist himself up from the couch, then paused, holding up his hand. “Mind giving me a hand? Back’s been killing me.”

“Any time, Wrecker.” She braced herself, holding out her hand for him to grip. Together they got him to his feet, and she handed him his cane automatically. He leaned against it, holding out his other arm as wide as he could, engulfing her in a massive hug. Her ear was pressed against his chest, and she listened to his heartbeat, its rhythm strong and steady.  “Love you, you know.”

“‘Course I know. Love you, too,” he murmured. “Keep takin’ good care of Lula for me.”

Crosshair was next. Even though Crosshair wasn’t as thin as he used to be, it was still always funny going from hugging Wrecker to hugging him. Her arms wrapped securely around him, and he held her close. He’d shrunk a little, and she’d grown, to the point there were only a few centimeters between their heights now. “Drawing anything new?” she murmured into his ear.

“Some of the birds from around the island,” he confessed. He still got shy sometimes about his work, even though he was always learning new things. “I can show you next time.”

“Of course. Looking forward to it, Crosshair.”

Hunter was last. She sat down on the couch beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he put his arm around her. She slipped one arm behind his back and curled up beside him. “How does your leg feel?” she asked quietly.

“It hurts, but it’s manageable,” said Hunter. “I’ll follow all of AZI’s instructions. Promise.”

“You’d better. I’m sure Batcher misses her walks with you.”

“She’s adapting. But I miss them too,” he admitted. “So I’ll work hard to heal this. And we’ll let you know if there’s a problem.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She snuggled in closer to him, feeling safer than she had in a long time. “I love you, Hunter.”

“Love you so much, kid.”

---

She lay on her back in her bed in her childhood bedroom, watching the stars glow and twinkle across the ceiling. Batcher snored contentedly on the floor beside her, flopped peacefully on her side. Everything here was as Omega had left it, though she had told them they could use the space for other things if they needed. Clearly her brothers had their own idea.

It had been hard for them when she left, she knew that, but it was something she needed to do. It was going to be hard to leave this time, too, knowing that every time she came home, they’d be a little bit older, a little bit frailer. 

Knowing that maybe someday she’d lose them, without getting to say goodbye.

Omega closed her eyes. She remembered the green smells of Kashyyyk, the sound of Pabu’s waves, Crosshair’s hand in hers, years ago. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was here, and so were her brothers. The future hadn’t arrived yet; there was only the present. And in the present she knew her brothers loved her, and they knew she loved them in return.

That would never change. She was more sure of it than anything. 

Omega smiled, and she carried that thought in every breath, in every heartbeat, until at last she fell asleep.

[southerndragontamer]

You Only Get Three Strikes

This is my interpretation of how things after the amazing fanart by @andaboop went

Actor hummed an old tune to himself as he adjusted his tie in the mirror and flashed himself a grin. He had just finished up setting things up for the confrontation with Dark in their next encounter, he wondered if it would work enough he could bring out Damien again. He had sent his….no not partner, that was reserved for someone else…..like minded fellow? That sounded right, out to go through the plan Actor had crafted for him about some hero, magician? Whoever the target he was after.

He’d really lucked out in meeting the other, it was always nice to have a trump card in your pocket and though he was a bit…jagged around the edges the actor was confident that the shared interest in their respective goals would help him figure out how to direct those edges the way he’d like.

His thought process was derailed when the door was slammed open. No, that wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t slammed so much as kicked in so hard it flew to the opposite wall. He whirled around, cane in hand ready to defend himself as his mind immediately jumped to William or Damien only to blink as he saw the glitch there. His smile fit into place as he relaxed.

“Oh it’s you my friend! You gave me a heart attack there-”

His voice cut off by force by a clawed hand that snapped around it with the speed of a striking cobra, or a bear trap when it shut from the pressure plate being triggered. He gagged and choked and instinctively tried to pry away the fingers that felt like they were going to snap his windpipe in two. He attempted to kick as he was lifted into the air and slammed against the wall.

Anti’s face was twisted in a near wild fury, all his fangs bared and body glitching as the lights began to flicker and dim. His eyes were glowing like a live wire as he spat out, Irish accent thickened even further than normal.

“Shut yer damn mouth. I don’t wanna hear a sound outta ye, unless I say you can talk.”

Actor couldn’t have tried to speak right now if he wanted to, he tried to nod as his vision swam with black spots. Just as he thought he was going to pass out, or need to reconstruct his throat again, he was let go and dropped like a sack of bricks. He held in the gasp as oxygen flooded into his lungs and covered his mouth to muffle the cough as he looked up at the glitch for a reason why he’d suddenly flown off the handle.

Anti’s glare was like looking at a lightning strike inches from where you stood, the sense of if he wasn’t careful he’d have to dig himself out of a grave again. The glitch stepped back and manifested his knife as he started to absently twirl it in his fingers with the ease of someone that had wielded a blade for a long time.

“I was willing to give ye a chance ya know, at working together. You talk a big game pretty boy. But you can’t cash it. I went with that ‘plan’ of yours that ye made for me. And do you wanna know what happened?”

Actor felt his stomach start to knot and sink, his heart picked up and he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck at the way the lights flickered and threatened to pop, sparks arced off of the glitch’s skin as his voice dropped into a growling hiss.

“I had the magician about to collapse at my feet when the damned timekeeper intervened. They got away from me. Oh I can find em again, easy as breathing, my strings don’t allow any less. But it’s the principle of it all.”

Actor resisted the urge to hunch in on himself as Anti’s head snapped around at a sickeningly off angle and speed and instead he began to try to save face, backpedal as he stood up. His best apologetic expression on as he tried to keep from going out of the frying pan into the fire. His eyes shone a brighter red and he weaved his own kind of power into his words like red ribbon braided together to hide blood.

“I’m sorry that it didn’t work like I intended friend, but I didn’t take everything into account it seems when I made my plan.”

That was as far as the ‘apology’, because such a word was only proper in a true sense of remorse for actions, got as he found his jaw exploded in pain from the literally lightning fast blow to one side. He felt bone crunch and fracture as he collapsed to the floor and held his jaw in place as it began to repair itself.

Only to choke and blood to spurt out of his mouth by the sharp kick that echoed with the cracking of ribs, just as quickly he was hauled up by the collar of his suit and the knife was pressed deeply against his skin. Ruby droplets trailed down the edge of the blade as Anti half snarled.

“I told you. Not. A. Sound. You must not have much grey matter between your ears, or you’re just a glutton to get your arse beaten. So let me explain this in a way you’ll be sure to understand.”

Actor winced and his eyes squinted as the glowering, searing light of Anti’s eyes were right in front of him. The knife cut in just a bit deeper into his skin. The glitch’s tone went from utterly furious about to stab someone, to calm and measured and almost cold rage that was somehow almost more terrifying.

“If you’re not one of my puppets, you get three strikes. Your first mistake was fockin things up for me reclaiming one of mine. The second one was the half-arsed, shite apology ya tried to make.”

And Anti grinned, slow and cruel and his eyes had a sadistic glint in them as he chuckled and finished in an almost croon. The lights shone green and the white noise of static snow started to hurt Actor’s ears enough to make him wince and he swore for a second something started to bleed.

“Your final strike? Thinking I was too stupid to know you didn’t expect more out of me than dumb muscle eager to get to fighting, someone that wouldn’t question anything.”

The lights flared such a bright green that it went white and then popped with the sound of fizzling soda and shattered glass. Actor subconsciously, human instinct still ingrained after so long of being inhuman, flinched, shut his eyes and covered his head. The sound of shrieking static made him cover his ears as they ached and he was positive he felt his eardrums burst, his head ached as the sound pierced through his skull.

The shrieking came again, not just a wall of sound but laughter. Actor had never been one that dealt well with being made a joke, pride bristled in indignation as his eyes snapped open and he started to growl, to snap back at the glitch for being so ungrateful for his help. His mask dropped as his true form slipped through the handsome image he portrayed. Like the true face of Dorian Grey, sickened, rotten and ugly.

Only he saw that Anti had dropped his mask as well…

Instead of a human with glowing green eyes, sharp claws and fangs to betray the inhuman underneath…what stood in front of Actor was something that could only be called eldritch. Lightning and static in a silhouette that was humanoid but not, it glitched and twisted on itself, crackling at the seams. He blinked and it shifted each time as if it couldn’t decide on how to ‘appear’. Too long, too many ‘limbs’ too long claws that took the place of fingers, jaws filled with rows and rows of razor blade fangs, it looked too big for the space it was in, the walls creaked and groaned with the strain to hold it in.

His head ached like the worst migraine he’d ever had, his ears rang and he felt blood dripping from his nose, the world felt like it tilted and he felt like he was going to throw up. There was a rumbling of thunder and then he was aware of his body falling and convulsing as his brain lit up with only agony as a reason. Past the pain and the searing white noise in his ears that felt like it was trying to break his mind apart, he grit his teeth at the shrieking, piercing laugh that had him swallow down bile.

“Already on the ground writhing like a snake without its head~ You thought you were such a tough shot because you constantly annoyed Dark, ohhh boyo you got no idea of what forces you’re playing with now~”

The sensation of barbed wire cutting and tearing, ripping into his skin as the glitch’s strings wrapped around his limbs and yanked him up to his feet. Up further still to Anti’s ‘face’…too many eyes, shades of green, black, blue and some brown, they looked like fractured images through cracks in a mirror. The glitch’s body waved and rose as it spoke, like watching a sound wave on a computer screen.

As much as Actor tried to hold it in, as he finally realized how in over his head he was, that making a deal with the glitch had been a horrible mistake, when he felt the lightning forced through his body again, he screamed. Anti’s cackling laughter of delight rang in his ears and covered the sound as it echoed in on itself.

“It’s been a while since I had a chance to play with something that can survive it~ Oh yes, I’m aware you can’t stay dead~ You’re gonna wish you were back in that manor when I get bored of you~”

[flyingwargle]

flufftober day 20: paw

suna wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up because of his parents’ disinterest and his own lack of free time to care for them outside of volleyball. because of this, he’s somewhat awkward around animals, often hanging back while his friends give them head pats. he would approach afterwards to stroke their fur or observe from a distance, content to take pictures.

who knew that he’d get to the point where he’d train a dog to do tricks?

he’s sitting in the living room with sriracha, her container of kibble beside him. she watches him lift her front paw and shake it. “paw,” he tells her, staring into her wide eyes. she lowers her paw when he releases her, and he says, “okay. sriracha, paw.”

she blinks, lowering her nose to touch his hand. suna sighs, although it’s out of amusement. “not quite. paw.” he nudges her aside to lift her paw and shake it. “paw. this is your paw.” he releases it again, and says, “sriracha, paw.”

a beat passes. her front paw lifts off the floor, and suna grasps it, shakes it. using his other hand to pat her head, he reaches into the container for a piece of kibble. “good girl.” she eagerly licks it from his palm.

“rin?” osamu’s voice drifts from the hallway. “where are ya?”

“living room,” he calls out. “with sriracha, if you’re looking for her.”

his boyfriend emerges from the hallway, fingers dragging along the wall, swinging his head around to locate them. “whaddaya doin’?”

“trying to teach sriracha a paw trick. it’s working, somewhat.” he pets her as osamu walks around them to sit on the couch. “it usually takes a while to train dogs, right?”

osamu shrugs. “depends. it took ‘tsumu a week ta teach her ta hug people.”

“what.” he’s incredulous. “why?”

“sakusa had ta go ta hong kong fer a week, so ‘tsumu stayed over an’ moped. i told ‘im ta do somethin’ productive or i wasn’t gonna feed ‘im, an’ he taught sriracha ta how ta hug.” osamu leans forward, hand ruffling her golden fur. “sriracha, give rin a hug.”

she jumps onto his lap and pushes her muzzle against his face. suna yelps, startled, running his hands along her flank, sputtering when she licks his cheek. “down, girl. i get enough hugs from your dad. i don’t need any more.”

“ya can never get enough hugs from sriracha,” osamu snorts. “what kinda paw trick are ya teachin’ her?”

“just the basic one, where she raises her paw for a handshake. it’s kind of working.” suna gently urges her off his lap. “sriracha, sit.” she’s quick to obey. “good girl. sriracha, paw.” he holds his hand toward her. “come on, girl, paw.” sriracha rises and pads toward osamu instead, nudging his knee. “and she just completely ignored me.”

“she’s signalin’ that she wants a walk,” osamu says with a chuckle. “it’s that time o’ the day, anyway. wanna come? i needa grab some vegetables from the supermarket.”

suna agrees, and they quickly change. osamu clips the leash on his guide dog’s collar and buckles the harness around her before they exit. stepping into the crisp fall afternoon, they walk toward the supermarket.

he’s watched sriracha work many times over, but he’s still fascinated by how diligent she is, stopping at every curb, reacting swiftly at every command, maneuvering around obstacles that cross their path. all sidewalks in the city have tactile blocks for visually impaired pedestrians, so osamu could navigate with only his white cane, but a guide dog grants him independence to a greater degree.

“the light is green,” suna says, watching the light blink from red to green.

“thanks. let’s go, sriracha.” osamu takes a step forward, his guide dog following.

they reach the supermarket, and suna grabs a basket. he follows after his boyfriend, watching him inspect each produce with light touches across the leaves to make a selection. they’re regulars at this point, the workers all familiar with them and sriracha that they sneak treats to osamu to give to his dog once she’s off harness.

their visit is brief, and they’re back in their apartment. osamu starts dinner preparations while suna grooms sriracha, then sits her back down in the living room with the container of kibble. if atsumu can teach a trick in a week, then he should be able to, as well. “come on, girl. i might not be teaching you how to hug but i do want to teach you something new. sriracha, paw.”

she raises her front paw slightly and suna grasps it to shake, then feeds her a piece of kibble. “one more time. sriracha, paw.” this time, it’s faster, slightly forward for him to grasp. he rewards her again, adding a heat pat. “good girl.”

“stop feedin’ her,” osamu calls out. “we’re gonna have dinner soon.”

“yeah, yeah. you did a good job today.” suna pats her head again, taking the container with him into the kitchen, where osamu is preparing udon. “need any help?”

“nah, i’m almost done. can ya grab the bowls an’ cutlery ta set the table?”

dinner is lovely, as always, and the rest of the evening passes. the couple sits on the couch for downtime, sriracha prowling through the living room, looking for attention. suna looks up from his phone when he watches osamu pet her. “you should try the paw trick with her.”

osamu puts his laptop down and faces her. “fine. sriracha, sit.” she moves into position. “sriracha, paw.” a pause, and then her front paw lifts off the ground. osamu blinks. a beat passes. “rin, ya idiot. how am i s’posed ta see her paw?”

suna suppresses a chuckle. “whoops.” he moves closer, reaching for osamu’s hand to guide him toward sriracha’s paw. “there. shake it, since it’s part of the trick.”

“good girl.” osamu shakes it, then releases her, and she moves away. he turns to suna instead, slight frown faltering with amusement. “yer the only one who can reinforce that trick with her, ‘cause i can’t see it.”

“i trained her to lift her front paw, but maybe i’ll train her to use her other paw to mess with you.” suna smirks, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “i could train her to put her paw on your hand, instead. the possibilities are endless.”

“yer enjoyin’ this, aren’t ya?”

“more than i thought.”

osamu laughs. suna wraps an arm around him, lets his boyfriend lean against him. maybe in the future, he’ll train sriracha to be their ring bearer.

[upontherisers]

❛ i’ve been thinking about you all day. ❜ for mahalia & bucky 👀👀

a/n: writing under the influence always does crazy things to my prose. god bless.

She misses Europe and the cold that bit, the cold that put those horrible red cracks in between Brady’s fingers. What an awful thing to happen to a piano player. The cold that reminded her that she could feel something, that a small ember in her wanted to live. A cold she fought harder than anything, then lost, then lost him.

By the time she’d realized what she felt, she could hear her Uncle Ned’s voice in her head at a Sunday barbeque once he’s got enough beers in him to talk big to the fly boy hanging around his niece’s neck. “You don’t know spades from war, boy.”

It won’t work. John doesn’t take too kindly to ‘boy.’

So she forgets him, or tries to. That’s where the dreaming comes in, the wild things, the ones that made the shrink she saw for a day take notes, the ones that made her shut her lip quick. John doesn’t take too kindly to ‘note,’ either.

Sometimes her leg is better, sometimes he’s telling her to stay still and she can’t breathe. It’s like her chest is caving in on itself; they have sinkholes in Michigan. She knows she’s dreaming because it didn’t hurt when she fell, just knocked the wind out of her lungs. None of this heaving, desperate stuff that makes her mother shake her awake in the middle of the night for fear she’s suffocating. Gale’s there too — sometimes — and he’s real gentle. Sweet. Real life like, too, like one of those warship models her baby cousin paints, full of color and just missing the water. When it’s just John, he’s good to her.

They have a white picket fence and two stories and a dog she’s getting used to and they don’t sleep well, but they sleep. When her leg’s better they ride bikes and John scoffs about “we don’t have this in Wisconsin” and “we don’t have that in Wisconsin.”

“Lake Erie's prettier than the Superior and Michigan combined,” she argues, even with factory smoke skies and rains that hiss like the German reeds she landed in.

“I doubt it,” he says.

“Well, you’ve only ever seen it from baseball.”

“So? Baseball’s the best.”

And when he’s home from work — ‘cause he’s not a drunk in this one. Y’know, she never knew him as a drunk; she always just assumed. When he’s home from work, she’s standing in the kitchen and yes, some evenings the cane is there, but the sky is too pumpkin orange and purple for her to care. He brings her flowers and he kisses her and takes off his tie — again, not a drunk — and he tells her things. 

“We should at least see it, the Potomac, the houses… the schools.”

“My sister’s having a baby.“

“'I've been thinking about you all day.”

When her leg hurts, he’s gentle like he’s talking to her about baseball. It’s — she can’t find the words more often than not — it’s blinding, almost. Biblical, seraphic.

They had a veterans’ free admission day at the museum in Detroit. Sounds like some shit Vera would say. She went with Alex Jefferson and they walked arm and arm through the galleries, her cane occasionally squeaking against the wood floor. No one seemed to notice. Alex had invited her to stay with him and that darling thing from Tennessee, and she forgot about things for a night and a half, and spent the next six days smelling the wood air and the dew and the lake and wondering if he could feel dew somewhere too.

They had veterans’ free admission day and she saw one of those little paintings of angels, the ones with the little arrows from Valentine’s day cards, and she laughed aloud, turning heads in the echoing gallery, and thanked God she wasn’t raised Catholic. 

She’d always known what angels looked like. Brown hair, eyes like the skies above, an attitude that’d make her mother stop trying to marry her off, and no scars from the shepard that’d gotten a hold of her leg when she was twelve — the one that made the physician call the nurse in before he signed off on her physical so she could join up and she snatched the signed form away with as much rank as she could muster. You don’t ask a woman about her age or her scars.

When he’s good to her, he brings her flowers, and that’s when she knows she’s dreaming, because the flowers are daisies — real white and real yellow — like the ones Marge pressed in her letter. So at least Gale’s alive. And if, if Gale’s still alive—

They’re still taking trains to Wyoming.

She does feel guilty for the dreams that Gale’s in because Marge is a good woman and she knows it. She knows it. It’s just jealousy, she supposes, or she’s going mad with bed rest or she’s not really as dedicated to wanting something as it feels like. If it’s not about Gale, then it’s not about John, either — right?

Her mother’s reading books about shell shock in effort to explain why Mahalia came home in her own body and not her sister’s. She cracked one of them once, when Mama was out chatting to Miss Melody on the front porch and she couldn’t bear those cow-eyed kids wrapped around the hem of their mother’s yellow rose dress staring at her cane. The author was well-read and white and had served in the first one — more than most of his colleagues can say. She liked the way he wrote, talking to her like a friend, not a creature in a cage at the zoo that they poke with sticks to chronicle aggressive behavior. Dr. Arnold Bacon, Harvard University.

Dr. Bacon doesn’t say anything about dreams, at least not hers. She’s had the rest of them — her crash, camp, the march — and she doesn’t do well when gaskets blow on the street outside, but she finds nothing about dreaming of majors with strong hands and a knack for box scores, and she’s sure that shell shock’ll be the next explanation her mother crosses off the list, right next to getting pregnant and possession. She’s sure she’s incurable, but that’s what the doctors told her parents about her sister, too, and they couldn’t have lost another daughter just like that.

So she’s awake from all the dreams and the dreams of dreams, and the cold makes her remember the piano player. 

All of her letters returned to sender. She didn’t know they were doing that. Surely she’s not the first to be bent over sick with worry, surely she’s not the first to know he’s not dead — she fell but it’s not like the stars fell from the sky and punched holes in her wings, surely a million other bomber girls with their leg all tore up were trying to catch his scent but staying far enough away so that the fry grease don’t hit ‘em. 

When Crank wrote back from Massachusetts — blustery, all those vowels, a bitter wind in August — she knew that those were just dreams. If she really wanted the white picket fence and the yellow-brown center of a pressed daisy, she’d stop flinching at the blue sky when she looked up to sneeze and the green grass for the dog to run like the pines up north, farther than she’d ought to go, in real Michigan, parallel to his Wisconsin.

She’s lucky the farmer who pulled over to fill her up wasn’t carrying, she’s lucky he liked Roosevelt, she’s lucky he was union, and she’s lucky she got a hand pie from his wife as she waved farewell from their driveway on Christmas, snow blowing like steam from the Nuremberg train.

That’s the first day she really pissed her parents off. On Christmas, of all days. Leg so stiff we nearly layed ya ‘cross the backseat and drove to the Episcopals — they didn’t have round little cherubs, either. Her father’s smile faltered an inch and she felt pride in it. Finally, something other than love.

She dreams of arms wrapping around her waist, his chin settling in the crook of her shoulder so they could watch their boy run around with the dog outside. Michigan’s hot this time of year — it’s always summer when she dreams of the fence — orange like sunset and green.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

It gets cold again and she thinks of the piano player’s split hands and Uncle Ned, three lakes, sister’s baby shower blue; she’s as good a navigator as it takes to know it’ll be at least four days to Montana and even if Marge writes back that night, it’ll be at least five days to Chicago — and Vera! A boy! How wonderful — and then a day to her.

And that’s if Gale’s writing to Marge and if that pilot friend of his isn’t face down with a gun to his head.

She writes Crank who’s writing Hambone, who’s writing Brady and Alex, Macon, Benny, Vera, and no one could say the name of the one that connects them all. The one that’s late for roll, who did plenty of dumb shit before her and certainly after, but who wasn’t gone. That’s what she told the people at the post office when her letters wouldn’t go fast enough. 

She’s dreaming until she’s not and she always knew he was a drunk! She knew and he still found her door and her father’s firm hand and he found the spot by the window on the left side of her mattress. 

He gets her flowers once, pink roses — and to think she’d dreamt about yellow and white daisies — when he tells her about a promotion and a big enough salary to fix her leg and they have great hospitals in D.C. and she has to be on his insurance legally, meaning swapping out her last name, and it only has to keep as long as they can shoot me down over Seoul. And she kisses him as a few roses fall to the floor like leaves in a too early autumn. But for the first time, she wants to stay where it’s warm, green-purple and brown-orange, and let the winter be the past.

[blacktobackmesa]

Circus Peanuts - a Half Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware Minific

It's the middle of the night, and one eldritch horror calls another to talk about that clown cartoon. Canon to the Streamman fanfiction continuity, but exists on its own.

Written as part of my personal NaNoWriMo challenge to work on fiction for an hour a day.

“You’d tell me if I was like Caine, right?”

“...whu?”

“I–I  know it’s late,” The caller stammered. “Sorry. I saw you were up from your Discord… thingy. The… fuck, I don’t know works. Words. The green dot.”

“Status. The status thingy..”

“Yeah, you can tell I just woke up, huh? It’s nothing. Sorry–”

“No, no, don’t hang up,” the recipient cut in. “Commit to your bit. You wanted to ask about Cane’s.”

That made him laugh. Victory. “No, not Cane’s. Caine. The ringmaster guy.”

The recipient’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then raised to the brim of his bonnet. “Talking about the clown show?”

“Yeah, way to not make me feel goofy about it.” 

“Fuck. No, that’s– didn’t mean to sound like that. That’s a real question. You mean the teeth from the clown puppet show.”

“Yeah, that. That’s the… wait, puppet?”

“Cartoons are picture puppets, y’know?.”

“We can unpack that later,” the caller decided.  

“Was it a dream or just night thoughts? Or something else?”

“Dream.”

The recipient crossed one leg over the other and curled his finger around an imaginary phone cord. “You wanna tell me about it?”

“Mm. I don’t remember the whole thing, but I’ll tell you the important stuff.”

The recipient waited for a moment as his friend got his thoughts sorted. 

“We were playing something together, the whole team. There were some parts where it was streamed? But other times that wasn’t part of it, and it was hard to tell who was the host. But I must have gone through the wrong door or something, and I ended up in the Amazing Digital Circus. The place, not the… the cartoon. I mean, I guess it was in the cartoon, since it’s about the place. It really depends–”

“Did that matter?”

“What?”

“If it was the place or the cartoon.”

“I don’t know.”

“Keep going.”

Yeah, he could practically hear the eyes rolling. “Alright. Well, I was there. The team wasn’t. And I was kind of in Pomni’s role– you know, the jester girl. But she was there, too, so it was more like I was just the new guy after her.”

“It’s your self insert fanfiction.”

“Fuck, yeah. That’s… that’s legiterately what it… that’s not a word. Literally, legitimately what it was.”

“Be cringe and free.”

“I wasn’t free, though!” He almost laughed. “That’s the whole thing about the circus, you’re stuck there. And that’s why Caine does the adventures, right? He’s… I mean, there’s lots of ways to interpret the pilot, but that’s what I figured: Caine does the adventures so that the people trapped there have something to keep them occupied and fulfilled and all that. He’s not exactly, uh, sane about it, but he’s not trying to hurt them, he just doesn’t understand what it’s like to be them, he knows they need something to interact with and just makes shit up so they have something to do with their lives–”

“Ohhhh.”

“You get it?”

“Yeah. That’s fucked,” he confirmed. “Now breathe before you pass out.”

From the sounds on the other end, that’s just what he did. 

“So whuhappen?”

“It’s a little fuzzy,” the caller went on. “We had some task, but it changed through dream logic stuff. Something like finding keys in eggs. But my brain wasn’t fully locked into the dream logic, so whenever something changed it just fucked with me real hard. I was just freaking out about being stuck there, about not being able to go back home, what would happen to my kid and my apartment and…”

He trailed off. 

“And what?”

He took a deep breath. 

“You guys,” he finished. “What would happen to you guys if I was gone. That’s when… this is the part that fucked with me, I guess. At some point, even though they still looked and sounded like the cartoon characters, my brain decided that the circus characters were the Science Team.”

“Oh, cool. Was I the bunny?”

“Was–” he wheezed a little. “I don’t know. That’s not important.” “It is.”

“No.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“No, it wasn’t– it wasn’t a direct, one-to-one thing. It was more like the concept. The concepts got crossed. It wasn’t… I didn’t Kin Assign you guys.”

“Boo.”

“Ignoring that. It was around that time that Caine kind of disappeared from the dream, and I didn’t even notice until I woke up. Instead, I had to be the one who set up things to do to keep the circus team busy. And when I got into that, my mind kind of… stopped being about being trapped. The dream kind of morphed, the way dreams do. By the time I woke up, it wasn’t even about being trapped in the circus anymore. It was brainstorming for next week’s stream, just inside the circus. It happened so smoothly.” 

There was a lull in the conversation. The caller seemed out of steam. The listener continued to twirl their invisible phone cord.

“You wanna play Carnival Games for the Wii next week?”

“...No, Benrey. Not really.”

“Why?”

“...I don’t know. Motion controls.”

“You use VR legiterately all the time.”

“Heh. Maybe.”

“Maybe yes?”

“Look, just… thanks for listening.”

“Mm. Thanks for talking.”

[milf-lover42]

I've been thinking about Georgina Orwell an alarming amount this past week but I think I've exhausted all the good fan content out there 💔, tumblr posts, fanfics, hell even whatever pinterest gave me has run dry. I'm sad, I'm contentless, and I'm shamefully in love with Georgina Orwell.

That was longer than I thought itd be but basically the point is that if you have any advice for where to look next then I will take it, and if not then I am humbly asking you for any headcanons or anything you have 🙏

THANK YOUUU SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG!! YOU HAVE WONDERFUL TASTE IN WOMEN!!!

Dear anon I am so so unbelievably sorry for the time it has taken to get to you. I, an Esmé kinner, and my partner, a Georgina kinner, think about this ask every day and have been dying to answer you. Life has just been all over the place.

I would say that these headcanons are just that, and if you disagree then that’s fine, but truthfully I think of what we have come up with over the years as the real and actual truth and canon of the series. With that in mind! Here you go, I hope you enjoy!

Lore headcanons

First and foremost!

No matter the version, book, show, or continuation of the movie that never happened… Georgina survived her “death” at the Mill. In show canon, obviously there’s just an escape chute in the furnace, easy peasy, everyone has said this.

In book canon… yeah okay sure she tripped and was sawed in half at the mill. However, that woman has surely seen an Alice Cooper concert and knows how to fake a gory death live. She probably taught him how to do it to be honest.

So. She lives through Miserable Mill no matter the version. That woman is unkillable.

Georgina’s family is Old VFD. Like the Orwells were founding members type shit. Maybe it was her parents, maybe her grandparents or further, but either way, she was raised knowing everything. She was one of few members capable of learning about VFD and its inner workings from her own family - long before they died. She is the last keeper of every secret. She knows more things about the history of the organization than most of the sugarbowl gen can even begin to piece together. If VFD had nuclear weapons, Georgina Orwell would be the only one left who knew the codes, and that includes the Sinister Duo. Because of this, she’s very disconnected from the other members that we know of because they just don’t know about the truly dark information that VFD has kept secret from itself. She is technically still VFD, and in her earlier life was a dedicated member in some capacity, but she has no strong allegiance to it aside from her secret keeping (though that is more familial allegiance) when the SBG undergoes their schism.

Characteristic headcanons

BOTH of her knees are bad, that’s why she carries a cane. She doesn’t always need it (see: how often she simply holds it instead of actually placing it on the ground in the show), the pain flares up at different intervals and usually only in one leg at a time, but she always carries one A) because it is her sword and B) because that way no one can ever tell if it’s a good or bad day for her as far as knee pain goes.

She takes her coffee with no creamer, but does use sugar. It just varies in quantity per day. NEVER creamer or milk. Also is totally someone that’s a “don’t talk to me before my morning coffee” person. She doesn’t ever say this, she doesn’t have a nonsense mug that says it. However, if you try to speak to her before her coffee she will simply ignore you. She doesn’t get mad or glare or anything. She just… does not care until she’s had coffee. So it’s best to just wait because you won’t get anything out of her until then.

Tea she takes plain, nothing in it, no milk, no sugar, no lemon, nothing. Just. Tea. She isn’t a tea snob by any means, she will drink any tea she is given. If it’s bad tea she’ll just think that it wasn’t great, could be improved, but will take NO steps to improve it herself. She doesn’t even look at what type she is buying and she has no favorites. She likes tea enough to buy and make it but she literally does not care enough to select one. She just picks one at random every single time. She has had some truly horrible teas in her time without complaining or changing her habits once.

If you ask her what matcha is she will have NO idea what the fuck you are talking about.

Thank you so much for the ask, I love talking about my wife. I have so many more headcanons but pretty much all of them revolve around the idea that she and Esmé are together pre and post series (I am writing a fic slowly but surely to better explain this dynamic) and that they adopt Carmelita after the hotel. In the case that you are not an Eswell shipper I am keeping them to myself for the time being, but should you want that specific Georgina content I am more than happy to oblige! Just shoot me another ask and I will begin to compile it for you.

[sgt-scottymoreau]

And so it all started

Summary: Young Henri is impatient to know if he will be accepted to L'École militaire royal and finally be a pilot.

Warning: None

Words: 1k // Masterlist

A/N: First part of I don't know many yet. Happiness in hardship is the story of Scotty's father, Henri. There's many parts in his life that I want to write for fun and because I think they are important to him (some that I probably mention way to often *cough*losinghisbestfriend*cough*) I want to explore more than talking a little bit about here and there. I need the emotions to be more than a two sentence thing. Enjoy! A/N2: I had to do some good research about how all this worked, but also this story take place in the 80-90s so finding information on the school at that time was something. Military service was mandatory till 1992 and before, I don't remember the year, it was indeed 4 years at the school. Now it's 5.

He was looking by the window. Impatiently waiting for the mailman to arrive and deliver today’s letters. It was the last day, last chance, his last hope to have an answer. His mother called him to the kitchen for some help. Reluctantly, Henri walked to the room, his gaze never letting go of the window till it was completely out of sight. The woman pointed out the container that was too high for her reach. The young man tiptoed to grab it… The doorbell rang. Henri almost dropped the container, awkwardly threw it at his mom and he ran to the entrance. The poor woman barely had the time to catch the object and yell at her son. This was no way to help!

That was it! He opened the door. Finally he will have -

“Grandpa.” He said in a monotone voice, his smile dropping to a disappointment. 

“What’s the long face, kid? Not happy to see me?” The old man passed him and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Supporting himself on his cane, he made his way to the living room. 

Henri rolled his eyes. Of course he was happy to see him, but he was really hoping for someone else. “Mom didn’t say you were coming. What’s the surprise?” 

“For good luck.” Henri raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, I woke up this morning feeling like something good is going to happen.”

“Oh Mr. Moreau, you know your grandson doesn’t believe in this.” After some quick greeting formality, the woman left and came back with coffee and biscuits. This was the least she could offer her guest. Henri sat on the couch opposite of his elders. As they spoke about everything and nothing, his mind didn’t listen to anything. He fidgeted with his fingers, his leg was restlessly bouncing, his eyes followed the balance of the pendulum. Any minute now. What could have happened? Why was the mailman so late, him who was always on time! Or maybe it was Henri who had lost any sense of space and time because he couldn't wait anymore.

The phone rang. Another distraction. Henri got up to answer as he noticed that the other two were still deep in conversation. To his surprise it was Didier. “Hey! You got your letter?”

“No.” Henri groaned. “I’m still waiting… You?” 

“I’m just gonna say, I hope you get accepted because school is going to be boring without my brother!”

“You are in? That’s amazing! Fuck where is my damn letter!”

“Henri! Watch your language!” His mom shouted from the other room.

“Hey kid. Seems like the mailman is there.”

Henri didn’t even say a thing to his friend. He hung up quickly, the handset slipped away from the holder. The young man ran to the mailbox, fought to open it under the adrenaline. A bunch of mail, bills, unimportant papers and… He saw the logo in the corner first. The ERM. He ran back inside. In the living room, his grand-father and mother watched intrigued as well to know the result. Henri was shaking, he flipped the envelope in all directions as if his mind had forgotten how it worked for a moment. Carefully, he opened it. His eyes skipped the usual superfluous text at the beginning. All he was looking for was one little word. But it was hidden between lines and words made out from all the most professional structure. He mumbled the text as fast as he read.

“In light of your result, you are officially accepted at L’École royale militaire! YES! I’m accepted! MOM! I PASSED!”

He scooped her in a hug, spinning her around. She weighed nothing to him. This was everything! His life will change and for the better. The older man pushed himself up with his cane and hugged his grandson. He was very proud of him! “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

“No grandpa. I get seasick, navy would have been the worst! Anyway, I applied to be a pilot, can’t change this.”

“Well let me pray for all those poor soldiers' souls if you and that friend of yours are in the same transport. Menaces of the sky.” He patted his back. Henri laughed at the teasing.

The terrible beeping noise of his alarm rang in his room. In a second, it stopped. The truth was, Henri hadn’t been up for an hour now. He had barely slept last night and when the early ray of the sun showed in the sky he was already getting ready. But it was still too early so he spent the rest of the morning in his room till his alarm went off. This was his cue to move on with the day and make everyone proud. Which he did a few weeks prior when his letter came in. Today was different; it made it even more official as he would be moving to the boarding school. Tomorrow was the first day of a new life, to four years of giving his best and being the best. Henri knew that as much as he made it sound like it was great, it wasn’t as much. He knew what it implied to follow the path of military life. His grandfather had told him enough stories about his glorious days in the navy that he could imagine how it was. Yet, after years of long discussion with his mother, the sleepless night of worry about the future, this felt like his best opportunity. He never truly knew what to do with his life, money had always been a concern and achieving higher study felt like a dream. In a way, he might have fallen for the false promises, but he could get some higher education for free. Not that the regular one costs much in general, but with the money struggle at home… The way he saw it, if after his seven mandatory years in the army he didn’t want to be part of it anymore, he would have more open doors in civil life with his diploma. This was a problem for future him, now he had to go pack the car and make his way to school.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hey, i really enjoyed reading your angst drabbles and i was thinking if you could write something like Viktor neglecting reader and all her attempts to be close to him again, and when she decides to give up on him, she almost die in the council room explosion, after he stood her up again, leaving her in some state of coma. then he regret everything, after all she should’ve been with him…

sorry if i made some mistakes, english is not my first language but im trying my best! 🫶🏻

Ah yes, more angst *laughs maniacally in several cups of coffee and severe need to make ppl cry* also your English is perfect, no need to apologise sweetie. Also! This is extremely long cuz I got carried away. Hope you enjoy tho! 🫶🫶

You adored Viktor greatly, for to you there was not a man who could match his brilliance and his resilience, his determination to see everything that he’s put his whole heart and soul into this hextech project through. Everything about him was enticing to you from his dream to better the lives of others, the twinkle in his amber eyes when he had made a scientific breakthrough, not to mention the way he became more animated and eager to talk as he spoke about it; he sounded more alive then ever before which you loved for him.

However what once brought you happiness would eventually become your downfall for as of recent memories as tensions between Piltover and Zaun heightened to a dangerous degree, Viktor had more or less had secluded himself to the lab from the early hours of the morning, rarely to come out for anything or anyone. Gone were the days where you’d see him in the hallways of the academy, blessing you with his beautiful smile as his amber eyes only seemed to glow within your presence in familiarity, offering a short greeting in passing but the recognition of your existence by him was more then a full length conversation with him would have given you.

He left your peripheral vision with nothing to remind you of moment, nothing but a flutter within your chest that’s warm and suffocating as the same time. Now you were left disappointed to ever think that you could recapture that moment again, such like a love sick individual who was detached from all forms of reality that didn’t have him in it. Times were changing and not for the better, for everyone was on edge with what was to come and the tension was so thick you could cut into it with a knife and anticipation hung heavy over everyone, dreadfully awaiting an attack with baited breath and clenched fists in an attempt of bravery in the face of adversity.

Gone were the brief glimpses you’d get of him from the corner of your eyes, leaving you to believe whether or not you did in fact see him or just someone who wore similar clothing. You’d sometimes catch him in the act of waving at you when he was in a hurry or -when he had time to spare- even making himself welcome to the unoccupied seat besides you in the library, looking over your mountain of books with a raised brow and sarcasm upon his lips.

‘You planning to read them all in one go or?’ He’d say, making you scoff as a smile blossomed across your face as you looked into his eyes, finding that they were already on you.

‘Yeah because that’s a completely plausible thing for a person with a simple mind could accomplish.’ You replied with your own form of sarcasm as your smile widens at the sound of his laugh, gladly to have made such a heavenly sound emerge from his mouth. You two would remain in those same seats until it was time to part ways once again, bidding each other farewells as the days drew to a close and you’d leave for home when Viktor would stay overtime in his lab.

Now you don’t see him at all. Your head would perk up at the sound your mind has made you believe was the soft love tap of a cane against wooded floor, only to have your heart clench and mind belittling you when it wasn’t anywhere near Viktor coming into the library but someone else entirely. You were left with a table littered with books and an empty seat besides you, now cold and devoid of the man who’d always sit there and let his thoughts flow freely and bluntly out of his mouth, and yet you’d much prefer that over the deafening silence that greeted you for the past months as the realisation of how cold and miserable you were without Viktor to make your day complete.

You use to frequent the lab more so then your own office just to see Viktor in the past. So much so that Viktor had left a spare chair by his workbench for you to sit on, letting you linger as he worked and never uttering a single word as you were too entranced by the ways his fingers moved and how his facial expressions fluidly moved from one another, it almost like they were telling a silent story of his emotions of his successes and failures within the project. From the highs and lows, the triumphs of learning something new, to the challenges that left dark bags under his eyes from all the late nighters he’s been pulling to at least achieve something in the midst of all the chaos.

Now the warmth that once filled you as you entered the lab felt cold, like you were intruding on something you shouldn’t have. Your once place of refuge had become a place you didn’t recognise as you immediately noticed the lack of the chair you once sat on, it’s location wasn’t a concern of yours more so than the ache within your heart at the seemingly small act. However for such an act as small as removing a spare chair from a workbench you felt as though this was a sign that your presence was no longer a welcomed one; you had become a distraction and in the worse kind to Viktor, and thus your chair had been taken away, signifying that those warm days of human connection had long since overstayed it’s welcome.

‘Viktor?’ You called out but not once did he show signs of recognition towards your voice nor bothered to look up from his work that meant so much to him nowadays. You didn’t know which hurt more, the lack of response or the idea that you were nowhere as dear to his heart as he was to yours at all, however you still smiled through the ache within your chest in hopes that it was just a delayed response on his part.

Nothing. Viktor didn’t even make an attempt to speak to you and just continued being hunched over his workbench with no intention on stopping, acting as though you were merely just a breeze that passed him by and not a human being he was once close to, begging him to acknowledge you and acknowledge the history between the two of you.

‘How long have you been cooped up in here like a little hermit.’ You tried to attempt a joke that only felt awkward and painful when the Viktor didn’t make a sarcastic quip back towards you. He left you in silence once again as you felt your hope slowly start to die within your chest and your smile began to fade from your lips as your resolve began to waver. You swallows thickly as you tired not to let this get to you and instead believe that he couldn’t hear you, and so you walked closer to him until you rested a hand upon his shoulder, making him stop working for a moment before going back to what he was doing soon after.

‘How long has it been since you slept, eaten anything, or just get some fresh air?’ You asked with concern towards his health and how it seemed that he was driving himself down into the ground for academic validation for his work. ‘Why don’t you take a break and take some time away from-‘

‘Not everyone has the luxury of time on their hands.’ Viktor cuts you off but not in the way you’d hope. His words cut through you, making you flinch away from him from the bitter tone that came from him as though he burnt you. ‘They need help now and I won’t allow any further distractions to hinder me from doing so.’ He adds and it obviously felt very pointed towards you as if you were the problem he now faced and you couldn’t help but get a little upset over this.

‘And kill yourself in the process? Who’s going to help them when you’re dead Viktor because it’s sure as hell not me!’ You bit back as you moved back towards the door, finding no point in standing by his side if he was so willing to discard you like you were nothing in the pursuits of science. ‘I’m not going to stand here and watch you lose yourself to your work, I won’t do it.’ You add with certainty but it’s Viktor’s next words that really hurt you despite the softness of his voice, now was sharp as ice and just as piercing.

‘Then don’t bother darkening my door any longer than you already have.’

You stiffened up at this as you felt your heart tore itself in half at the unnecessary hostility thrown towards you as the rift between the two of you had finally made itself known in this moment. The closeness you once shared with Viktor was now an illusion you fell for so willingly, all with the hopes that something more would come from it one day, much like the hopeless romantic that you truly were. However in this moment it was revealed that none of that mattered to him, not as much as it did to you and just as you were about to leave the lab, you looked over at his back and said;

‘Goodbye Viktor. I promise to never be an inconvenience to you ever again since that’s what you wish for.’ And without needing to hear him, you walked out of the lab, shutting the door behind you as you walked down the hall as silent tears fell from your cheeks as you kissed goodbye the one good thing you had left to keep your head above water; however without it you could feel yourself slipping beneath the waves that had threatened to crash over you for a long, long time as you had lost your anchor and you have the angry to care what happens to you.

…

Everything that happened in a matter of seconds. Too fast for anyone to notice what was going on before it was too late and a wave of pain greeted you as you blacked out.

The council was attacked and all signs pointed towards Zaun as the perpetrators.

Viktor was lucky enough to have somehow miraculously survive with the help of the hexcore but you on the other hand were left in a coma from the explosion. All Viktor knew when he came through in his new body was the news that you had could’ve died had you been just a tiny bit closer to bear the brunt of the unforeseen attack. The doctors were overlooking your possibilities of awaking from the coma, they claim that chances of that happening were slim but they believed that you were strong enough to pull through it, not that any of this mattered to Viktor as for all he was aware was that even if you did awake he’d be the last person you wanted to ever see.

He was told that upon being rescued from the rubble you looked like you had already died with the amounts of deep gashes that littered across your face, he got told that you didn’t even look like you were breathing at all, but you looked oddly at peace with the outcome of such a tragedy; as though you were silently suffering inside your own head for a long time and this was you gladly accepting the fate bestowed upon you.

Viktor didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that you could’ve died, or the idea that you were more then willing to have died in the attack then wake in a reality where he had all but pushed you aside. He couldn’t blame you for not wanting anything to do with him anymore, not after trying so hard to get through to him in the past, only for him to retaliate with words that you didn’t deserve. You had every right to never allow him into your life ever again, Viktor didn’t feel he was deserving of a second chance with you, especially not after something as traumatic as almost dying.

Now upon retrospect it would’ve been morbidly poetic had he did die in the attack, his hand reaching towards your own but never truly touching, a reminder that he had severed that connection with you the moment more was demanded of him and of hextech; A once beloved and respected connection that’ll never mend for the damage was already done due to his own hubris.

You deserved more then him and Viktor knew this painfully well enough to continue to drive the wedge between the two of you, all in hopes that you too would see that you were better off in search of something new with someone else, and yet he couldn’t help but cling onto you for himself so selfishly as though he wasn’t the one who caused you pain in favour of staying within the lab to his own devices. Viktor knew he was being ridiculous and he would only be hurting you in the process with his indecision of whether to keep you close by his side, or as far away from him as possible.

Yet everything within him told him to at least visit you, just to be certain that you would be strong enough to emerge from the coma, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that despite how much he wished to see you recover much like you had been bedside for him when his health declined sharply. Viktor remembered the day clear as day as the concern within your eyes shone, and the grip you had on his hand tightened every so often with every inhale and exhale, you didn’t say a single word but you didn’t half to as viktor has taught himself to read you better then most. It was clear that you were afraid but didn’t have the heart to speak up on it, and now he was face with a similar situation.

You were the ache in his heart that he couldn’t be rid of, no matter how much change his body went through, not that he wanted to either and Viktor knew he was the ache within your heart. You two pained each other with your absences, comforted each other’s overthinking minds and gave each other the company you so needed. You needed each other but didn’t at the same time, it was a never ending game with yourself and Viktor as you didn’t know whether to get close to one another or keep the distance between you and pretend that you’re both not hurting when you were.

However Viktor may regret the words he had spoken to you, it doesn’t change fate in the slightest, he was with his commune in the Undercity and you were still in that coma you should’ve awoken from weeks ago. Yet now and then Viktor would find himself looking to his side where he would normally feel you, only to see nothing but thin air and close his eyes as he took a deep breath to compose himself. He regrets everything he said to you but they wouldn’t change the hurt you were both suffering from, Viktor wanted you by his side in that moment but knew he’s better off wishing for that in another life, a life where he chose you.

Now he’ll get to know how sweet that life would be like and the ache within the remains of his heart hurt just that little more, for you, the ache within his him that he couldn’t get rid of but needed all the same to remind himself that he was still the Viktor you once loved.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @eclecticwildflowers, @onedirectionlovers2014

warnings: swearing, talk of death, mention of the experiment from flatliners

I leaned against the door to the classroom as I watched Dr. Wolfson teach his class on clinical death. The information he was giving them seemed awfully familiar to the writings he’d shared with me of his own experiment decades ago. I raised an eyebrow at the group of five students who were rapidly taking notes. Everyone else was taking notes but not like these five. They were hanging on his every word. When wolfson looked up from the students, he smiled at me.

“if you’ll excuse me class.” He said as he walked over. He put a hand on my arm in greeting as he led me out into the hall. “What’s up?” Nelson asked. I smiled and shook my head.

“I’m not allowed to watch you teach?” I asked with a laugh. Nelson smiled wider and shrugged.

“I mean technically you should have enrolled in the class.” I laughed. “Seriously everything ok?”

“yeah. I overheard some of the kids mentioning that you were going to talk about clinical death.” I said, a knowing look on my face. Nelson looked sheepishly at me. I lowered my voice. “Nelson, you can’t tell them…”

“I know. I’m keeping it vague.” Nelson said. He rubbed my arm as he looked down. “I…yeah alright.” He sighed as he tapped his cane against the ground. “I’ll go over the repercussions too. Talk about what can happen if done wrong or, for lack of a better term, the side effects.” I reached out and put my hand on his waist, squeezing gently.

“thank you.” I said softly. “There’s five kids in there taking notes as if they’re the Ten Commandments. Be careful.” Nelson nodded before looking over his shoulder at the class.

“I’m sorry.” He said, more to the classroom than me. I cupped his cheek and turned his head back towards me. Leaning in, I kissed him gently. Nelson smiled into the kiss before breaking away. “And they’re looking. I won’t live this one down.” He laughed, backing away from me slowly.

“so what. They’ve done worse with each other.” I laughed. Nelson shook his head and went back into the classroom where the kids immediately started to make fun of him with kissy noises among other things.

“alright alright. Settle down. Dr. (Y/L/N) was just leaving.” Nelson looked at me with a smile, shaking his head at his students antics. “Alright now. Back to work.” I walked away as Nelson continued his lecture from where I had interrupted him. Later that night, Nelson and I were sitting in his townhouse after handing out candy all night.

“Nelson?” I asked, looking over at him as the last of the kids ran down the steps, two of them dressed as doctors. He hummed as he set up another movie for us to watch. “You know what they’re doing tonight don’t you?” I looked over at him with a worried look. Nelson sighed and came over to wrap his arms around me.

“yeah I do. Same shit I did in med school.” He nodded, resting his head against mine. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. “They’re smart kids though. I’m sure they’ll be ok.”

“like you were ok?” I asked, eyes flicking back to Nelson’s cane. He sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” Nelson broke away and pulled me away from the door.

“I know. I’m worried about them too.” He admitted. “There isn’t anything I can do except report them. And then I’d feel responsible for putting the idea in their heads. Either way.”

“and reporting them would create a double standard since they aren’t doing anything their professors haven’t done.” I continued. Nelson nodded. “And if we showed up while they were doing it, we could scare them or shock them into something even more problematic than what they’re already doing.” I leaned my head on Nelson’s shoulder as we sat down on the couch.

“I’ll check in with them tomorrow. Make sure they are ok.” Nelson promised. “I think I know who is going under too. Which makes this so much worse.” He took off his glasses, running a hand down his face and staring at the ceiling. Sighing, we sat in silence while the movie played in the background. “I should never have done that myself.” I turned my head to look at him, reaching out and hugging his arm.

“at least you didn’t publish the paper.” I pointed out. Nelson nodded.

“they’d have step by step instructions then.” He agreed. Leaning my head down on his shoulder, I bit my lip. “I feel so helpless.”

“there isn’t anything you can do. Not right now.” I murmured. “Tomorrow, we’ll pull them aside. Tell them we know.”

“I…fuck I’d hate to do it…I can see if joe still has the tape.” I pulled back and stared at him. Nelson kept his gaze on the ceiling, biting his lip and trying not to look at me. “We don’t go over anything in it but it shows how…” he swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “How they nearly lost me.” I bit my lip and stared at my lap.

“you never told me that.” I whispered. Nelson nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” I looked over at him to find him watching me, tears pricking my eyes.

“you know why.” He said as he reached over to wipe my cheeks. “You know exactly why.” Nelson leaned in to kiss me but I pulled back.

“Nelson.” I whispered, shaking my head. He nodded and held his arm out for me. I curled against him, ear pressed to his chest. His heart beat in my ear as I took deep breaths, realizing that there was more to his little excitement than he had let on.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Nelson said as he kissed my head. “You don’t have to watch the tape. I’ll do it on my own.” I squeezed him tightly.

“thank you.” I whispered. Nelson nodded and the doorbell rang. Nelson got up, gently prying me from him.

“I got it.” He whispered, kissing me gently. I nodded as he answered the door and handed out the candy. “Come here.” He murmured as he went to sit back down. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” I nodded as I curled into him. We sat in silence for a bit. “What time does trick or treating end?” I pulled Nelson’s arm towards me so I can check his watch. He started to chuckle and smiled at me. “I think it’s time for you to get a watch. Or start carrying your phone around with you like everyone else.” I rolled my eyes at him and scoffed.

“as if that’s what you do.” Nelson scoffed at me in return and waited while I checked his watch. “It ended half an hour ago.” I said, letting his hand drop. Nelson nodded, gently pushing me off him so he could turn the light off and grabbed the candy bowl.

“want some?” He asked as he held it out to me. I nodded and grabbed some. Nelson sat down next to me and put the bowl between us. “So tomorrow we’ll confront them and if they refuse to stop then I show them the video after you leave.” I nodded.

“sounds like a plan.” I dug into the bowl a bit more to grab some of the good stuff. “And thank you. For not making me…” I trailed off as I stared at the candy in my hands. Shaking my head, I looked up at Nelson again. “Thank you.” Nelson nodded and leaned across the bowl to kiss me.

“of course.” He said, cupping my cheek. Leaning his forehead against mine, Nelson rubbed my cheek. “Happy Halloween.” He smiled softly at me.

“happy Halloween Nelson.” I smiled back at him.

[bellaxgiornata]

Life Worth Living [Chapter Five]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Original Female Character

[You can find the full summary and chapter list for this series here]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains fluff, angst, violence, PTSD, smut (Contains our beloved Defenders and lots of plot twists)

Word Count: 9.7k

a/n: This is a very long chapter and will forever be one of my favorite early chapters in this series. I love flirty Matty in this one and you should know that if I can work Matt and flirting over pool into a fic, I'm going to. You also finally get a bit of a glimpse at what Olivia can do... Anyway, feedback is always appreciated!

It was Saturday night, two nights after I’d run into Jessica and Trish. Jessica had texted me over the past couple of days, keeping me up to date on Hope’s case and her struggle to find witnesses. She'd also told me about the apology Trish had broadcast on Trish Talk yesterday morning, the day after challenging Kilgrave on air and he'd called in. 

I remember listening to the show, hearing his voice over the radio for the first time in years. I hadn't been able to fall asleep for more than an hour at a time the past few nights since. I'd barely eaten, too, having lost my appetite with his reappearance in my life. And because I'd been spiraling, I hadn't left my apartment in the past two days either, unconsciously avoiding Matt, Foggy, and Karen. Matt hadn't had any other night time check-ins; since I was barely sleeping I wasn't having nightmares. 

Currently I was sprawled out on my couch, staring at some awful sitcom, not exactly watching it. My eyes were burning and slightly bloodshot from the lack of sleep over the entire week. There was a half eaten slice of toast I had long since abandoned on a plate in the middle of my coffee table, which was a mess with dishes that had piled up. 

A rapid succession of hard knocks at my front door caused me to stiffen on the couch. My fingers gripped the cushions roughly as I held my breath. 

Did he find me already?

“Olivia! Where the hell have you disappeared the last few days!” Foggy’s boisterous voice called from the other side of my front door.

The tension slowly eased out of my muscles as I carefully sat up on the couch. I glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized black tee-shirt I was wearing and frowned. I looked a mess, but I didn’t have time to dress to answer the door for Foggy. With a huff I made my way to the front door where Foggy had taken up banging again.

I swung the door open to be greeted by Foggy’s beaming face–which immediately fell when he actually took in the sight of me.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” he breathed out, eyes wide.

Karen suddenly appeared next to Foggy, Matt being pulled along beside her. Her eyes grew wide as well when she began scanning me up and down, her mouth parting a little in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked quickly, voice full of concern.

“Jesus–you’ve got a bandage on your forehead and…shit, are those bruises on your neck?” Foggy gasped. “Did someone choke you?”

Matt’s jaw snapped shut instantly. From my place at the door I could see the muscles twitching as he ground his teeth. Karen eyed me with a sorrowful gaze, her focus lingering on my bruised neck for a few moments. I let out a sigh, rubbing a hand across my face. 

“I’m fine, just had a terrible past few days,” I assured them.

“But were you attacked?” Foggy pressed.

“Yes, but it was a…misunderstanding,” I explained.

Foggy’s eyes narrowed at my words; Karen raised a brow at me questioningly. Matt still remained clenching his jaw, his hands gripping his cane so hard his knuckles were turning as white as the object itself.

“How does someone attacking you turn out to be a misunderstanding?” Foggy shot at me.

I waved a dismissive hand quickly, as if I could wave away their worry. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’m fine, I’m handling it.”

“That certainly makes me feel better,” Foggy said sarcastically. “Did you go to the police?”

I raised a hand, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m trying to. When I…can.”

“Why can’t you now?” he pried.

I took a deep breath, fighting back the frustration. I didn’t want to drag the three of them into this. They didn’t need to be on Kilgrave’s radar.

“Because the problem…requires evidence, which I imagine you can understand, being lawyers,” I told him. “And until I have that, I’m…dealing with it.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Matt said, his tone dark. “Whatever you’re doing, it doesn’t sound safe. You shouldn’t be dealing with it, especially not alone.”

“I’m not…I’m not alone,” I said slowly. “I have help. And I’m…” my voice trailed off, searching for the words. “I’m sort of the only one able to deal with this.”

“What does that even mean?” Foggy pushed. "You're being cryptic and it's scaring me."

I exhaled slowly, opting for a bit of the truth. 

"Some P.I. was looking for someone, someone I…used to know. They thought I might’ve had information, but I didn’t," I explained. "Now I'm sort of helping them. That's all."

Karen looked skeptical but remained quiet at my explanation. Matt’s jaw muscles had stopped ticking, but his head was tilted to the side and I could tell he was intensely focused on me behind his dark glasses when I felt that telltale prickle along my skin. It was Foggy who continued on.

"But the bruises?" 

"I was on a run, had my earbuds in. They grabbed me to talk, I freaked out and attacked them first," I explained with a shrug. "They were just trying to defend themselves too. Like I said–just a misunderstanding."

"Alright…" Foggy said slowly, not looking entirely convinced. 

"So uh…" I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Why is it that you're banging on my door after nine?"

"We were going to go to Josie's," Karen told me. "We thought you might want to come out."

"Planning to stay out until the sunrise?" I questioned them cautiously. 

"No," Karen said with a laugh. "I don't think Foggy could handle that again."

"Hey!" Foggy exclaimed, affronted. "I did just fine that night, thank you!"

I grinned at the pair before my eyes slid back and landed on Matt behind them. He was smiling but it almost looked forced. I hadn't spoken to him since the night he'd come over and then disappeared on me before I'd woken up. 

"Would you like to join us?" Matt asked slowly, one of his brows raising.

I glanced down to what I was wearing, a frown covering my face before I looked up, taking note of their clothes. Matt and Foggy were wearing button down shirts, ties, and dress pants with nice winter coats covering them. Karen was in yet another nice dress with a black pea coat, her face made up and her hair neatly pulled back in a bun. Meanwhile, I was pretty sure there was a smear of peanut butter somewhere on my shirt, a hole forming at the left ankle of my sweatpants, and my hair was a tousled mess.

"I'm sort of a mess right now…" I answered, voice trailing off.

Karen smiled wide, catching my eye. "We can wait, if you want to change."

"Yeah, we'd love for you to come out with us," Foggy assured me. “Josie’s is just a dive bar, you don’t need to get dressed up. We just had some office work for a new case we worked on today so,” he said, waving a hand at their attire, “we haven’t really changed.”

Clearing my throat, I stepped aside from the doorway. "I'll just change quick, if you want to wait inside?"

Foggy quickly rushed past; I could feel him surveying the state of my apartment without even seeing him. Karen slipped in past me, guiding Matt inside. His hand briefly brushed against my arm as he stepped past me and I wondered if it was intentional or not. Closing the door behind them, I followed Karen and Matt down the entry hall into the living room.

I shifted awkwardly as Foggy and Karen eyed the coffee table littered with empty water glasses and coffee mugs; the piece of lone peanut butter toast forgotten on the table. I quickly grabbed the plate, biting my lip awkwardly.

“Sorry, wasn’t planning on company,” I muttered as I rushed to empty the toast in the trash before tossing the dish in the sink. As I made my way through the living room, I briefly mumbled out, “I’ll just be a minute,” before darting down the hall and towards the bedroom.

Sliding the door closed behind me, I made my way to the dresser, grabbing the brush atop it and quickly combing through my long, blonde hair. It was a tangled disaster and I frowned as I tried to tame it, giving up when the waves wouldn’t straighten out. I made my way to my closet, opening the door and quickly selecting a pair of dark denim skinny jeans and an oversized, cream colored sweater. I slipped out of my sweatpants and tee-shirt, pulling up the jeans before slipping the sweater on. Stepping back towards my closet, I grabbed a black leather jacket and tugged my arms into it. Making my way back to my dresser, I quickly applied some mascara, a bit of concealer to cover the dark circles under my tired eyes, and a faint bit of perfume–for some reason I felt like I could still smell the traces of peanut butter which must’ve gotten into my hair.

I paused, placing the spray onto the dresser and eyeing my reflection. I didn’t look nearly as put together as Karen but definitely better than I had before. My eyes traveled down to my neck, the angry bruising looking a little bit lighter today. I lifted a hand, my fingertips gently tracing the bruises with a frown. I had no way to cover those and I refused to use my abilities to heal them–not that I could now anyway, considering I'd have to explain why they'd disappeared. With a sigh, I pulled some hair forward and tugged my jacket tighter around me. It was the best I could do. 

Exiting my room, I heard the sound of muffled voices. The three of them suddenly quieted when I appeared in the living room. 

“Maybe you should convince Matt to get a dog and you can share it,” Foggy said as he rose from the couch. 

My eyes narrowed playfully at Foggy as Karen giggled behind a hand.

“Are you implying I’m lonely, Nelson?” I asked him.

“Of course not…” Foggy answered, his tone not quite believable. "It certainly doesn't look like you've been in your apartment, alone, for days on end or anything…"

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how service dogs work, for starters,” I told him. “And also–I’m pretty sure I already said I’m partial to cats.”

“Then maybe you should get a cat,” Foggy urged. 

“Thinking I should get a head start on being the lonely cat lady already?” I teased him, leading the group towards the front door.

“Oh, well, no–that’s not what I meant,” Foggy fumbled.

I laughed lightly, opening the front door and stepping aside so the three could exit. This time Foggy was leading Matt instead of Karen, who muttered a ‘thank you’ as she passed by.

“I’m just teasing, relax,” I told Foggy, locking the door behind me as I exited. “Besides, I’ve already considered getting a cat. Just haven’t exactly gotten around to it.”

“Maybe you should,” he continued. “I hear they lower stress levels.”

I rolled my eyes, jamming my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket as we stopped in front of the elevator doors.

“Alright, I’m feeling personally attacked now,” I joked. “Can we focus the topic of discussion to something other than me? You said you guys had a new client?”

“Oh! Right, yeah, that guy who came in that morning you were at the office,” Foggy said, perking up. “Can’t really go into details because, you know, client confidentiality and all. But we got a case! A paying one.”

I smiled, watching as the elevator doors flew open and stepping inside behind the group. I found myself suddenly beside Matt, who had dropped Foggy’s arm now.

“That’s great, really,” I told them.

“That reminds me, Karen,” Foggy said, turning his attention to her. “I wanted to ask you about that file from earlier.”

My gaze darted down to my feet as Foggy started discussing some case-related files with Karen. For a moment I wondered if going out to a bar with them was really the best idea, but then I quickly scolded myself. I couldn’t stay inside my apartment hiding forever. Besides, I wouldn’t be alone and tonight should hopefully be fun. And, if I was being honest with myself, I missed all three of them.

A hand gently squeezed my shoulder and I jumped, eyes darting upwards. Matt was looking in my direction, his brows raised just above his dark glasses. I noticed the elevator had reached the lobby, Karen and Foggy holding the doors as they continued their deep discussion.

“You alright?” Matt asked me quietly.

“Yeah, I uhm…yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “Just spaced out for a moment.” 

The left side of Matt’s lip curled up at me, his brows lowering. “You mind if I walk with you? I think those two are in the middle of some very boring office talk, and I’ve sort of had enough of that for one Saturday.”

Nervously I shoved a few strands of hair behind my ear, nodding. Immediately realizing he couldn’t see the gesture, I smiled sheepishly and answered, “Yes.”

His warm hand slid from off my shoulder, slipping underneath my arm until he could firmly hold onto my bicep. I fought the shiver that ran down my spine, chewing my lip anxiously as I led him out of the elevator, his cane tapping along the floor as we moved. 

“How far is the bar?” I asked curiously, trying to combat the silence as we made our way through the lobby behind Foggy and Karen.

“About a block and a half,” Matt told me. “Not far.”

When we stepped outside, the cold chill of the night immediately bit at my face and I unconsciously leant into Matt. 

“Cold?” Matt asked me.

My heart sped up at the sudden closeness of his lips to my ear, his warm breath brushing against my skin. I swallowed hard.

“Yeah, just a little,” I answered. 

Without hesitation, he removed his hand from its place around my bicep, instead wrapping it around my waist and pulling me in towards him as we walked. I could feel the hard muscles of his chest against my side now; the warmth of his body seeping through my leather jacket. I could smell the scent of cedar and clove again, something I hadn’t realized I’d missed until just this moment. The feeling that often arose in my stomach around Matt suddenly reared its head, causing my breath to catch briefly on my next inhale.

Matt’s nose brushed against my temple, his lips lightly grazing my ear as he leant in beside me, whispering, “Is this okay?”

I blinked hard, clenching my hands tightly into fists in my jacket pockets. For the briefest moment, I almost stopped on the sidewalk, overcome with a strong urge to grab him by the coat and pull his lips to my own. Immediately I pushed the thought away.

“Yes, but,” I answered, voice weak. I tried to calm down before continuing. “Isn’t this harder for me to help guide you?”

A very light chuckle warmed the side of my face from his breath. His mouth was back near my ear again, lightly skimming his lips against the sensitive part of it as he spoke.

“I know these streets very well,” he assured me. His voice was deep, almost a whisper; a conversation just between us as Karen and Foggy were forgotten ahead of us on the sidewalk. “I’ll be fine.” 

There was a beat of silence between us, my mind entirely focused on the feel of Matt’s nose lightly brushing against the top of my head.

“You smell nice,” Matt muttered.

A snort escaped me at his compliment before I shot him a look. He was smiling in my direction, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I very badly wanted to rip those glasses off of his face to see him better.

“What?” he asked curiously, a smile lingering.

“I’m pretty sure there’s peanut butter somewhere in my hair,” I said with a chuckle, my cheeks burning in slight embarrassment.

Matt’s nose nuzzled against the top of my hair for a moment again. My eyes fluttered closed at the gesture; it wasn’t one I’d experienced before–something so sweet and affectionate–and neither were the butterflies that suddenly broke loose in my stomach.

“There’s definitely peanut butter in your hair,” he agreed, his tone teasing.

I laughed lightly along with him, rolling my eyes. “Great. Well, I’m glad you enjoy it. Is it making you hungry?”

“Maybe…” he said, his voice barely audible.

Something about the way he said the word caused a warmth to suddenly erupt low inside of me. I stiffened as I felt Matt’s hand suddenly tighten against my waist. He cleared his throat before speaking again, but I noticed a slight waver in his tone as he did.

“You smell like coffee though,” he murmured. “And a mix of something citrus and floral. Mandarin?” he questioned lightly, brushing his nose against the top of my head again. “And…hibiscus?”

I expelled a breathy laugh, feeling a little lightheaded from this conversation. “You’re good,” I whispered back. “Clearly you know your scents.”

Matt hummed in response, a slight grin permanently fixed on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off by Foggy.

“Welcome to Josie’s!” he exclaimed, gesturing dramatically at the entrance to the bar.

Breaking out of the private bubble Matt and I had been in, I glanced up. There was a red neon sign on the front window, displaying the name of the bar. The sound of old rock music was drifting out onto the sidewalk. 

Foggy held the door open for Karen to pass through, and then gestured for Matt and myself. Matt’s hand slid from around my waist and back up to my bicep, his warm hand curling around it as I led him inside. I followed behind Karen to the bar, Foggy coming in behind us. 

The bar was indeed a dive bar; it was dimly lit with neon signs and a few strings of lights around the ceiling. The walls were a dark wood paneling reminiscent of the seventies and there were a few old gambling game machines placed precariously about. A lone pool table sat vacant near the front window with the neon sign. I was surprised to see there were a handful of people here; it wasn’t crowded but it certainly wasn’t empty. 

I rested my arms against the bar top beside Karen, feeling a pang of sadness as Matt released his grip on my arm. Foggy was gaining the attention of Josie behind the bar to order drinks as I continued to survey the room. 

The three immediately ordered beers when Josie finally appeared. As she started placing the bottles on the bar, the older woman now stared at me expectantly.

“Oh, uh, water please,” I ordered.

“No!” Foggy and Matt both shouted in unison.

I jumped at their unexpected reaction, my eyes widening. Karen only giggled beside me, shaking her head.

“You do not drink the water at Josie’s,” Foggy warned me dramatically. “There’s something wrong with the pipes. You can… see the bacteria and rust in it.”

“That’s why we always order our drinks neat,” Matt added.

“Alright then…”I said slowly, turning back to the expectant Josie as she rested both hands on the bar. “Just a coke, then.”

“No ice!” Foggy tacked on.

I shook my head, laughing, as we threw some cash on the sticky bar counter.

“Not drinking tonight?” Karen asked me curiously as we waited for my coke.

“I don’t drink,” I admitted. “I prefer to be in full control of my…mental faculties.”

"Not a problem!" Foggy exclaimed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. 

I thanked Josie as she placed my drink on the counter a moment later. My eyes wandered up to the television behind the bar. Despite the muted voices I could see they were talking about the man in the mask, an enlarged, grainy cellphone image of him on the screen. Karen followed my gaze, her eyes landing on the news.

"What’s your take on him?" she asked me curiously.

I shrugged in response, watching as she took a pull from the beer she'd ordered. She shot me a look, shaking her head.

"No, you've been here for a couple weeks now," she pushed. "You've had to have heard about him. Seen the news. Form some sort of an opinion."

"The mysterious Devil of Hell's Kitchen," Foggy said, whispering the vigilante's name. "Now I'm of the opinion we shouldn't let people go around punching criminals–that's illegal and all. But Karen thinks he's a hero."

I glanced at Karen, watching as she pushed some hair behind her ear and stared down at the beer bottle in her hands. Her fingers were peeling the label on the bottle absently.

"He did save my life once," she told me. "And he's been going after only criminals. Not killing anyone." She shrugged. "I think he's doing good."

My attention turned to Matt who was quietly taking a drink from his bottle, his eyes shielded by his glasses. He was leaning against the bar towards us, but he was facing the rest of the bar and the patrons in it. Foggy followed my gaze and threw his arm around Matt, causing his attention to return to our group.

"Matt here claims to not pay attention enough to form an opinion," Foggy told me, shaking Matt a little by the shoulders.

I quirked a brow at him curiously as I took a sip of my drink. "You've lived here longer than me, and you want me to believe you don't have an opinion?" I asked him curiously.

Matt sent me a charming smile as he said, "As a lawyer, I don't condone criminal acts. But he also saved one of our friends, so," he shrugged. "I don't have an answer."

"So what about you?" Karen asked, nudging me curiously. "What's your take?"

My eyes focused on my glass on the bar in front of me. "Honestly, I haven't given it much thought, but," I admitted, noticing the way Matt leaned forward in interest as I spoke, tongue darting out to wet his lips, "I've seen some of the footage they've shared of him on the news. You can't exactly deny that he's…skilled." I winced as Kilgrave’s face came to mind. "There's definitely worse things he could be doing instead of helping the people of Hell's Kitchen."

"So you approve of what he's doing?" Karen pushed.

I shrugged slowly before taking a drink of my coke. "Sure, I guess. At least he's not hurting innocent people."

"You know what? The pool table is open," Foggy said, pointing his beer bottle at the table. "Let's go play a game. We can do teams." He turned to me with a smile and a wink. "I'll be nice and take pity on you and give you Matt."

My brow rose questioningly at his words and the way Karen hid a laugh behind her hand. " Give me Matt?" I asked him.

Matt scoffed, a faux look of offense crossing his face. "I'm a human being, Foggy, you can't just give me away to people."

Foggy grabbed Matt by the arm, leading him toward the pool table. I pushed off the bar beside Karen, eyeing her curiously. She leant in beside me and whispered, "Matt is actually really good at pool."

"Buddy, I'm giving you an in to play with the girl you clearly like," Foggy pointed out matter-of-factly.

My cheeks flamed at his words and I ducked my head, biting my lip. Karen bumped my arm, catching my gaze. She sent me a questioning look, eyebrows raised. She tilted her head towards Matt and then back at me, an expectant look on her face. I chewed the lip caught between my teeth, eyes slightly wide at her silent question. Very slowly I shrugged in answer, shooting her a sheepish look. Her mouth twisted slowly into a knowing smile. Matt and Foggy carried on, entirely unaware of the exchange that just took place.

"Well when you put it like that," Matt countered with a low chuckle. 

"Plus I figure Olivia could use the help," he added. A smirk crossed his face as the pair reached the pool table. "Though I suppose that means you can't pretend you need so much help as you usually would."

Matt’s lip curled into a mischievous smile as he turned towards Karen and I. "I still need help finding the cue ball," he pointed out.

I set my drink on the table next to the pool table; Karen shrugged out of her coat and I followed suit. My brow furrowed as a thought hit me and I turned towards Foggy who was helping Matt out of his coat before taking off his own. 

"Wait, you think I'm bad at pool?" I asked him. 

Foggy hesitated before he placed the coats at the table Karen and I had claimed. A frown crossed his face as he eyed me curiously. 

"You're…not?" he asked tentatively.

I smirked at him before shaking my head, heading towards the rack of pool cues and grabbing two.

"I lived in Anchorage for a few years," I explained, turning back to face our little group. "The main social activity was going to bars–to play pool and throw darts." I waved a hand at the bar around us. "This is my element, Nelson."

"Aww, damn it!" Foggy whined.

I laughed, crossing over to Matt and swapping out his beer for the pool cue.

"You're going down, Nelson," I threatened playfully. 

"Go easy on me, I'm just a poor lawyer," Foggy joked.

"Consider it payback for the comment about me being lonely and needing a pet," I teased back. 

"Ohhh," Karen said, rubbing her hands together as she headed towards the cue rack, "Maybe we should make a bet."

Foggy grunted, rounding on Karen. "Did you not just hear the poor lawyer part?"

"What's your bet, Karen?" Matt asked her, ignoring Foggy.

She chewed her lip and let out a thoughtful hum before a large grin appeared on her face, her eyes landing mischievously on me. My eyes immediately narrowed in response. 

"Losers buy the next round," Karen answered slowly, her eyes still reflecting a playful glint as they continued to match my guarded ones, "and winners…kiss."

My mouth dropped as I gaped at Karen. She just giggled in response, feigning innocence. Foggy offered Karen a high five, which she enthusiastically returned.

"Those sound like good terms," Matt responded with a grin. "I accept."

I held up a hand quickly. "Okay, explain to me why there's a stipulation on the winners?"

She shrugged casually, grabbing her beer from off the table and bringing the bottle to her lips. "To make things more interesting," she answered innocently before taking a drink.

Foggy stepped forward, holding his hand out towards me. "Do you accept the terms?"

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I reached out and shook his hand. "Fine," I muttered.

"Let the record state Olivia shook on it!" Foggy declared to the bar as Karen laughed. His attention returned to me as he released my hand. "Now you either win and kiss my handsome friend there, or intentionally try to lose and wound him deeply, madam." 

I laughed awkwardly, unable to hide my amusement and nervousness at Foggy’s playful bluntness. 

"And I would be so deeply wounded," Matt agreed beside me, his face serious as I glanced at him. But then slowly his mouth tugged up at the corner, a devilish smirk took its place on his face. I couldn’t help but stare at his lips as he whispered, "I promise I won't bite." He reached up, sliding his dark glasses slightly down his nose just enough to shoot me a wink before he slid them back up.

I swallowed hard, glancing away and avoiding whatever look Karen was surely shooting my way. 

"How about you and Karen break," I offered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Give you both a fighting chance."

Foggy racked up, adjusting the balls in their appropriate places before sliding them to center and removing the rack. He waved a hand towards Karen suavely, bowing his head a little as he did.

"Ladies first," he said.

Karen bowed good-naturedly in response. "Thank you, sir," she responded before making her way to the front of the pool table.

Holding my cue between both hands, I watched as Karen lined up her shot as she bent over the pool table. Carefully, she slid the cue back before quickly snapping it forward. The cue ball barreled forward and knocked into the balls with a crack , sending the balls scattering around the table. The solid purple four sunk in the back corner pocket as she righted. 

Matt leaned close to me, whispering, "Was it a good break? I heard something go in."

Keeping my eyes on Karen as she moved around the table, looking to take her next shot, I answered, "Pretty decent break. She pocketed one; we're stripes."

"That's good," he whispered back. "Stripes are lucky for me."

I watched as Karen almost got another ball in the pocket, just missing by an inch. Turning my attention on Matt, I asked, "Why does that feel like it's just a line?"

He only grinned back.

"Alright love birds," Foggy teased. "You're up."

I huffed at his comment, rolling my eyes as Matt let out a breathy chuckle. He cocked his head and gestured towards the table.

"Ladies first, right?" he asked smoothly.

"If you insist."

I left his side, making my way around the pool table and pausing in front of the white cue ball. Lightly tapping a finger against the cue in my hands, I surveyed my options for a moment. Eventually I leaned over the table, lining up my shot and finding the right angle to hit the ball. I sucked in a breath as I pulled the cue back between my fingers, releasing it at the same time I released the cue. The white ball flew across the table and knocked into the solid Karen had just knocked near the side pocket, pushing it further away now. The cue ball bounced back against the bumper before flying across to the other side of the table, slapping into the solid green six which in turn sunk the striped blue ten into the pocket.

As I strolled across the side of the table to take my next shot, I caught Foggy’s wide mouthed stare and Karen's surprise.

"How'd she do?" Matt asked his friends.

"I think it's safe to say she knows what she's doing," Karen responded. 

I smirked as I leant over the table again, aiming the cue ball and knocking it easily into another striped. It slid right into the pocket as I sauntered over to the cue ball again.

"You guys are going to annihilate us," Foggy groaned. "How much time did you spend playing pool at the bars in Anchorage?" he called over to me.

I hit the cue ball, watching as it rolled its way across the table and sunk another stripe before I glanced up at Foggy with a smug smile.

"Well I don't drink, so… a lot?" I mused aloud. "But I'll show some mercy," I joked as I took another shot, intentionally leaving the cue ball in an awkward position for Foggy.

“Thank God for small mercies,” he mumbled sarcastically as we passed by each other.

I grinned, grabbing my coke from off of the table and finishing it. Foggy took his time lining up his shots, managing to land a tricky shot and sinking a ball, but missing on his next turn. 

“Your turn buddy,” Foggy told Matt as he took his place beside Karen.

I stepped away from the table, crossing the two short strides to stand beside Matt. Gingerly I grabbed his forearm as I told him that the cue ball was on the opposite side of the table. As we passed by Karen and Foggy, I swore I heard Foggy lean in to Matt and whisper a “you’re welcome” as Karen giggled.

I stopped in front of the end of the table, Matt pausing beside me. “So,” I told him, sliding my hand down his forearm to catch the back of his free hand in mine, gently guiding it forward onto the table towards the white ball, “the cue ball is right here.” I paused as I held his hand against the ball, noticing how his head tilted close to me, his brows furrowing in thought as he paid close attention to my voice. “It’s about six inches to the left of the back middle pocket; about a foot from the back bumper. You’ve got a pretty clear shot at your ten o’clock to sink the eleven in the middle left pocket.” My eyes darted around the table, taking in other options.

“Or?” he asked softly, slowly leaning over the table and readying his cue.

Tentatively, I guided him along the table, one hand on his with the cue, the other on his waist as I turned him just a fraction. 

“Or,” I told him, not entirely sure how good he was at pool, “If you hit the cue ball to your four o’clock, hard enough to bounce the bumper, there’s another striped perfectly lined up with the back left corner pocket near us.”

“Hmm,” Matt hummed in thought. “Thank you.”

My hands slowly slid off of him and I took a couple of steps back, crossing my arms across my chest and studying him curiously. His head tilted in a few different directions around the table for a moment before he leaned further over lining up his shot. It was at that moment I realized I had the perfect view of his ass and I tried–I really tried–not to check him out but my eyes dipped down for one appreciative moment. When I glanced up, I saw Karen smirking at me from across the pool table. I raised a hand, trying to cover the silent laugh that escaped me. The movement caught Foggy’s attention and he momentarily sent me a questioning look, to which I shook my head in response to. Karen bit her lip, trying to fight back her own laugh. The sound of Matt hitting the ball broke the moment and I glanced down at the table, watching as the balls scattered. He’d chosen the more complicated shot and succeeded. 

“Good shot,” I praised him, slightly impressed as I made my way back beside him.

He turned his face towards me, grinning wide. “Maybe I just really want to win.”

“Flirt,” I teased him back as I guided him by his forearm towards the cue ball again. 

“Is it working?” he asked me curiously.

I grabbed the back of his hand again, guiding it towards the cue ball as I reminded him, “I don’t date flirts. Cue ball is here, just in front of the back left pocket.” His hand touched the ball as I leaned in just over his shoulder, eyeing the potential shots. “You’ve got a good shot at another stripe, directly across the table in the corner right pocket. The ball is about…” I paused, gauging the distance, “four inches to the left of the pocket.”

“Easy,” Matt mumbled.

Again, I let go of him and stepped back, watching once again as he appeared to take in the table despite his lack of sight. Then he lined up his shot for a moment and sunk the ball. Matt stood up, smiling.

“Did that go in, Foggy?” Matt joked. “I couldn’t see.”

I giggled as Foggy exasperatedly rolled his eyes at his friend. “Yes, Matt,” Foggy answered in a deadpan. “You know it damn well did.”

I led Matt all the way to the other side of the table where the cue ball now sat, once again guiding his hand to the ball and directing him to where the last stripe sat and the obstacles in his way before I left him to take his shot. Honestly, I didn’t expect that he’d be able to make it–that shot would be tricky even to me. But my mouth dropped in shock when I watched him hit the ball and it jumped over a solid, smacked into a bumper, and then rolled into the final stripe, pocketing it.

“Should we get drink orders ready?” Foggy joked. “Seems like we lost already.”

Karen laughed, playfully swatting Foggy’s arm. Matt turned towards me, a wide grin still spread across his handsome face.

“What do you think, should I give them a chance?” Matt teased.

I snickered at his question, stepping towards him to guide him yet again to the cue ball.

“That’s on you,” I answered simply.

I lined him up and directed him to where the eight ball now sat on the table. It wasn’t a remotely difficult shot at all. When I laid out the table for him, he paused for a moment in thought as I stepped back.

“Eight ball, right corner pocket,” Matt called out.

I saw Foggy roll his eyes as Karen sent me a quick wink, downing the rest of her beer. I blushed, focusing back on the game. Matt hit the ball and it easily rolled across the table, knocking the eight ball into the right corner pocket. 

“Alright!” Foggy exclaimed, clapping his hands as Matt turned around from the table. “Another beer for you and another coke for the lady?” 

“Sure,” Matt agreed, his focus in my general direction now.

I swallowed hard, glancing at Foggy and nodding quietly. Karen waggled her brows at me before linking her arm around Foggy’s.

“We’ll be at the bar, grabbing the next round,” Karen told us, tugging on Foggy’s arm.

As they began walking away, Foggy called back, “Remind me to never put you two on a team together!”

I chuckled as I watched them retreat to the bar, sliding past a few patrons as they went. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Matt said, appearing in front of me now, “but we did just win, correct?”

I smiled, eyes darting up to the bar ceiling. 

“Yes.”

“And the bet was that the losers had to buy the next round, correct?” he asked next.

My eyes slid down towards my hands, which were now playing with the hem of my sweater. 

“Yes.”

“So Foggy and Karen are off fulfilling their end of the bet, but–correct me if I’m wrong here,” he said again, holding up a hand and looking very serious, “but wasn’t there another part of that bet? For the winners?”

Slowly my gaze shifted up towards Matt, his serious expression fighting to remain on his face. 

“...yes.”

He raised a hand to his chin, rubbing against the stubble there as if deep in thought.

“Something about…” he made a face as if trying to remember, “the winners kissing?”

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to fight the grin on my face anymore. 

“Yes.”

His lips twisted into a matching grin, his tongue darting out against them for a moment. My eyes followed the movement.

“And you did agree to it, right?” he teased.

I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Yes, Matt.”

He took a step closer towards me, leaning in and whispering, “I just wanted to check.”

His hand rose, his fingertips grazing my jaw before he slid it further up, cupping my cheek lightly. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned closer, using his hand to tilt my face up towards him as his other hand suddenly gripped my waist, drawing me closer. Instinctively my hands flew up, resting against his solid chest to brace myself at the movement. The rough pad of his thumb briefly swiped over my cheekbone, caressing it a few times as I swallowed hard, eyes slowly drifting closed. My heart was pounding in my chest and I was almost positive Matt could hear it with how close he was to me.

It was another moment before his lips brushed lightly against mine for the briefest second and I unconsciously found my own tilting up to chase after his. A single huff of amusement left him at the gesture before he closed the distance, bringing his mouth to mine. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against my own, which stood in contrast to the pleasurable rasp of his stubble against my skin. The hand on my cheek carefully made its way down, gingerly sliding down my chin and towards the back of my neck as he drew me in closer, our lips still working against each other slow and sweet. With a mind of its own, my right hand slid the rest of its way up his chest to wrap against the back of his neck, fingernails lightly raking against the bare skin there. The hand at my waist gripped tight in response, his fingers pushing into the fabric of my sweater. 

After another moment he pulled away, leaning his forehead lightly against mine. I struggled to even my breathing, a heat igniting within me at the absence of his lips. I wanted more; more of his mouth, more of his skin, more of his body against mine. It was an ache I’d never felt before. But as my eyes fluttered open and were met with my own reflection in his dark glasses–which I so desperately wanted to rip off of his face yet again–I recalled where we were and why we’d kissed in the first place.

My hands immediately released the grip they’d had on him as I anxiously stepped back. In turn, Matt’s hands slid from their place against my waist and my neck, our foreheads pulling apart at the distance. I swallowed hard a few times, trying to collect myself as I blinked rapidly. When I glanced up at Matt, his breathing was a bit uneven as well but I noticed him shoot me a small, almost sad, smile. The expression confused me, causing my brows to crease together, but before I could say anything, we were interrupted by Foggy and Karen returning.

“Alright, so this round,” Foggy said as he handed Matt a fresh beer, “it’s guys against gals.”

Matt’s expression quickly recovered at the sound of Foggy’s voice, and he raised the beer to his lips before saying, “Sounds like it’d be a bit more fair.”

I found myself staring curiously after Matt for another moment, trying to decipher the look on his face, before Karen appeared beside me, holding out a full coke with a soft smile on her face. I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts and shooting her a smile.

“Thanks,” I told her, accepting the drink. “Wanna wipe the cocky smiles off their faces?”

“ Always ,” Karen answered with a grin.

The next game began with many taunts and playful name-calling before we’d eased into other topics of conversation. It was unexpected when I was taking my shot that Karen brought up a new topic.

“Did any of you listen to the last few episodes of Trish Talk?” 

I paused, my body freezing as I was trying to line up a shot.

“Yes,” Foggy answered immediately.

Matt shook his head. “No, I don’t generally take an interest in that show,” he admitted.

Foggy quickly cleared his throat. “Yeah, I mean. I was just listening in to that case she was talking about on there the other day. It was interesting, you know, from a lawyer’s perspective.”

“What case?” Matt asked curiously.

I had been lining up my shot again when Karen answered.

“Hope Shlottman? The girl who claims some guy named…Kilgrave? Mind controlled her to kill her parents,” she told him.

My hand slipped as I took the shot, his name causing my hands to immediately slick over with sweat. The cue ball barely rolled along the table not hitting a single ball. I swore I saw Matt’s head turn towards the pool table at my fumble.

“I can’t believe Hogarth took on that case,” Foggy said. “It still baffles me.”

“Why?” I asked, trying not to sound too curious as I made my way back over towards the group.

“Because she only takes winners,” Matt answered. “Cases that are a guaranteed win. Ones to make her firm look good.”

“And this one,” Foggy continued, “is…just strange. There’s video footage of her… committing the crime ,” he said, unable to say the word ‘murder.’ “And then she wants to…what, maybe plead insanity? I guess? Because she can’t really be intending to argue some man mind-controlled her to do it.”

I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “How would one even go about doing that, assuming, you know, someone did do that?”

Foggy sent me a weird look as Matt’s brows rose behind his dark glasses. I cleared my throat again, awkwardly this time, as the weight of their expressions lingered on me.

“I mean, hypothetically, of course,” I continued quickly. “I’m just curious. Since you guys are, you know, lawyers.”

“Well…” Foggy started, pausing as he thought, staring down at the beer in his hands. The pool game was long forgotten now. “I suppose witness testimonies would help. But like… a lot of them. Better if they were from reputable people.”

“What about…a recording? Of the man using his ability?” I asked.

Matt’s brows furrowed at my question as his head tilted further towards me, but he remained silent as Foggy answered. I could practically feel his intense focus on me, the hairs prickling along the back of my neck.

“You’d probably need reputable witnesses at the taping. The more the merrier,” he told me, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Because someone could always doctor a tape to make it look like he could mind control people. So you’d need to make it credible. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing thickly. “Hypothetically.”

“But it was a weird episode,” Foggy continued. “Trish doesn’t usually talk about that sort of stuff, and she sounded like she believed it. Especially when she apologized the following day on her show to the man. As if he actually exists.” “That’s what I thought was weird,” Karen agreed. "Why would she apologize? Unless he…does exist. Maybe threatened her…"

I downed the rest of my coke swiftly, setting the glass on the table beside me. My hands were shaking and I tried to still the movement by gripping the soft fabric of my sweater.

"You feeling alright, Olivia?" Matt asked me curiously.

My head spun towards Matt, wiping my sweating palms against my jeans now. I forced a smile on my face though I was sure Foggy and Karen could see how tense it was.

"Yeah," I answered him quickly, voice a little high. I cleared my throat before adding on, "I'm just going to find the restroom."

"I'll come with you," Karen offered abruptly, setting her drink onto the table. She grabbed my arm and led me forward. "I'll show you where it's at."

Karen led us through the bar towards the back, where there was a sign for the bathrooms. We entered the women's restroom and I bolted for an empty stall. I used the bathroom, lingering for a moment to compose myself, before heading out and washing my hands. I could feel Karen’s eyes on me as she dried off her hands on a paper towel.

"How was it?" she finally asked me.

I glanced up at her, our eyes meeting through the dirty mirror. My breath caught in my throat–did she know?

"How was what?" I asked her.

She rolled her eyes, ripping off a sheet of paper towel and crossing the bathroom towards me, holding it out to me. 

"The kiss?" she prompted.

I grabbed the paper towel from her, drying my hands off. I released a breath, my shoulders relaxing. A flush crept over my cheeks as I remembered the way his hand had cupped my cheek, his thumb gently caressing my skin; the strength of his chest underneath my hands, all hard muscle. I could still remember the feel of his soft lips moving so slowly against my own, the faint taste of him that had lingered for a brief moment after. My jaw clenched as I recalled the warmth of the bare skin on his neck under my fingers and the way his grip tightened on my waist when my nails had lightly dragged across the back of his neck.

"That good, huh?" Karen asked when I didn't answer.

I laughed nervously, her voice pulling me back to the present. Tossing the paper towel into the garbage can, I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"It was…" I paused, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, it was good," I confessed. "Especially considering it wasn't, you know, an actual kiss."

Karen’s brows raised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's because it was part of the bet," I told her. "For the game. Not like…it was supposed to mean something. I'm sure he does that all the time."

She frowned instantly, shaking her head with a sigh. "Foggy must have gotten into your head," Karen said. "I know I haven't known them for too long, but Matt has mentioned you a few times. I know he's asked Foggy about you, too, because he's told me. Matt's definitely interested, but he thinks you're not."

Crossing my arms across my chest, I glanced away, my mind racing back to the other night when Matt had come to check on me. The way he'd seemed so upset about me thinking he was the type of guy who slept around. Then I remembered the sad smile I'd seen on his face after he'd kissed me and frowned.

"I'm not good with relationships," I admitted hesitantly. "I've only had one and it was…bad, real bad. I don't exactly know how to do the whole relationship thing. And I'm not too interested in trying again at the moment." Under my breath I muttered, "Certainly not with someone who seems to easily flirt with every woman he's attracted to."

Karen mimicked my posture, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't think Matt is like that," she said slowly. "He's sweet. A good guy. If he wasn't genuinely interested he wouldn't be pursuing you. And Foggy said he's not seeing anyone else. He told me, and I quote, 'the guy is smitten'." She leaned forward, a large smile on her face as she emphasized again, " Smitten. Matt Murdock is smitten with you."

A small smile crossed my lips, but it vanished quickly when I remembered that not only did Matt not really know me, but I was also actively trying to help Jessica and Trish prove that my ex was in fact capable of mind control. And not only that, but he was someone who had forced Jessica and Hope to commit murder, along with so many others who had done equally horrible things because of him. The guilt of that weighed heavily on me, but when Kilgrave found out I was in Hell's Kitchen–because he would soon–I knew those around me wouldn't be safe. I couldn’t willingly put Matt in further danger, it would be terribly reckless.

"It…it can't happen," I said firmly. "Not right now, at least."

Her blue eyes narrowed at me suspiciously.

"So you do like him?" she questioned.

"I mean…I don't know him too well," I told her slowly. "But he's sweet. And funny…and so incredibly, unfairly attractive that it's painful."

Karen giggled, pointing an accusatory finger at me. "I saw you checking out his ass while we were playing pool!"

I laughed with her, holding a finger to my lips and shushing her between laughs. "That's our secret!"

Karen grinned, raising a hand and making a cross over her heart before pretending to seal her lips.

"He likes you though," she said when the laughter died down. "Maybe give it some thought before you completely say no."

I opened my mouth to answer but the buzzing of my phone cut me off. Sliding a hand into my pocket, I grabbed my phone and fished it out. The name on the screen read 'Jessica.' I frowned before taking a step back from Karen.

"I have to take this, I'll be out in a minute," I assured her.

She nodded before turning to leave. I waited until she was out of the bathroom before I answered. 

"Jessica?" I asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Not more than usual," she greeted quickly. "Look, I managed to get my hands on the Sufentanil tonight. Don't ask me how, it's not important."

"Why do I feel like you stole from a hospital?" I muttered.

"Because I did, not the point," she continued on. "Can you meet us tomorrow? Trish and I have a plan to capture him. I can explain it all tomorrow, but…" she hesitated, sounding vulnerable suddenly. "I could really use your help. If you can really do what you say you can, we could really use you if this goes south."

"Whatever it takes, right?" I reiterated. "I'll be wherever you need me."

"Great," Jessica said, the word coming out like a sigh of relief. "My apartment tomorrow morning at 8? You remember where it is?"

"Yeah, I can be there," I assured her.

There was a pause, a beat of silence over the line.

"What?" I asked her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't thank me, I told you that," I reminded her, guilt roiling in my gut. "I should have done something sooner, I'm fixing it now. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

I hung up, sliding the phone back into my pocket. Pausing for a moment, I took a calming breath before exiting the bathroom. I maneuvered my way through the crowd, spotting Karen sitting with Matt and Foggy over by the pool table where I'd left them. As I began passing the bar, something caught me by the arm and I stumbled to a stop. I swore I saw Matt stiffen at the table across the room before I turned to see who'd grabbed me.

"You could do a lot better, baby," the man holding my arm said in a low rumble. "You and that blonde." His head gestured towards Karen and I felt my fists clench at my sides, his hand still wrapped around my wrist. "A nerd and a blind guy…" He shook his head, eyes traveling down to rest on my chest as he bit his lip.

I wrenched my wrist free of his grip, glaring at the large, slightly inebriated man on the bar stool. I snapped my fingers up by my face twice. 

"Eyes up here, asshole," I snapped at him.

His eyes slid back up to my face, a dark expression forming on it. 

"Mouthy," he growled, rising from the barstool and towering over me. "Should teach you a better use for that mouth of yours."

"Sit your ass back in your chair," I snarled, voice lowering dangerously, "before I teach you a better use for yours."

With a sneer, the man balled his meaty hand into a fist and swung it backwards. A collective gasp sounded around us as he aimed a punch at me, but I caught his hand instinctively the moment it flew forward, snatching it the second it was mere inches from my face. The man froze, brow furrowing. 

"No fighting in my bar!" Josie's voice boomed from behind the counter.

I clamped my hand tighter around the man's fist, eyes narrowing. I could feel a tingling sensation starting from my temples and behind my eyes before vibrating down towards the hand gripping the man's fist. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to cover my face a little as I spoke.

"You should sit down," I ordered in a harsh whisper, my voice coming out with a faint vibration through the air, "apologize, and return to your drink. You don’t want to cause a scene."

The man gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, dumbfounded. His fist suddenly lowered, hand dropping to his side as he sat into his chair again.

"I'm sorry about that," he muttered, brows furrowed as he spun back around in his chair, his attention back on his drink as he scratched his head.

I stood still for a moment, waiting for the telltale vibration to dissipate before I glanced past him, spotting Josie watching me curiously from behind the bar. The people standing directly beside us were also staring now. I cleared my throat and shrugged casually. 

"Guess he didn't want to make a scene," I explained simply before turning and walking away. 

Foggy interrogated me the moment I neared the table. 

"What the hell was that?" he questioned immediately.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked with a voice as tight as his grip on the table.

"I'm fine," I assured Matt before facing a flabbergasted Foggy and a very pensive Karen. "Just a drunk guy who realized it wasn't worth starting a fight and getting kicked out." I waved a hand, trying to downplay the situation.

"What an asshole," Foggy grumbled, glaring at the guy at the bar. "I'm sorry, Olivia. But hey," he said, shooting me an apologetic smile, "Matt and I would have kicked his ass for you. I don't know how well, mind you."

I laughed, mentally noting the way Karen was staring at me with a calculated gaze. "I appreciate it but I can handle myself."

"Obviously," Karen said as she pointed towards the bruises on my neck, "since you survived whatever that was."

I forced the smile to remain on my lips as my eyes darted to my coat. 

"I should probably get back home, it's getting late," I announced, making my way towards the jacket. "Thanks for inviting me out though, it was good to get out for a bit."

Matt abruptly rose from his chair, a charming smile on his face. "Let me walk you home."

"Oh you don't have to–"

"I insist," Matt cut me off. "Besides, we're going the same way."

[mikalaseabrooke]

it's not so evil as much as it's hungry; i see these bodies and the bones picked clean.

⤑ keanu reeves, 59, male-adjacent, he/they 𓇢𓆸 my my, if it isn't mikala seabrooke-holland, my favorite witch in town. you know, though people say they can be rather amoral and pedantic, i know they’re really hardworking and persuasive. but hey, what do i know? i’ve only known them for six years. if you need to get in touch, you can probably find them at their work as a funeral director at seabrooke funeral home and crematory.

i built this cage we've been trapped in together; can't remember where i hid the keys.

about OR click on the read more. / photos. / musings. / template credit.

― BASICS.

Full name | Aliases: Mikala Alijah Seabrooke-Holland | Mik.

Gender | Sexual orientation: Male in the same way you might view Cthulhu as a masculine figure, uses he/him pronouns, as well as they/them; look, gender is a weird thing for him, don’t worry about it | Queer (no preference for gender), demisexual and demiromantic.

Date of birth | Age: April 17, 1965 (regrettably, he is an Aries) | 59.

Species: Witch, no longer involves himself with covens.

Place of birth: Brooklyn, New York.

Current residence: Blackwater, Colorado, has lived here for six years. Is currently paying off the mortgage of a 4-bedroom, 2 and a half bathroom home.

Occupation: Funeral director, owner of Seabrooke Funeral Home & Crematory. Works as a tattoo artist and piercer, also does scarification, on the side from his house (not funeral home, thank you) in an at-home studio.

Relationship status: Married to Asa Holland-Seabrooke as of 2018.

Children: Two adult children that he is presently unaware of and had no part in raising, nor would he have wanted to. More likely to be a parental figure to everyone but his biological kids.

Positive traits: + Confident, hardworking, methodical, persuasive.

Negative traits: - Amoral, antagonistic, morbid, pedantic.

― PHYSICAL TRAITS.

Hair color: Black with some greys, nearly shoulder length, slightly wavy.  He often has it tied back in a low, messy bun, or an equally as messy half down, half up hairstyle. Claw clips are his personal hero.

Eye color: Dark brown, nearly black.

Height | Build: 6'1" | Slim, lanky; has some muscle definition, particularly in his arms and back.

Distinguishing features: Heavily tattooed (find the Google Doc containing all of his tattoos and their placement here), long scar on his stomach from a particularly gruesome injury, has his left nipple pierced, generally looks like Dracula, well dressed and groomed, corporate goth vibes, lots of black and grey scruff on his face, widow’s peak. There are additional scars on his body from fighting, injuries, rituals, etc. Walks with a limp, occasionally uses a cane to offset this. If you look closely and he’s dared to be out in sunlight, you’ll notice freckles littered all over his face and body.

Scent: Naturally, he smells like burning leaves and similarly woodsy elements juxtaposed by a darker nature, combined with a slight floral sweetness, an ode to the magic in his blood. The cologne and similar self care products he uses plays off of this, a fragrance called Firewood by Barba Brasil, containing notes of clove, lavender, cedar, vetiver, patchouli, and leather.

Faceclaim: Keanu Reeves.

― BIOGRAPHY (content warning for: mentions of animal experimentation, blood, military matters, death, war crimes, torture, human experimentation, murder; nothing is mentioned explicitly).

Born in the spring, his birth doesn’t inspire the optimism that this season oft does. He is the youngest of three brothers, five and seven years his senior respectively, and the strangest. His father is nowhere to be found by the time he’s born, finding the task of raising three magically-inclined children a bit too daunting. In retrospect, Mikala doesn’t blame him.

Raised by a single mother, with a little help from coven members here and there, their family is unorthodox and each member presents their own unique challenges. Despite this, his childhood is simple and quaint enough to any onlooker; abilities concealed and locked securely in a metaphorical box. He’s routinely frustrated because he can’t relate to any of his peers, not even his own brothers. Admittedly, he doesn’t try.

An odd child, his makings begin the same way it does for anyone of his caliber—with a general malaise towards the living, a penchant for the dead. No one needs to know about the roadkill he conducts experiments on, with chemicals from the cupboards, tools from the shed, and even his own enchanted blood, so they don’t.

He graduates high school at the top of his class. There’s an expectation for him to join the military at the ripe age of 18, regardless of how both of his brothers had lost their lives to war and bloodshed. He enlists despite this.

He’s seen more death and depravity than a man—a boy—at the ripe age of 19 should. Yet, he doesn’t cower, never wavers. Instead, it feeds this animal inside of him. The one that wants to murder and maim. He feeds it equally so, if not more. All for the vainglory of it.

Except, there’s hardly any pride in what he does next, merely an act of degenerate instinct. He takes a hostage, a man of similar age to him, for a nightmare sequence of torture that lasts a mere couple of days at best. He uses this time to practice experiments; magical, medical, the list goes on.  It ends in the sweet relief of death. His peers are none the wiser, and he won’t pretend that he wouldn’t have found a victim regardless of this convenient opportunity.

He serves for a few more years, learning to view the living as merely bodies. He grows colder and more calculated, the profound impact of gore, death, sorrow meaning less and less by the day. His final homecoming is at the age of 24, though he isn’t greeted with open arms.

There’s talk of war crimes. Talk turns to accusations. Accusations turn to a rather messy legal trial. It’s in 1990 that his name and face are known in the paper, despite attempts for the contrary. It goes on for about a year, a long-fought battle with incessant attempts to rightfully pin these crimes on him. He walks free, having proven a false innocence, thanks to legal loopholes, only a singular witness accusing him, and the misplaced respect for “war heroes” like him. It’s during this that he learns how fallible the entire system is, and his own respect wanes.

He’s smart enough to lie low for roughly two to three years. There’s an attempt at normalcy in this time. A steady, simple job to pay the bills… a wholesome, beige and boring relationship… odd interests kept behind closed doors and guarded safely, alongside his magical abilities. He’s as human as they come, until he’s simply not.

More murder, more blood on his hands. A beloved partner meticulously disposed of. It stokes a new interest and in the mid-90s, he pursues a degree in mortuary science. It nearly looks like an attempt to better his life, make something of himself and cater to a field that is sorely lacking. In reality, he can’t resist the siren song of death.

By his early 30s, he’s working as an assistant at a funeral home, primarily handling cremations. This position at a crematory is, well, convenient. Evidence is so easily disposed of now, with access to everything he would need to get away with a criminal lifestyle. How was he ever meant to resist? He won’t get caught again, and he doesn’t. Eventually, other criminals pay him off for his disposal services. All the while, he works his way up in the funeral industry. It’s around this time he meets Asa Holland, developing an on-off business and romantic relationship in this dark underbelly of the world, eventually committing to the man fully.

Any free time is poured into his art. Painting, drawing, tattooing. He’s increasingly less social, more committed to his work in the funeral industry and his craft, magical or artistic. In his mid-40s, he’s able to open his own funeral home. This opens up more opportunities. He continues on, working with criminals on the side while committing his own atrocities.

His move to Blackwater at the age of 53 forces him to “mellow out,” with Mikala settling down in the town with his husband shortly after marrying him. For awhile, he owns and operates a new funeral home, up until the age of 55. He sells it with every intention to retire and focus on his shift to the body modification industry. This is successful for a couple of years, opening up a studio within his home to tattoo, pierce, and scar anyone looking for these services. Unable to resist, however, he re-enters the funeral industry and buys back his funeral home.

These days, he purposefully keeps his plate full and his schedule busy, unable to tolerate idle hands. He alternates between operating his funeral home and his at-home tattoo/piercing studio. He’s less involved in his past unsavory acts, however the urge remains and the figurative beast must be fed in due time.

― HEADCANONS (content warning for: blood, death).

Mikala is big on pet names, whether he hardly knows you or he’s close to you. Love, dear, darling, sweetheart, honey, the list goes on. Don’t read too deep into it, just pretend Dracula is saying it to you or something, it’s how it’s meant to be taken.

He isn’t fond of animals in general, but he especially doesn’t like dogs. For the most part, he believes pets to be a waste of time, money, and other valuable resources. He does enjoy caring for plants, however, so he’s really just a hypocrite. Never mind the fact that he and his husband have five cats.

Speaking of, many of those plants are toxic or even lethal in some way. There’s a section of his garden dedicated to this poisonous flora, although some are out in the open as well. Some are enchanted by his blood, essentially giving “conscious life” to the plants by sharing his lifeforce.

Mikala’s primary talents fall within the realm of blood magic. He’s maintained a natural inclination towards it since childhood and has honed it ever since. More often than not, this ability is put towards his plants, using his blood to nurture and enchant many of them. However, he has used it to heal others and himself, and has dabbled in attempts to revive the dead or nearly dead. The latter has always been kept exclusively to small animals, performed out of curiosity, and he has yet to attempt this form of magic on larger beings such as humans. Naturally, using this ability drains him quite significantly and affects his own lifeforce, making him quite selective when it comes to what his blood is used for and to whom it’s given. While dark magic is his preferred, he’s well aware of the cost and uses it sparingly. That being said, excessive use of it in his youth has left him a bit weak and prone to bouts of illness, as well as difficulty with healing injuries without the involvement of magic.

Owns and drives a hearse as his primary vehicle. He also rides motorcycles, which has given him a deep love for leather and boots. Practical and aesthetically pleasing!

― WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Trusted confidant: Likely another witch but open to other supernatural creatures. This is someone who is in a way his ride or die and vice versa. Someone he often does magic with, runs ideas by, asks for advice (a rare thing for Mik), etc. As close as you can get to a “best friend” essentially when it comes to him.

Child not child: Mikala will literally never parent his own biological children, even if he knew they existed, but he sure will pluck some random pathetic meow meow off the street! As the lover of the unloved, this is someone he views as his kid and has cared for them for quite some time, developing into a synthetic parent/child dynamic. Asa would be part of this as well due to their long-standing involvement with each other.

Favored apprentice: Legit just someone who is interested in finding footing in either the funeral or tattooing industry that Mikala is training and guiding. Cute lil mentor/mentee type vibe, possibly kinda toxic because he’s, well. Look at him.

Friends: Or the next best thing. Mikala generally isn’t the type to get close to people, deliberately keeping them at a distance, but feeling alone is a different story than being alone. He can be quite pleasant in his own strange way, resulting in companionships.

Foes: An acquired taste, there are a million and one ways he could’ve wronged your muse. Perhaps yours learned he’s quite the fair-weather friend, has seen his cruelty firsthand, or happened to read the headlines about his trial in the ‘90s. You know he did it, we all know he did it, but what are ya gonna do now?

Fellow witches: It’s only natural for him to experience a soft spot for others like him. While he may not always agree with other covens, or even members within his own, there is an intrinsic bond that pulls him to those who are magically inclined, especially those who dabble in the dark arts as well.

Apprentices: There are many routes to take here. Younger (or older!) witches that require his assistance and they form a bond over magic. Budding morticians and similar workers in the funeral industry that wish to pick his brain and work at the funeral home. Even people who want to learn the art of tattooing and / or piercing! Basically, just a solid bond based on learning of some type that doesn’t yet go as deep as the “favored apprentice” connection.

Clients: Customers for his at-home tattoo studio, or even the recently (or not-so-recently) bereaved who have been a client at his funeral home. 

Species specific: He’s a rather old man, and a curious one at that, meaning he’s gained experience with several supernatural walks of life. For vampires, perhaps they seek him out for his blood, only to be cruelly denied of what they need the most. Cat and mouse ensues. Additionally, he finds the lifestyle of vampires intriguing and, in a way, he envies them. Hunters? We’ve got something for you, too. While he keeps this as a guarded fact, he has helped hunters in the past, supplying necessary (and enchanted) items to aid them in their quest and even selling out other witches if it meant sparing his life or gaining something valuable in return. Banshees interest him due to their connection to death considering his own involvement with it, and fae are a likely friendship because of mutual connections to nature. Finally, humans who are curious about the supernatural and / or wanting to learn magic, or are noticing the ooky spooky happenings around town, he’s your cryptid too.

[emilou-keen-gear]

Demons on the Run Part 2

Characters: Scrooge McDuck, Betina Beakley, Duckworth, and Flintheart Glomgold

Word count: Approx. 4000

            The group of four made their way to the Duckburg cemetery. Most people only saw three, but there were definitely four.

            “There. There. That’s where I saw my gravestone,” Glomgold shouted, pointing to a large, iron gate that separated two sections of the cemetery.

            “I don’t remember that being there last time I was here,” Beakley said, squinting at the gates.

            “That’s because they usually aren’t there,” Scrooge McDuck said, scrutinizing what his eyes saw. “That tree by the fence marks where the sidewalk begins and Waddlesworth Dr. That gate, the fence, and all those gravestones we see shouldn’t be there.”

            Beakley raised an eyebrow and Glomgold quaked.

            “Duckworth, I’m assuming that is an illusion made by our demon, correct?” Scrooge asked his loyal servant.

            “If I may correct you, sir, it isn’t an illusion but a portal to another dimension,” Duckworth said politely. “Rather a pocket dimension. It takes up a very small space, but allows the demon to lure victims to it.”

            “I’m sorry, but doesn’t that sound a little complex?” Beakley said in her irritated tone. “If the demon is luring people into this pocket dimension, why would it allow Glomgold to go free? Wouldn’t it be easier to have kept him in the other dimension and eat him there?”

            “Astute observation, Mrs. Beakley, but demons do not eat as we do,” Duckworth lectured. “While they can feast on flesh and blood, the way they gain nutrients and power is by feeding off ethereal products of the living. Some demons eat souls, some eat emotions, and others can feast on pain or other things that are not tangible. This particular demon, I believe, feeds off of mortality.”

            “Mortality?” Scrooge asked, not liking the sound of that. He had been fighting mortality for a long time, and he hadn’t lost yet. He wasn’t about to start now.

            “Yes. I guess that a more accurate description is that this demon eats entropy,” Duckburg said. “It thrives on the decay of mortal bodies until they die. However, the normal aging of a person doesn’t give it enough nutrients to live by, so it drains the years away from a person so they age and die within twenty-four hours. The tombstone with Mr. Glomgold’s name on it is most likely the demon’s crux of power.”

            “So, we destroy this crux of power, the demon dies and ol’ Flinty lives?” Scrooge guessed, hitting his nemesis with his cane.

            “The solution isn’t as banal as that, Mr. McDuck,” Duckworth said. “The crux of power has the demon’s strength inside it, so it is near indestructible. But since the demon has put all its power into a crux, it is vulnerable to attack. The trouble will be finding the demon. I imagine that it has hidden itself somewhere in the pocket dimension to protect itself. But the good news is that the demon cannot be too far away from its crux or it cannot feed.”

            “Well, I didn’t expect this to be easy,” Scrooge said. “What about you, Twenty-two? Are you ready for this?”

            Beakley cocked her gun, loading a cartridge of rock salt into the chamber and ready for the fight. She had another shot gun at her hip, several super soakers filled with holy water strapped to her back and all her other artillery within arm’s reach. She was already imagining herself as Dean Winchester. “I was born ready. Let’s do this.”

            “We must be very careful. As I said, the demon is currently feeding off of Mr. Glomgold. The longer it takes for us to find the demon, the longer it has time to feed and get stronger,” Duckworth said. “As you can see, the demon has already sucked out much of Mr. Glomgold’s mortality.”

            They took a look at the squat duck, seeing wrinkles and lines on his face that weren’t there before.

            “What?” Glomgold asked, having only half-listened to the conversation. “Do I have a booger?”

            Scrooge sighed. “Okay. Into the fray everyone.”

            Beakley took point as they entered the pocket dimension, the iron gates squeaking open on their own.

            “It knows that we are here,” Beakley said, her back bent a little in a tense crouch. “Keep your eyes peeled.” She kept going forward into the graveyard, confident that Scrooge had her six and everything else outside of her vision, and even though their relationship was rocky at moments, she also trusted Duckworth to be on her side.

            Glomgold was another matter. But she didn’t worry about him much. After all, it was to his benefit to warn them of danger.

            The path was made of broken rocks sunken into the earth. The gravestones were old and crumbling, most were so worn through that the names and dates were illegible. The grass was long and unkempt with weeds everywhere. Trees and bushes were untrimmed and dying or already dead and a hazy mist gathered and swirled around them.

            “There. There it is,” Glomgold said, shivering. “That’s my gravestone.”

            It was huge and ostentatious, cast in gold with a large statue of Glomgold standing with confidence on top.

            “The demon certainly got his details right,” Beakley said with a smirk. “This is exactly how I imagine your gravestone to be.”

            Glomgold crossed his arms. “That can’t be right. It’s too small.”

            But all their caution was for naught. The demon, it seems, wasn’t in the mood for hide-and-seek.

            “Welcome, lady and gentlemen. And welcome back, Flintheart,” a pleasant voice of unknown gender called out although the mouth that it resonated from was not to be seen. “I was expecting company, and you have come right on time.”

            “Expecting company?” Scrooge asked. “Any company or us in particular?”

            “Most demons don’t give a flying brimstone fart about the caretaker of the ghost portal, but I was fascinated by the demon that was once human,” the demon said. “It isn’t often that the Ghost King would give a once-mortal so much power and trust. So I did the research on you Mr. McDuck. It wasn’t hard. Do you know just how many people in the ghost realm know you? I’m sure you don’t know them all, but they know you. So many people have gone before, even though your time should have come long ago.

            “I wonder what your mortality would taste like. You look as if you don’t have many years left in you, but that’s only the surface. Below those feathers is a fountain-well of lively years, perhaps more than most people on Earth have. You staved off time with magic and wishes and spells and all sorts of things. Can you just image how long I could live off of a person like you?”

            “I’m not particularly curious about something like that,” Scrooge said conversationally, looking around. There was nothing odd or out of the ordinary in the graveyard save for the overgrown plants and how much in disrepair it was. If the demon looked like a demon or something out of this world, Scrooge would have noticed it by now.

            “You might not be, but I am,” the demon said. “So I’ll thank you Mr. McDuck for stepping into my trap and bringing another appetizer with you. Let the feasting begin.”

            The mist cleared, and they could see two more grave markers right next to Glomgold’s, more modest in size and shape than his. They bore the names of Scrooge McDuck and Betina Beakley with their birthdates. Underneath that, the date of their death was for the morrow, exactly like Glomgold’s.

            “I think you’ll find me a little harder to swallow than your normal fare,” Scrooge said, tightening his grip on his cane. “As you’ve observed, I’ve been around for a long time. You don’t think I’m going down without a fight.”

            “But I don’t have to fight,” the demon said. “I just have to stay in my hiding place as you and your companions grow weaker and weaker until the three of you die. You can search my pocket dimension all you like. The chances of you finding me are unlikely. Even your ghost butler cannot locate me here through supernatural means.”

            Scrooge’s eyes slid to the side. “Duckworth?”

            “He’s correct, sir. Any powers I would have to perceive its whereabouts have been severely dampened. I wouldn’t know where it was unless I was actually touching it,” Duckworth said.

            “Then we’ll tear this place apart,” Scrooge said. “Twenty-Two, start spreading that holy water, iron and salt. Let us know if anything starts burning from the contact. Glomgold, make yourself useful and destroy everything you see. The demon either can change its form or create illusions or can hide some other way. But the creature is here, and we will find it.”

            Scrooge, Betina and Glomgold went to work. They tore up the grass, broke branches, ripped apart plants and trees with the hope of finding the demon. They even pushed down the gravestones which crumbled to dust once they heaved them over. Everything they destroyed immediately turned to dust or rubble, whatever enchantment that was upon the objects disappeared quickly.

            The three mortals worked, but the ghost remained behind. It wasn’t because he felt the work was beneath him—although as a butler that had trained at the best academy in England and who had a long pedigree of butlers in his family it certainly was beneath him—and it wasn’t because he lacked the power. It was because he knew that Mr. McDuck’s tenacity wouldn’t be enough. The pocket dimension was far too big. There was no way they could search every inch of it in one day. And even now, the ducks hadn’t noticed that the pocket dimension was repairing itself. Within a few minutes, they could turn around to find all the trouble they had gone to was for naught.

            It was up to him to do something.

            “Demon, I challenge you,” he declared, changing into his own demon form.

            Scrooge turned around, his eyes widening. “Duckworth, what are you doing?”

            “That is interesting,” the demon said with a voice as smooth as silk. “But you have nothing I want, Guardian of the Portal. You have no body, and since you have sold your soul to the Ghost King, there is nothing about you that is affected by entropy. Why would I answer your challenge?”

            “Because I have access to a golem,” Duckworth said.

            “A golem? You mean a man made of mud?” Beakley asked, knowing her mythology.

            “Of a sort,” Duckworth said. “In a way, all mortals are made of mud, depending on the stories.”

            “And why is having a golem so important?” Scrooge asked, skeptical. He didn’t like where this was going.

            “The golem was my second chance,” Duckworth said with a sigh. “As you know, ghosts and demons can possess a body on a temporary basis. But a golem is a body with no soul. A spirit or demon could take possession of it indefinitely. In fact, the process melds the spirit and body together, as if they were completely alive again.”

            Beakley stared at Duckworth as if he were crazy. Or perhaps there were other emotions behind her stare, but they were hard to read.

            “You mean you could have come back all this time?” Scrooge asked, incredulously.

            “Not exactly,” Duckworth said. “The golem was part of my deal with the Ghost King. I would have been given leave to use it after a time of service with him, and more time after my ‘second death’.”

            Scrooge was about to ask for more information, but Duckworth raised his hand. “I cannot say no more, Mr. McDuck. The terms of our agreement are between the Ghost King and me. But in a case such as this, the use of a golem for a day is enough that my spirit won’t completely bind to the golem, and I should be able to separate myself from the body.”

            “That is if we survive,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “But…it’s essentially going to make you…” Scrooge began.

            “Mortal,” the demon finished with a laugh. “Oh, and how delicious will that be. Not just eating Scrooge McDuck’s mortality and soul, but I will also be eating one of the souls that belong to the Ghost King. This will truly be the meal of the century.”

            “Now hold on a moment. You haven’t won anything yet,” Duckworth said. “I called a challenge, and a challenge I will have. You know the stakes we’re giving, but for your part, if we win, you will relinquish our bodies and souls and will go back to the ghost realm from where you came. Will you accept?”

            There was the sound as if something were smacking their lips. “Oh, the trickle of the years coming off of the bodies of the four of you won’t compare to when your dry, husks finally give up the spirit, and I will slurp your souls up as if they were the finest of soups. Delectable. I can almost taste the entropy of your souls as I dissolve them piece by piece.”

            “Do we have a deal?” Duckworth asked again.

            “Are you sure that you know what you’re getting into, Duckworth?” Scrooge asked, interrupting. “This is your second chance to live.”

            “Mr. McDuck, as always, it is a pleasure to serve you in any way shape or form,” Duckworth said, giving his past employer a small smile. “So, demon? Do we have a bargain?”

            “How could I deny your request? I have no excuse to refuse the treaty of the Ghost King,” the demon said. “The challenge is accept.”

            There was a resounding clap, and suddenly everything felt very official.

            Beakley cleared her throat. “That was interesting, but may I ask just exactly what we agreed to? What is this challenge? And what’s all this about a Ghost King and a treat?”

            “The second question shall remain a mystery. That’s on a need to know basis,” Duckworth said. “As for the answer to the first, every demon is under a signed writ that they must allow a challenge to be issued from their victims, a chance to escape from their demonic appetites. The challenge is more of a game than anything, and it is up to the demon to determine the rules and goal, although they must be within reason.”

            “Within reason?” Glomgold asked, for the first time paying attention.

            “Their victims must be given a fair chance at escaping,” Duckworth explained.

            “Define ‘fair’,” Beakley demanded.

            “As fair as the lion is with the gazelle or a cat is with a mouse,” the demon interrupted their conversation. “Demons are predators, and although we are far more superior to our prey than a lion is to his, we must deign to give you humans just as fair of a chance to escape. The challenge is to pit your strengths against my own, just as the lion’s strength is against a gazelle’s speed.”

            Beakley frowned. She had a feeling that the odds were less in their favor than the gazelles of the African savanna.

            “What is your game?” Duckworth demanded.

            “I thought that since I designed my pocket dimension to a specific area, let’s play something that is fitting for the setting,” the demon said, its voice amused. “Are you aware of the children’s game Ghost in the Graveyard?”

            The three ducks and the ghost looked at each other, looking for any sign of recollection.

            “The game is simple. You must make it to the other end of the graveyard, but if anyone gets tagged, then game over,” the demon said. “I will roam my dimension, searching. Is that not a fitting game for a predator to play with its prey?”

            Scrooge shivered. It sounded like a game a serial killer would play. “This game feels a little one-sided. For one thing, you know where we are and we cannot see you. If children play this game, they are all on equal footing.”

            The demon sighed. “I suppose you are right. That would not be fair. I shall take my true form. It is large enough that you will not have difficulties spotting me. And I shall go twenty feet away and close my eyes for ten seconds, giving you enough time to hide yourselves. Is that satisfactory?”

            Scrooge thought things through. It still felt one-sided, but he had been against similar odds before. “Fine. Off you go.”

            “But first, the demon guardian must don his mortal armor,” the demon reminded them.

            “It will take me a few minutes,” Duckworth said. “I must summon the golem from the other realm.”

            “I will watch, so that you don’t try anything,” the demon said in a suspicious tone.

            Duckworth quickly drew a circle in the dirt before holding his hands out. The circle glowed with an eerie electric-violet light. From within the light a figure started rising out of the ground. And while the display was distracting, Duckworth whispered to the three ducks.

            “The demon has very good hearing,” Duckworth whispered. “It can’t sniff you out or hunt your down with its other senses, but its hearing is far better than ours. We’ll have to be careful not to make a sound once the game starts. And despite how it looks, do not, under any circumstances, attack it. The game’s rules are absolute, and if it touches you, then the game is over. This applies especially to you, sir.”

            “What?” Scrooge McDuck.

            “There’s no being sharper than the sharpies and smarter than the smarties,” Duckworth said. “Craftiness and sneakiness won’t help. The rules are absolute and cheating will not be tolerated. The best strategy we have is to work together and make it to the end together, but we also cannot make ourselves a large target. We work as a team but remain as far apart as possible. That is the only way we can get out of here alive.”

            “I agree,” Beakley said, nodding her head. She started removing most of the equipment she had brought with her. Most of it was cumbersome and would make noise. She could move better without it, although she was sure to keep some tricks up her sleeve.

            “I can take care of myself,” Scrooge said.

            “I bet that I can get out of here faster than you can, Scroogie,” Glomgold said with a cackle.

            “This isn’t a race, Flinty. This is our lives,” Scrooge protested.

            “Sounds like someone is chicken,” Glomgold said.

            “We’re on the same team. We’re not competing against each other.”

            “Chicken!”

            “Why did I ever bother to come down here and save you?”

            “Stop it you two,” Beakley snapped. “Arguing isn’t going to help us. I’ll not be some demon’s meal just because you are behaving like children. And Mr. Glomgold, so help me, if you so much as make another sound from this point on, I will personally make sure that tombstone remains true to its premonition, demon or no demon. Do we understand each other?”

            Scrooge and Glomgold nodded in sync with eyes wide. Knowing that her threats would be backed up, Glomgold remained silent.

            “Good,” Beakley said. She caught Duckworth giving her an approving smile, although she didn’t know why. As far as Duckworth had been concerned, serving his employee and being loyal was everything. Chewing out someone who paid your wages or had as much money as the pair of billionaires had would have been a disgrace.

            Duckworth finished summoning his golem, and he approached the body that stood without moving. It looked just like him, or at least, how he looked when he was alive.

            “The second you gain possession of your new body, I shall begin the count,” the demon said. “And I promise not to look.” The demon chuckled.

            Duckworth looked to his companions before reaching out and touching the golem. As if it were a vacuum, he was sucked inside through the golem’s mouth with a short cry of surprise. The golem opened its—or rather his—eyes and fell back onto his backside.

            “Duckworth? Duckworth? Are you alright?” Scrooge asked, standing over the golem.

            Duckworth opened his mouth and made a few strangling sounds. For a few pregnant seconds, everyone panicked, not knowing what was wrong. But after a while, Duckworth gasped, sucking in air.

            “Good gracious,” Duckworth said. “I forgot how to breathe.”

            “One Mississippi,” the demon said, its tone very child-like.

            “Hopefully that isn’t the only thing you’ve forgotten,” Beakley said, holding a hand out to the newly-mortal butler.

            “Two Mississippi.”

            “Let’s move. We only have so many Mississippis until the demon comes,” Scrooge said.

            Glomgold grumbled and pointed back toward the gate, keeping his mouth shut as he promised.

            “Three Mississippi.”

            They looked and were surprised just how far the gate out of the pocket dimension was. The demon must have moved it.

            “We’ll never—“ Scrooge started to say but Beakley silenced him.

            “Four Mississippi.”

            She pointed to her ears, reminding them that the demon had perfect hearing. She pointed two fingers at her eyes and gestured that that move forward but to the left, guiding them not directly to their destination but to the side.

            “Five Mississippi.”

            They followed Beakley through the maze of tombstones, not at a run, but at brisk walk, keeping their noise level slightly above stalking.

            “Six Mississippi.”

            Beakley made gestures for them to spread out, not follow her in a line. Scrooge was quick to follow her directions but Glomgold protested silently until she shook a fist at him. However it was Duckworth that looked to be the one to give her the most trouble.

            “Seven Mississippi.”

            He was doing his best to follow, but apparently he didn’t have complete control of his legs. He wobbled and his knees knocked together. Not to mention, one of his arms appeared to have a spasm, jumping slightly randomly. And he was making a lot of noise.

            “Eight Mississippi.”

            Scrooge understood Beakley’s strategy. There wasn’t enough time for them to run to the exit, the demon would catch up in no time. And even if they hid before the demon stopped counting, searching all the hiding spots that were directly in line with the exit would be the first place it would look. Beakley was playing the long game, one where it would take time to get to the end, but the best chance they had of surviving. And it was best for them to spread out so they wouldn’t make themselves as big of a target.

            If things all went well, they would be fine.

            “Nine Mississippi.”

            But then Scrooge looked back, seeing Beakley taking a hold of Duckworth’s arm and having him lean on her. It was obvious that the dog wasn’t lame, but either it had been far too long since he had been in a mortal body that he didn’t know how to control one or the golem body had more difficulties than they thought. Beakley caught his eye, and through gestures, conveyed that they continue on. Scrooge would be in charge of watching Glomgold and help him to the end. Beakley would help Duckworth.

            Scrooge nodded, catching up to Glomgold and forcing the squat duck to the ground behind a tombstone in the shape of a man with a large splay of turkey feathers where they couldn’t be seen. He hoped that Beakley and Duckworth had enough time to find their own hiding spot.

            “Ten Mississippi. Ready or not, here I come.”

***

It was running long, so I had to make it three parts.

This story talks a little about Duckworth and his relationship to the Ghost King, which I have mentioned in my fanfic Twisted Strings of Fate. I am not getting into Duckworth's background or any lore about the Ghost King. This is simply going to be a short story which may be related to a few other short story in this collection, which may also eventually be integrated into my main story. We'll see. I really like where it's going, but that won't be for a long time.

[hawkewatching]

Dark Sun (Arthur Harrow x Reader)

Chapter 2: Do You Know Me? (7,014 words)

Previous Links: Chapter 1 (Please check chapter 1 for any warnings and tags if you're interested, they are the same here)

Rated Mature for dark themes and some strong language.

Summary:

"You can walk away if you want, I wouldn’t stop you. But you won’t.”

What happens when he gets close? Do you want to test that? Do you want to test yourself?

A/N: My bad yall I kinda forgor to post, the only thoughts about this fic that I've had for two weeks is about finally finishing the current chapter I'm working on (chapter 15 hits AO3 in a couple of days, if you're waiting on that watch that space). Also I gotta say my favourite part of posting here is picking a slightly tangentially-related pic for the top, I always remember my thought processes for these chapters so they evoke scenes and ideas that I drew upon here. Iirc this chapter was written about July/August 2022, I remembering suffering from mega writer's block while working on this. I suffered so bad to write this one at the time. So enjoy it, enjoy my favourite bad bad man, I'm so in love with him it hurts.

~~~

Why is he here? He isn’t supposed to be here.

The sound of crunching glass immediately strikes fear into you, even if it is only momentary. No amount of exposure to it can make you used to it. Even though you don’t negatively associate the presence that accompanies it, something about how it sounds can never be spun in a positive light in your mind.

You had been previously leaning over a cardboard box of your belongings, packing up and ready to move out of the small flat that you’d previously called home. When you looked behind you, following the sound, you saw a sight that you knew to expect but hadn’t quite prepared for.

Harrow was leaning in your doorway, still holding on to that cane as if it helped at all. He looked exactly the same as when you’d first met him a few days prior, right down to the clothes. You hadn’t forgotten a single thing about him, and you should have welcomed the familiar sight, but something prevented you. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever told him where you lived, and he certainly hadn’t been invited.

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his sudden appearance. “Are you going to help or are you just going to watch?” You asked, only half sarcastic.

He tilted his head. “From my understanding it appears that you’ve already done most of the heavy lifting.”

“True, I could have done with you randomly showing up here an hour ago.” That was fully sarcastic, and you looked away from him to close up the box you were handling.

He began to take some steps forward, and you tried to hide your own repulsion to that sound that always followed him. “I apologise, I just wanted to oversee things.” He sounded genuine, but at the same time a little distant, noticing that you still looked at him with distrust.

You narrowed your eyes, watching him as he now stood next to you. The way he looked down at you made for an unintentionally intimidating presence that you refused to back down on. You tried to hide your feelings with a scoff and an unenthused smile. “What’s that supposed to mean? I wasn’t going to bail.”

His smile, which was supposed to be reassuring, only served to further stoke your rebellious flames. “I didn’t think you would.”

Finally, you became serious, unsure of his exact intentions. “I don’t need you to worry about me.” You insisted, but something didn’t seem to convince him.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have me worrying about you.” You were unable to hide your confusion when he put a hand on your shoulder, but it was only momentary when one of his damned smiles began to put you at ease. You didn’t mind him doing that, even if you didn’t understand it.

You could only look at him, not knowing how to reply to that. You didn’t really know what it meant, and didn’t dare ask. Given that context, you somewhat appreciated his unexpected company.

He leaned in and moved forward, with your response immediately being to brace yourself for whatever was to come. However, you were surprised to see him go around you instead. The rasp of his voice was next to left ear.

“It’s not too much further, but don’t get lost, alright?” Harrow asked. The question sounded almost playful, but you didn’t know how to respond to the game.

Pinned to the spot, you didn’t dare follow him with your gaze, but his sounds more than indicated him circling around you. He’d said his part, and you saw him again when he’d finished that lap, returning to where he had been a moment before.

He looked at you with a warm stare, a smile only just present. Your nervousness began to disappear at the sight. For once, you felt able to lower your guard. It felt safe.

What was this? Trust? On both our parts?

You only wished to know why he would do all of this for you, but as always, he was a total mystery. A mystery you hoped this new chapter of your life would solve.

***

Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap.

Anticipation was already eating at you as it was. That was enough torture for you. You didn’t need the addition of those sounds, which you thought you had escaped, getting to you through the walls. Not even the source being in another room could prevent you from having to experience it all over again.

It had been a week since you’d settled into this place. Your experience so far had been pretty good. Harrow’s promises had turned out not to be empty. Although you were still adjusting, you had found this environment to be welcoming, and the people rather kind. They weren’t like their leader at all, they all seemed… normal. When that realisation hit you, you didn’t feel so out of place anymore, and you had found great comfort in that.

Now, you were waiting in a hallway, the hot sun beaming through the windows straight onto you, not helping the already awkward situation. Directly across from you was the room that Harrow was supposed to be in. Well, there was no doubt that he was in it. You had been told that he wanted to see you, and that never really boded well.

You had already seen him a lot, but never in a context like this. Usually, he came to you. He would do that a lot, actually. You never objected to his company, sometimes you welcomed it. If you were alone, he always made sure that it was never for long. He didn’t seem to do this for other people, and they had noticed. No one had a definitive answer to explain that.

Something about the way he is just doesn’t sit right.

He would just sit with you and listen, but the conversation was awkward. He never talked about himself, and you had a hard time talking about yourself, so it mostly boiled down to talking about whatever seemed to be happening on that particular day. It wasn’t exactly riveting, but it was something? Regardless, you were running out of ground to cover. Something had to give. You knew there was something deeper, he had to have a motivation, but that was totally unknown to you.

He had stopped moving. You sighed loudly, trying to fill the eerie silence with something else. The moment was short-lived though, and almost as quickly as it disappeared you could hear him walking again.

Before you had time to process that, there was a clicking of a lock and one of the large, wooden doors that served as the room’s entrance opened a crack. Through it, you could see half of his face, and half of a warm smile.

“You’re here. Come in.” His enthusiasm surprised you, and you could tell he was happy to see you. You just weren’t sure why.

Once he had finished speaking, he just watched you, waiting for your move. You followed him, deliberately cautious. When you got close to the door, he pulled it open for you, revealing a large room that, while spacious, felt claustrophobic with its low-hanging lights and various items stacked up against the walls from top to bottom.

Harrow was shuffling towards the back, where a corner was stacked with sturdy, waist-high boxes. Littered there were various unknown, shiny objects. Drawn to those like a crow, he didn’t pay you much mind for a moment. You’re unable to find the same fascination, but everything around you looks alien to you.

You looked away from him for only a moment to try to better understand your surroundings, but right on cue, he opened his mouth, immediately making you whip your head back around in his direction.

“How are you taking to this place?” The question tumbles out of his mouth innocently. He didn’t even look at you, but somehow, you felt as if he was still staring right through you.

You tried not to let it get to you. “It’s good.” You replied.

He gives a satisfied hum, and for a moment, you’re tricked into thinking that would be all he would say on the matter. Before you can get comfortable, he takes a sharp breath that sets the tone. “Is it… helping?” He stares you down, hiding an eagerness for your answer. The pressure was on.

You recognised the way he looked at you. You’d seen it before. He’d looked like that in your first conversation, you remembered the flash in his eyes that he’d tried to hide. The ever-veiled threat.

Don’t be honest, tell him everything is fine.

You ignored the pleas of your own mind. Dismissed it as paranoia. You could trust him, or at least, you wanted to. For better or for worse, he had compelled you to be honest, but in your shame, you couldn’t look at him. “It’s too soon to say, I think.”

When you picked up the courage to glance his way again in the silence that followed, you could tell that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. His unblinking stare, the way his hands seemed to grasp tighter around that cane, all set off your mind’s warning sirens. But nothing on his expressionless face portrayed that. It appeared almost as a blank canvas, preparing to paint whichever response he deemed most appropriate.

Whatever plan he had, he’s changing it.

Your curiosity got the better of you. “What is all of this, anyway?” The question slips out of your mouth before you have time to fully evaluate the situation, your eyes darting around the room at all of the strange objects.

“Just items I’ve collected in my research.” He replied coolly, picking up an object that flashed gold in the light so brightly that you couldn’t quite tell what it was. “Most of these things are dead ends, but I find there’s no harm in keeping them, just in case.” He handled it with great care, carefully placing it back down. It didn’t quite match with the disinterested tone of his voice.

“And what about all of those?” You pointed to the back wall of the room, where some large - your first instinct was to call them boxes - but they were much more elaborate than that, were shoved into the corner, as if hidden. The longer your eyes lingered on them, the more you were able to discern that their size and shape seemed disturbingly human.

That idea didn’t make you totally comfortable, but you kept a cool head. Your better instinct, starting to understand his antics, knew to give him nothing to work with. You couldn’t let him have control of the game.

He didn’t even look at the subject of the conversation. His eyes instead locked with yours, the corner of his mouth twitching with indecision.

I’ve got you.

You could tell he knew how to pick his battles, but in choosing not to respond he had also admitted defeat. You had managed to call him out, and while that was a small personal victory, it was quickly followed with the realisation that your first examination must have been correct, and the implications were staggering. You could almost respect his ability to always come out on top in these conversations, if you weren’t the one always losing.

Under the weight of that realisation, your voice became hesitant. “Those aren’t what I think they are.”

Finally, he found his smile. “That would depend on what you think they are.” Now you’d given him something. Harrow leaned forward on his cane, completely calm. You thought you had caught him, but the indifference hadn’t shifted one bit. “I didn’t kill any of them, you know.” He stated.

You scoffed with sarcasm. “Yeah, sure.”

He wandered over to the bodies, brushing a hand over the nearest one. “You’d be surprised how many ancient Egyptians were buried with objects of immense value.” His words were a little quieter than usual, as if his mind was distracted.

You dare to take a step closer, standing next to him and looking down at his hand, now tracing the shape of what you assumed to be legs. “Went for a spot of grave robbing, did you?” You felt daring, confidence boosted by your minor win, and sought to further touch a nerve in him, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

“I suppose you could say that. It made for some fascinating adventures, really.” He gave a small smile, and looked sentimental. You assumed that the thoughts that had made him distant in the moment were driven by nostalgia, and chose, despite the temptation, not to judge. He seemed to snap back into reality, a much more focused gaze now directed back at you. “But I’m past that point now. There’s not much exploring left to do.” He said that with real conviction, leaving you with no more questions.

The way he looked at you made you feel awkward, and you continued to apply the sarcasm. It was the only way you could express your distaste. “That’s great, I’m sure those dead people would prefer to remain undisturbed.”

You almost envied his ability to take all of the criticism levied at him without as much as a complaint. You had insulted just about everything he stood for and he didn’t seem to care one bit. He couldn’t be swayed.

That can only mean that he hides a terrifying level of commitment. You should be afraid of that.

You ignored your own thoughts, dismissing your own imagination as just overactive. You knew this already, yet you were still here.

Harrow was, as you knew him to be, unflappable. You could see the side of his face, and a smile creeping up it. “It’s all for a good cause. After all, if you try to hide something, it will always be found, eventually.” His face darkened during his last sentence, the instant seriousness putting you on edge. He turned, slowly but suddenly, and caused you to flinch as his intense gaze sliced through you. “They simply had it coming.”

You felt thoroughly intimidated, and tried to deconstruct his possible motivations, for you knew he’d wanted this response from you. It seemed like a reminder that you were playing with fire, and you were so, so close to being burnt.

Does he know something? Who am I kidding, he ALWAYS knows.

You suddenly began to remember how you even ended up here. Of course he wanted you for something. “Why did you want to see me?” You asked cautiously.

He seemed amused by that, as if you should have known the answer yourself. “I just wanted to talk. Properly. We haven’t been able to do that just yet.” Harrow tilted his head. The friendly sincerity that had followed him on the first night you’d met him had properly returned.

You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like we haven’t spoken-”

“Speaking and talking are two different things.” He cut you off, and while glancing down on you in a condescending manner, his tone doesn’t change, making for a creepy contrast. “You don’t seem very interested in doing the latter.”

Is this… impatience?

That seemed out of character for him. Curiosity began to get the better of you again, even though you seemed convinced that it would assure your downfall. You had a desire to outplay his games, but the line between beating him and playing into his hands was becoming increasingly blurred.

You gave a crafty smile, but spoke as if disinterested. It was the kind of contrast you could pick on, so you had no doubt in your mind that he had observed it too. “It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s that I don’t know how to.”

And you fucking scare me.

“Well, how about a lesson?”

The way he looked at you and the way he asked made him sound so innocent, but the demand was hidden under there. You couldn’t say no to him, even though you knew you should. It didn’t seem like an option.

“What would that be?” You asked, trying to suppress your feelings,

You couldn’t take his eyes off of him as he began to approach you, locked in place. Whatever was coming, you had to accept it. This was what he had wanted.

You only hoped he wasn’t asking too much of you.

He scoffed, a small smile forming. He acted like the answer was obvious. “You have to learn to accept help.” He leaned down a little to get on your level. “I am trying to help you.”

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, that stare that always made you nervous. Or perhaps it was that he had all the energy of a teacher scolding a child. Something about his offer didn’t work for you. You gritted your teeth in annoyance. “You’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Your comment amused him, but he only lets that be known for a flash before he turned more serious. “That’s because it’s a two-way street. If you give me nothing, I can’t give you anything either.”

“What do you want from me, then?”

You expected his intentions to be suspicious. Every time you felt like you could trust him, he did something to change your mind, and you could tell he was doing all of this because he wanted something. There had to be an ulterior motive.

He gave an exasperated sigh, as if your questioning had tired him out. “I just want you to talk to me. That’s all I want. Nothing else.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, only watching as he stared right through you, as if waiting. For the first time, you weren’t objecting to his games out of choice, but out of confusion, totally clueless on what your next move should be.

Your silence must have surprised him, as he scoffed, but the advance warning did not prepare you for the volume of the chuckle that followed. “I want to know how to help you, I want to know how to fix your problems, and I want to see you more.” A relieved smile formed after his words.

He means it.

Despite your racing mind, you didn’t give away any emotion, and forced something, anything out of your mouth. “Why?” You asked softly.

Harrow looked towards the window for a beat, head tilting as he seemed to think. When the words came to him, he faced your way again, and you observed that he’d dropped the seriousness and the distance. There was something warm about his energy. He no longer looked past you, but at you. “Because letting you go would be a waste. A waste of someone good. Not just for the world, but…” He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, purposefully delaying the rest of his words. “For me.”

Suddenly, everything began to make sense. Somehow, this outcome had never crossed your mind. You hadn’t expected it. Perhaps you’d thought too much of him.

He’s not helping me, he’s helping himself?

You couldn’t help but wonder if all of this had been for his own ends. That you had simply been used. All of the promises he had made to you felt hollow. It made you feel sick. This was a trap.

In your confusion, you hesitated before getting your words out, nearly choking on them. “Do I really need to be here, or did you just want me to be here?”

The way he looked at you hadn’t changed, but in a new context he still appeared as distant as ever, even with the still-present smile.

Fuck! How does he feel nothing? He has to know what he’s done.

He straightened himself up a little, looking down on you. “That’s entirely up to you. You can walk away if you want, I wouldn’t stop you. But you won’t.” The smile seemed to more naturally fit to a newfound smug confidence, certain that he had read you like a book.

His conviction in your own feelings disgusted you. “You don’t know me.” You scowled.

He hummed, almost in agreement. “I know all of this is helping you.”

A tidal wave of emotions was overcoming you, too many too quickly to decide on one. It was the opposite to Harrow, calm and firmly decided on whatever that strange mind had settled on. You began to raise your voice: “Do not pretend to know me. How do I know you’re not acting selfishly? I-”

Knock, knock.

You gave a loud sigh, the knocks having completely ruined your train of thought. You could see, as always, that he was giving you nothing. Even now, when you’d tried to make an impact, you couldn’t break through his defences.

There’s a flash of irritation in his eyes at the idea of being interrupted, but as soon as a woman appears at the door, another disciple, it disappears. He appears to immediately understand the importance of whatever is to come.

“We just heard back from our contact in the Alps. They’ve agreed to your terms for the exchange.”

“That’s great news. Thank you.” His smile is warm and genuine, but the woman seems to register a subtle indication that his matter with you is private and swiftly leaves. He stared at the door, left ajar, his mind far more focused on the news he had just received.

After a beat of no response, he slowly approaches the door.

Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Crunch, tap. Cr-

Harrow slammed the door shut, turning to you now with a different expression. His eyes narrowed and darkened, and his offence was clear. For a moment, you felt something shift in the air. For the first time, you truly felt his power. You didn’t know the extent of it, as far as you’d seen and heard, it was stronger than it seemed, and the mystery of that was too much to bear. Anxiety suddenly began to eat at your stomach, afraid of his next move.

“Don’t assume I’m acting selfishly.” He growled, but in the span of a breath he had recomposed himself. All of a sudden his expression shifted in the blink of an eye, turning distant, unoffended. The same as usual, especially when you felt those ever-analytical eyes once again staring you down. He was far too good at hiding his feelings, but you wished to never find out again what he could possibly be thinking. He continued softly, thinly veiling a condescending tone: “That's almost insulting. I would never bring you into something that I didn’t think would be good for you.”

In that moment, you realised why he didn’t seem fazed at all by your negative reaction. Somehow, you were still playing his game. This is what he had expected. You were cornered, at this point, and the only solution left was to follow your heart, hoping that would help you escape.

He knows your heart.

“Forgive me for the insult.” You said sarcastically, not caring how he would respond, but still observing his unblinking gaze that didn’t even seem to register your comment. It unnerved you, and you folded your arms in an attempt to preserve your deteriorating defiant act. “I wouldn’t have that problem if I actually knew who the hell you were.”

He tilted his head with a smile, your words seeming to have the opposite of their intended effect on him. “I see how it is. It’s a matter of trust. That’s a starting point.” He sat down across from you, fingers stroking the head of the cane as he held it between his legs. That seemed to be a subconscious act, because his gaze did not once break from you. “Tell me, why don’t you trust me?”

You hated how genuine his question was, because you had long learned the lesson that always, somehow, Harrow already had every answer he ever needed.

“You already know.” You spat.

“I might.”

You gave him a nasty look for that comment, your contempt too great to suppress.

He responded to your stare with one of his own, but as per usual, he was seemingly immune to your efforts, continuing on as if your gaze hadn’t interrupted him. “I want to hear it from your perspective. Lay it all out.”

You raised an eyebrow, finding yourself leaning sideways on a table, sick of standing. “Only if you do the same.”

He paused for a moment, taking the time for a slow blink. You imagined that the gears of his mind must have been turning at your proposal, but his face did everything in its power to hide that. The silence betrayed the truth, though. With a deep breath and a shuffle as he straightened himself up, almost mirroring you as he leaned forwards and balancing on his own cane, he had prepared his answer.

“That seems reasonable.”

I didn’t expect that.

Even though you were surprised, you’d already rehearsed in your mind what you’d say to him. You’d been doing that for a week. You tried to take a trick out of his book and not betray that you had to think a little, though. With him, you knew that one wrong word and he’d play around it so expertly you’d never get this chance again. “Alright. I don’t trust you because I don’t understand you.”

He tilted his head in an almost adorable display of curiosity. “What don’t you understand?”

“Anything.” Your frustration started to come through as you spoke. “Why you are the way that you are.”

For a moment, he glanced away from you again, something you assumed to be a tell when he didn’t quite know what to say. When he spoke, any sense of uncertainty disappeared. He didn’t appear to be capable of seeming unsure. “There are some things in this world far beyond any of us, and if one was to cross paths with such things, they could break you in ways most of us could only imagine to be possible. For me, that happened long before all of this.” Although it was out of your field of view, you could hear him softly tap his cane against the wood.

You took a moment to process his words, suddenly brimming with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “You’ll probably find it unbelievable.”

Despite everything you had seen, your mind’s first instinct was to believe that he was simply making excuses, trying to dodge the question. He hadn’t been open about it in the past, which had only made you want to know more. There was something hidden in his heart that he was teasing you with. You snorted, dwelling on his words again. “Try me.”

This time, there was no telling moment of pause, his stare cutting right through you. “I was once under direct servitude of a god, who used that position to abuse me. He broke me completely, then left me all alone to pick up the pieces.”

His bluntness on this topic surprised you. This was a lot to throw in so quickly, and it seemed like he knew that.

“I was stuck, trapped fighting a worthless cause for years, all while the voice inside my head tried its hardest to bend me to its will. I was forced to commit unspeakable acts of violence, all in the name of real justice.” He spat those last words, face twisting to one that appeared to be of genuine disgust and pain. For the first time, the Harrow you knew looked somewhat vulnerable. “It never was. Hurting the people who deserved that after the fact never stopped any more pain from being inflicted.”

Guilt. You felt his, and the sudden appearance of your own. He had this appearance of something untouchable, and while you always knew it to be a carefully crafted image, it had achieved its intended effect. Hidden under all of that was something that was hurting a lot. More pain that you felt you could possibly understand. There was a real, deep history here. Even with how crazy it all sounded, you could tell by the way that he felt that it all had to be true. And that meant…

You had to stop yourself from speaking while your thoughts caught up, looking right at him as you saw his face slowly recover from the feelings that had taken over it before. “Everything this group believes…” These tales of gods aligned with everything you’d been hearing, and you knew what that meant. “It’s all real, isn’t it?”

“As real as you and me.” He found a smile again, standing up. His feet shifted on the glass, which must have brought some pain, but he didn’t show it. ”I knew you’d come around eventually. We have an opportunity now to correct our mistakes.”

As he took another step closer, you watched him carefully, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I think you mean your mistakes.”

“No. We’re all guilty.” He replied with total confidence, his voice once again shifting into something more serious. “Why are you here, really? You’ve made mistakes, haven’t you?” His questioning was a bit too antagonising for your tastes.

You didn’t say anything, knowing full well that you were both aware of the answer.

“For some of us, it’s not too late to walk a better path. You’ve got room for a second chance.” There was something reassuring to his words, and despite everything about him, you had no reason to doubt that particular statement, but he cut off any chance for a response with a sigh. “For myself, it’s not as clear. But you never know if you don’t try, do you?”

The talk of himself piqued your interest again. “I don’t get it. Why claim to fight all evil yet preach about second chances? If your actions were so unspeakable, why do you go unpunished?”

For a moment, he doesn’t give any reaction at all, seemingly thrown off by the question. When the answer comes, it appears with no hesitation. You can tell he’s pondered this question before. “I do punish myself. And on judgement day, if I am deemed unworthy… so be it. I accept my fate.”

He shifted his weight and you heard it. His punishment. The fanatic part of him was showing, you knew it had been hidden somewhere. This talk was insane, and served to remind you why you had been so apprehensive.

He’ll try to make you forget this.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you failed to respond, giving him the green light to not only continue with his words, but to approach until he was standing right next to you. “I’m willing to do that for the people who deserve heaven on earth. All that is required of you here is to be ready and waiting for that day. If you make it…” He put his hand on your shoulder, his warm touch surprising you. “It’ll be a little more worth it.”

There it is.

You felt doubt wash over you, refusing to believe that he spoke the truth. Not only because you didn’t hold yourself that high, but because you found yourself distrustful of his words. They were too kind, especially coming from him.

You could only look up at him, mouth agape. With a sigh, you composed yourself. “I doubt I make that much of a difference.”

He leaned in closer, an advance you did not reject, until his face was close to yours. His watery eyes hadn’t been this close before, and they looked at your own instead of through them. “You undervalue yourself.” He told you almost in a whisper, trying to be reassuring.

His words almost worked, and you giggle at the thought of them being true. “You overvalue me.”

He finds your reply entertaining for a moment, but his face quickly drops, and you can feel a finger or two in your hair. “Maybe. But you seem to think that you don’t matter, which simply isn’t true. People do value you.” He spoke with utter conviction, enough to make the back of your mind believe him.

“And who would those people be?” You questioned, hoping to hear what you knew he was thinking from his own mouth, but when he didn't respond, you realised your mistake. He doesn’t need to say anything, for he knows the same thing that you do: Your question has already been answered.

You took half of a step backwards away from him, and he follows your cue to break away. His face flashes with concern for a moment, and you didn’t miss it. You decided to make your question more specific. “Why do you care so much about me?”

He doesn’t think about his response for very long at all. “That’s a question I don’t know the answer to.”

His bluntness greatly surprised you. Him not appearing to know something surprised you more. “That’s a first.” Your sarcasm is kinder this time, unable to help yourself at making a jab that wasn’t necessarily deserved in your mind.

Of course, he doesn’t care how you’ve spoken, just that you have, and he takes a moment this time to get his words right. “I’ve spent a great deal of my life keeping people at a distance. I have a track record of hurting people in every way imaginable. I think perhaps I’m finally at the point where I’m no longer afraid of that.” Just like when talking about his past, there’s something shockingly sincere in his voice.

You caught onto his wording, hoping that he hadn’t thought that through in the moment. You knew that was a naïve thought. That realisation causes you to betray your concern. “You don’t hurt people anymore?”

“I don’t hurt them as much.” He replied callously.

That does not instil confidence. You wanted to chastise him for such a mindset, or even ask for elaboration, but your first and foremost thoughts are self-centred. “What about me?”

An opportunistic glint in his eye appeared after you asked. Before he even began to speak, you know that this is a moment he had been waiting to pounce on. “That brings me to why I summoned you here. I need to test you.”

“Test me how exactly?” You weren’t sure why you asked, because you already knew full well where he was going.

“The same way that I’m sure you’re familiar with.” The words tumbled out. He seemed much more focused on you, eyes glancing up and down over you. When his gaze calms down, he continues. “You were paying attention before, weren’t you?” He may have smiled, but you couldn’t tell if that was a joke or a threat.

For better or for worse, you remembered everything. “You said you didn’t force this on people.” You replied concernedly.

The proof that you had been listening previously strengthens his conviction. “Sometimes there are exceptions. And I need to know.”

“You need to know what?”

“If I’m right about you.” You could barely hear his words as he took a step closer, half overcome by nervousness and half because he had practically whispered that. He gave you a reassuring smile, but it only appeared for half a second.

You felt frozen as you felt him grab onto your wrists. You had been too busy watching his face to watch his arms, and from the point of contact you vow not to make that mistake again. He was surprisingly gentle and delicate with you, even taking great care to place the cold and strange-feeling cane between your own arms, but you knew from the way he looked at you warmly that this was out of a desire to make you feel comfortable with this process, almost as if he foresaw that you'd be afraid. You wondered if he was like that with everyone in his clutches. Out of pure discomfort, you couldn’t look back at him-

“Don’t look away. Look at me.” There’s no warmness left in his voice. It’s a demand.

You hated how he had basically read your mind. Confused, you felt you had no choice but to obey him. Something was happening, out of the corner of your eye there was movement from his arm and you could feel that cane move in some strange fashion, but his grip on you gradually tightened, and you didn’t dare to disobey him.

After what felt like an eternity, you felt his hold loosen. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then, all of a sudden, before you could react, he went in for a hug. You especially felt the one arm nearly wrap around your next, and his hot breath directly in your ear. “I apologise for all of that. For a moment, I didn’t trust my own judgement. But everything I believed before was right, there is a hope for you here.”

“So I passed?” Your question comes out shakier than you hoped.

“Yes.”

“What would have happened if I had failed?”

He gave you a condescending scoff, and you felt mocked for asking such a question. That was irrelevant to him. “Let’s not dwell on that. You are safe now, and no one will hurt you anymore.”

“Not even you?” You found some of your confidence again to force that question upon him, and you can tell when his smile breaks that it has forced him to think.

Something about all of this does not put your mind at ease. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never seen anyone fail the test, or maybe, you remind yourself, it’s because you are knee-deep in the clutches of a cult. Those thoughts are small compared to the main idea running through your head, though.

If I failed, I wouldn’t fit in his standards. I would have to die. He could have killed me. Could he kill me? I’ve never seen him kill anyone. Does he have that in him?

Harrow put a hand on your shoulder again. You now noticed that he seemed to do that a lot. “I will protect you myself. I know now that you’re absolutely worth it.” He had leaned in a little while he spoke, just to add a little more reassurance. You hope desperately that his protection is as valuable as his power. He certainly acted like it was.

You feel a finger brush up against your neck, and the sensation shakes you to your core. In that moment, he feels closer than he ever has before. There’s something so casual in his act, he either didn’t notice this move, or he pretended he didn’t. You already knew it was the latter.

“I hope that we’ve finally cleared up some confusion.” His gaze follows his hand, wandering around your neck until it locks back into your eyes. “Do you understand me?” The question, unlike his last few words, isn’t so kind. Once again, it’s a demand.

No.

“Somewhat.” You lied, knowing that he would not take the truth for an answer.

The way he looks at you suggests that he’s not entirely convinced, but for some unknown reason to you, it doesn’t bother him. “That’s progress. I want…” He pauses for a moment, and you immediately began to fear that a sincere moment was coming. ”something here. I want a deeper kind of relationship. Something that’s more than what we have right now.”

“More than strangers?”

You didn’t intend to be rude, but you didn’t regret your choice of wording. He was, in essence, a stranger that you saw a lot. No matter how much you talked, he was always so distant, as if he wasn’t really on this earth the same way you were. You were never going to be friends, but there was a space to be something else and he’d capitalised on it.

You could tell that he found your response to be harsher than he expected, but he didn’t seem too thrown off by it. You expected that he saw it coming, because he always just knew. The smile he gives almost seems to suggest that he found that funny, but you don’t know what a smile from him means anymore. “More than that, yes.”

In your amusement, you were able to smile yourself for the first time in a while. “I don’t know about that.”

Your own happiness seems to touch him, and continues with his warm words. “I asked you before to take a chance, and you took it. Right now, that’s paying off. All I’m asking you now is to do that again.” In the beats between sentences, you catch his head tilting a little. “You’ve been shutting me out. Please, allow me in.”

You don’t know what to say, feeling more lost for words than you had been before. You watched him, his smile this time not momentary, but waiting patiently. For some reason, you just could not say no. But you couldn’t say yes either, even if the small nod you ended up giving him proved otherwise.

I just can’t help myself, can I?

You don’t see it, but you feel his hand tapping you. “I’m proud of you. You’ve already grown so much.” There’s a great sense of elation on Harrow’s face. This was what he’d wanted, and you’d just given it to him.

You struggled to be proud of yourself. His seal of approval was never something you desired. What you had desired though, was help, and he’d provided that. He had yet to break his promises yet, so why would he start now?

A small part of your mind held on to a lingering thought that you couldn’t shake. You feared that perhaps the closer he gets, the more dangerous he becomes. You wanted someone to understand you, appreciate you, and care about you, but was this the right person?

If I keep things up like this, he won’t hurt me, though. It could all be alright. It’s all or nothing.