#I have a nice neat thin white leather lead

[pawsitivevibe]

I think English Cocker Spaniels should be shown with their heads in a more natural carriage instead of everybody yank yank yanking their heads up with chain collars ... If you gotta hold their heads up so much in the trot it's probably because they naturally want to have their heads more level with their spine ... IMAGINE letting a dog carry itself naturally! It's not like yanking the head back shortens the stride or anything ... Oh WAIT it DOES.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 1 September 1839

7

11

fine but dull and F61° at 7 ¼ am breakfast at 8 40/60 to 9 ½ - off at 10 from Fahlun [Falun] – beautiful winding hilly foresty laky drive to Örnas [Ornäs] on the Lake Dalsjö (Dalshew) north west of Fahlun [Falun] – at O- at 11 ½ the house Gustaf 1 slept in one night and from which he escaped by the necessary – all kept up as it was then – Gustaf 1 son of comte Vasa – born at Lindholmen [Lindholmens] i Roslagen 3 miles from Stockholm 12 May 1490. crowned at Upsala [Uppsala] 12 February 1528 reigned 37 years ob. 29 September 1560 – the room in which he slept is about 9x7 yards – one window to the north 8 lights about 2ft. high and 17 or 18 in. broad and one window of 4 such lights to the East – the bed too high and modern to be that he slept in – himself in armour, under canopy in north east corner – large map (about 4 yards x 7 or 8 ft.) of the environs of this place (of Dalecarlia) done by Johan Brandberg 1751 and 1758 of the royal college of mines at Stockholm – old pictures of the king since Gustaf 1. including the present king – large pedigree tree of Gustaf 1 and his descendents down to the last of his line (about 5ft. x 5ft. worth copying) besides Gustaf there are 3 other figures large as life standing near the door – 2 Dalecarlus (peasants) and a man in armour from near Upsala [Uppsala]

 Shi

a the whitewashed place just to the west of the winding staircase, must be the cellar

Shingle roof each shingle about 18x5in. and about 1/2in. thick fired away to 1/3 of that – everywhere 3 laps except just at the wes[t] and then 2 laps – the whole of the premier down to the floor and the parapet of the gallery (upper gallery) covered with red smeared shingles rounded at the bottom edge – the winding staircase also thus shingle covered – fronts south the necessary an oblong squary projection to the north – the building in 3 equal sized rooms the necessary entered by a passage taken off 2 tiers of gallery 3 doors on each opening into the 3 rooms apparently same size as Gustafs’ above and below – no fireplaces in his room – could not see the others – locked up – doors about 5ft.+ high with each

next to Gustaf among the kings is the picture of the lady? to whom the house belonged when Gustaf was here

September Sunday 1 a high threshold to stop over – all kept in good order – the timbers laid log-wise (tree upon tree) and boarded against in the inside – (lined with boards inside) – the woodhouse raised on rough stone work (whitewashed) 3 or 4ft. high more or less according to the level of the ground – Lake close south and west of the house within a few yards of it – Lake with wooded islands very beautiful – 2 or 3 cottages hereabouts and houses scattered about at some distance – at a little distance is small neat whitewashed house – the house of the Squire? the place belongs to the grandson of the man (noble) just dead before his trial ordered for the cruel imprisoning of his wife who in consequence lost her reason and died miserably – her corpse ½ eaten by rats – 2 or 3 years ago – 7 lights east end of top gallery wind[ow] and 2 lights in the window east end of house 6 ditto west end of ditto – the 2 ditto in window west end of house look on the Lake – they are 2 nice little rooms one at each end of the upper gallery – the lower gallery parapet an open sort of trills’ work rain came on about (after) 1 and now at 1 ¼ heavyish shower for ½ hour curious old house well worth seeing – should like a model of it Hops today everywhere lilacs – generally forming garden hedges – fair sometime ago – sat writing till now 2 ½ pm – then went to meet Madame Starenfeld (wife of Mr. le majeur owner of the old house and the Squire here) – he had gone for her to do the honours, speak French and shew us the rooms locked up –

an old date cut on 1 of the timbers EM 1391. in the passage going to the necessary said to be the date of the house

very civil nice little woman – had her from 3 (just as we were setting off) to 3 40/.. – it was her mother who died so miserably – she (Madame S-) distantly related to Mr. Brandberg who made the map and fitted up the room as it is at present – he bought or got the property and it came to Mrs. S-‘s family about 30 years ago – she shewed us the cellar – one of the rooms at the end of the gallery –

off at 3 ¾ - they stopt us with coffee – went to the house from there at 4 ¼ - at 4 47/.. at the ferry over the Dal – over in 5 minutes – beautiful foresty lake drive – pretty ferry – the distance shut in all round by wooded hill – 17 to 18 famms deep water – noir like deep water – over in 5 minutes for 4sk. banco -  Naglerby [Naglarby och Enbacka]  at 5 20/.. – village – sat (waiting for horses) in the carriage in the farm or straw yard before la poste – seems a neat little place – 1 ¼ mile from Falun to Örnas [Ornäs] and 1 mile from O- to Naglerby [Naglarby och Enbacka]  instead of returning to F- have come along the other side the lake (Dalsjö) good road to here and from here to Säter 1 ¼ mile

Korn (Koorn) barley – Lade, barn – Traeske, to thrash corn

Havre (hāv-răh) oats.

Ochre-harva (ochre ploughed – harva, harrow)

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0020

September Sunday 1 Naglerby [Naglarby och Enbacka]  a wood, unpainted rather scattered village – 20 minutes off the large good whitewashed church Gustafs’ kirke – at 7 ½ pump long line high across the road for iron works, and large unpainted wood village – and just out of the end of it turn right to Säter having till then seemed to leave instead of approach its white church seen ¾ hour before arriving at the station quite at this end of the town and far from the church – our drive from Örnas [Ornäs] and more particularly from Naglerby [Naglarby och Enbacka] the best farmed, most livable, part of Sweden we have passed thro’ – good crops corn and potato – a good deal of oats yet to cut, but ripe good pasture – ground clean from stones as in other countries – the Dal a good river – lost sight of it from Naglerby [Naglarby och Enbacka]  - wide open large well inhabited vale all along particularly from Naglerby [Naglarby och Enbacka] - very nice agreeable comfortable pretty drive this afternoon – Madame Starenfeld said the people were poor in Dalecarlia – no appearance of it but the womens’ sheep-skin jackets woolside in, and leather (looking rather like buff) outside – a fine healthy looking set of people – Madame S- told me that a large glass wicker-enclosed bottle of brandy (like one of our Vitriol or aqua fortis bottles cased in wicker like a Florence oil flask) is worth 20 rigs dollars – they distil brandy for themselves but not to sell –

distill [distil] from oats but a little wheat is mixed with the oats – Limpa bread has syrup, and orange peel and aniseeds in it they make it for home use but cannot make it so well as the Boulanger they gave us very fair coffee with cream so rich one could hardly pour it, and a thin sort of wafer biscuit gofery called rohan – their house that they themselves live in and where we were has 2 rooms below their salon and bedroom and opposite the entrance door a closet, and door to the stair case leading up to the grenier garret above – near is another building for the children and servants and another for the kitchen, and another for storehouse etc. etc. and thus every the establishment consists of several houses and outbuildings – they have 14 servants all paid partly

Sunday 1 September in kind and a small part of their wages in money – the owners of estates cannot leave home – she said they had too much to do – true – wrote the above till 9pm and then supper coffee and bread and butter – and a little round pancakes all good – supper and all ready for bed at 9 ¾ - fine day except the heavy shower between 1 and 2 pm F66° in our little bedroom now at 9 ¾ pm

[derireo]

(like this engine) my heart roars ↦ tasuizu

A joyride ends better than expected.

Tasuku loses control of the reins Izumi had so kindly given him.

「 5k words 」

cw: consumption of alcohol, kissing, sexual tension

Driving down the empty highway late at night was probably one of the things Izumi wanted to do the most in this lifetime when she first discovered how beautiful the city looked beneath the shining stars.

She remembered it like it was yesterday, how the metal railing whipped past her as she drove down the highway towards Veludo after a long day at work, city lights twinkling as if they were beckoning her to come on down.

The wind that fateful night had seeped into the car as her playlist switched to a song that suited the scenery best, blowing the hair from her face.

Green, red, white, blue. Different coloured lights filled the city. The view from where she drove left this feeling of longing to reside in her heart, and it was the lone reason why she had asked Sakyo if they could invest in a new vehicle.

(Of course, her request was turned down.)

She never had the chance to experience such a view again after that, her job not requiring her to go so far out of the city anymore.

She was back to walking around Veludo—not that she hated it, but... the thrill wasn't there.

One time, she decided to run around the neighbourhood late at night to see if it would elicit the same type of elation she felt when driving down that same highway, but to no avail.

Izumi couldn't remember a time when she felt as free as she did when she rolled that window down and let the soothing breeze throw her hair around like it did.

She reminisced the memory of the cool air snaking around her skin in a comforting coil and the roaring wind filling her ears as she sat in the courtyard with a beer in hand.

Very much like that one night, the moon loomed over Veludo and cast upon the town its shimmering glow, stars twinkling.

That sense of longing had come back to caress the narrow shoulders of Izumi as she stared up at the black and blue gradient of the sky and she sat in her own comfortable silence as the crickets chirped. She had her feet propped up on the bench, eyes half-lidded as her mouth pressed at the lip of her can.

The sound of heavy footsteps grazing the grass made Izumi twitch and she turned her head to the side to look at who was still up at this time of night.

The person who stood before her was Tasuku, mouth curled into a disapproving frown as he stared down at Izumi with scrutinizing violet eyes, leather jacket donned with a helmet hanging from his fingers by the straps.

"What are you doing up so late?" He asked.

His scolding tone wasn't enough to make Izumi apologise, but it did make her smile. She took a sip from her can and tapped the metal with her other hand to tell Tasuku just what she was doing.

"Drinking." She murmured, sending the man a wink for no good reason.

Tasuku scoffed when he took a glance at the beer in her hand and then the rest of the cans that sat in a neat line beside her.

"Yeah." He crossed his arms. "I can see that."

Izumi pursed her lips, biting at the edge of her can. "Then why'd you ask?"

It was an innocent enough question and it didn't sound like Izumi was teasing him, but Tasuku still had to bite his tongue to keep himself from getting too upset.

He took a step closer to the director and reached out for the thin shawl she had worn out into the courtyard, roughly tugging the material closer around her body to make sure she was staying warm.

(Hm. She was wearing her sleep shorts though, so Tasuku wasn't of much help anyway.)

He sighed. "You should be sleeping. It's late." At that, he took away the nearly empty can from Izumi's hand to keep her from consuming anymore alcohol for the night. His eyebrows were pinched in mild annoyance, but it was normal to have Izumi get on his nerves without even trying.

"Hey..." Izumi grumbled, not at all fighting to get her unfinished can of beer back. There was no use getting in a physical tussle with Tasuku when he was the one with the advantage of being sober (she wasn't drunk, but tipsy).

"I'm just not tired." Izumi frowned, watching as Tasuku placed his sleek black helmet in her lap to begin collecting the other cans she had accumulated over the span of a couple of hours.

Tasuku spared her an unimpressed glance as he walked away from the bench to drop all of the cans in the recycling bin near the entrance of the courtyard, returning empty handed.

"The dark circles tell me otherwise." The actor sighed and took his helmet back from Izumi, curling his empty hand around her elbow to pull her to her feet. "You're going to bed."

"No way." Izumi complained as she stumbled into Tasuku's side, losing her balance with each pull on her arm.

Her small frame made it easy for Tasuku to move her any way he wanted, but with how Izumi was twisting in his grip made it difficult for him to drag her back inside the courtyard, her annoyed huffs aggravating him.

"This is bullying. I'm being bullied." She hissed angrily.

"This," Tasuku hissed back. "is me taking care of you." He dragged her towards the courtyard doors that would lead her inside the dorm.

"Nooo.... Tasuku!" Izumi groaned as she tripped over the ledge that separated the outside from the inside, her outdoor slippers falling from her feet as her socks slid against the varnished floor.

Her voice was hushed when they made it inside and she glared at Tasuku who was squinting down at her, his hand still tight around her elbow.

"You should go to bed too if you're forcing me inside." She grouched unhappily and pointed at the black helmet that hung from his fingers. "You're what people call a 'hypocrite'."

"I will hurt your feelings." Tasuku seethed with annoyance, too busy quarrelling with Izumi to mind that he was wearing his boots indoors. If he forgets to clean it when he comes home later, he'll just have to deal with the consequences.

Izumi pouted. "My feelings are already hurt. Make it up to me with a ride."

"So that's what you've been aiming for, huh." Tasuku sighed, releasing her arm with a click of his tongue. "Whatever. Go change into something warmer then."

"I knew you weren't going to wear a jacket." Tasuku sighed in disappointment when Izumi came back to the courtyard with an oversized sweater and a pair of boyfriend jeans. She looked tiny and was prone to get cold due to her choice of clothes. He was glad that he had grabbed his grey zip up when he returned to his room earlier.

He stood up from the bench with a heavy sigh and threw the jacket at Izumi, the director fumbling around with the soft fleece until she figured out how to put it on.

"Why do you never take care of yourself?" Tasuku frowned helplessly, noticing that she didn't bring a scarf with her either.

Someone in the dorm would probably kill him if they found out he was the reason why she'd gotten sick.

The crickets chirped as the director shrugged, and the pair walked towards the garage where Tasuku pulled a keychain from his jacket and pressed a button, the whir of the doors painstakingly loud.

Izumi cringed. "Ugh. No doubt that woke someone up." Following Tasuku, she who ducked under the still moving doors.

"Then make quick work and let's get outta here." Tasuku grumbled as he strode towards one side of the garage to grab the unused helmet he had lying around. With a toss, he threw the protective gear at Izumi who caught it with ease.

He jogged back to where she stood with his bike and grabbed his own helmet that he hung on the handle, putting it on after helping his director sit on the backseat of the vehicle.

Kicking his long leg over the motorcycle, Tasuku waited for Izumi to hop on behind him, her body warm against his back as she tugged the chin strap until it was a snug fit.

"Don't let go." Tasuku called out to her as he kickstarted the engine, the motorcycle roaring to life beneath them.

Izumi's arms tightened around his waist like a coil and nodded, keeping herself as close to his back as he could without hindering his movement. "Yup."

She held him tight enough to make Tasuku's breath hitch at the close proximity, but he covered it up by pushing his bike upright with his boot clad foot, kicking away the bar so that he could drive onto the road.

With a delighted sigh, Izumi leaned her head back to enjoy the gusts of wind that blew against her.

The street lamps were dim, but still held enough light for Tasuku's bike to be seen kilometres away, but after a few moments of speed racing it out of the neighbourhood, they weren't visible from the dorm anymore.

The thrill of having to lean to help steer the bike as their knees nearly grazed the ground was something Izumi never knew she needed to experience in her life. It was almost like Tasuku was acting like they were in a race with someone else with how he sped along the road that led to the highway, and Izumi was just gobbling all of the excitement up.

She almost acted on impulse when they drove over a huge hill and caught some air, but Tasuku stopped her before she could.

"I said don't let go, you idiot!" He shouted over the wind that whipped past them, grabbing onto Izumi's hands that nearly slipped from his abdomen.

Izumi was planning on throwing her arms up in the air as if she were on a rollercoaster (you know, like an idiot), but was thankfully boycotted by Tasuku who had a feeling that he knew what she was going to do.

Izumi clicked her tongue and went back to hugging Tasuku's waist, but didn't forget to add a threat despite her obedience.

"If you say that to me one more time, I'll really let go." Izumi hissed through the wind.

Tasuku begged over the sound of his motorcycle growling as they sped up the highway. "Please don't."

"This is nice." Izumi smiled faintly as she leaned back against Tasuku's parked bike, admiring the city that never ceased to work.

The wind blew similar to that night she last enjoyed like this and it brushed her neck like they were fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her throat.

Her eyes closed at the comforting caress and basked in the buzz of alcohol that still seemed to course through her body, hands pressing comfortably into the leather seats of Tasuku's bike.

The actor stood beside her casually, but couldn't help but stare as Izumi's head fell back with a sigh dripping out of her lips.

There was no doubt in Tasuku's mind that Izumi was definitely his type, and the way she looked tonight, dressed in baggy boyfriend jeans with a sweet pastel sweater with cats on the chest just reinforced the thought.

Tasuku didn't notice this before either, but she even wore her round glasses and it made the emotionally expressive part of him inwardly clench his fists.

On top of being an attractive young woman who was the same age as him, she was someone who wasn't afraid of his curt personality and actually quite enjoyed partaking in friendly little fights.

Not to mention, she was definitely a little empty in the head sometimes.

It was cute. Kind of.

Tasuku barely had the chance to resist the adoration that came to soften his features as the seconds passed by with him staring, and Izumi noticed.

Why, the heat of his gaze was intense. It was nearly impossible to ignore.

"You can take a picture if you want to stare." She half-laughed, half-scoffed. Her eyes stayed transfixed on the city below them despite the statement and Tasuku thought it easy to lie that he absolutely was not staring.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He replied and crossed his arms over his chest. He averted the direction of his gaze towards the city just to prove he wasn't looking at her and took in a sniff of the cool air, blatantly ignoring the chuckle that left Izumi's mouth.

"Aw. I didn't say I didn't like it." She smiled, reaching out for Tasuku's sleeve so that she could pull him closer. "But I'm going to have to charge you if you keep looking."

Tasuku sighed.

It was times like these where Izumi threw away her charm without a care.

"I'm not paying you money." He scoffed, gently prying away his arm from her clingy fingers.

"Look at you, making assumptions." Izumi teased. She pulled the sleeves to Tasuku's zip up over her hands to warm her skin and reached for him again, fingers tapping against his hand to get him to look at her once more.

She held onto his pinky to coax his gaze away from the city and she pulled, expression softening to something sweet when his reluctant violet eyes shifted to her face.

He took one step toward her, albeit hesitant, and gave Izumi his signature frown, skin tingling where she touched him.

"I'll charge you one kiss for each minute you stare." She said playfully, but the warmth to her tone told Tasuku that there was a small part of her that was serious.

The man froze.

Uh. Um.

Tasuku shook his head with a bewildered laugh, but didn't pull his hand away from her warming touch, eyebrows pinched together to show the confusion he was feeling.

"No. No, no. You're—you're still drunk, Izumi." Tasuku stumbled over his words clumsily, breath coming out in white puffs as the biting breeze stabbed his lungs and pinched his nose. His ears were heating up like the fireplace back at the dorm as the director gazed up at him with her unchanging smile. It made his heart squeeze.

"If I was drunk in the first place I would have thrown you to the ground back at the dorm."  Izumi rolled her eyes. She brushed her thumb over the back of his hand after a moment then released her grip on him, eyes fond.

"It was a joke though. So quit staring at me like I'm crazy." She huffed playfully, pushing the looming Tasuku away by his chest, the warmth he was emanating from being so close making her uncomfortably bashful.

Her cheeks were growing warm and pink, and Tasuku was sure it was because of the biting winter cold, but there was a small part of him that hoped it was because she was feeling embarrassed. He could still feel the press of her hand on his chest even though she wasn't touching him anymore and his knees grew weak, heart racing like a stampede of horses were rattling at his ribcage.

Her little nose was pink due to the cold and her lips were a soft rose, brown eyes shining like tempered chocolate as she gazed at him through fluttering lashes.

Izumi shifted under his prodding gaze.

"....You're still staring." She said awkwardly.

"I thought you liked it." He smiled.

A smile so charming that it had all the air in Izumi's lungs rushing out as his sharp eyes peered down at her.

And— well, yeah. She did say that, but didn't he feel embarrassed at all? He was openly staring at her this time around and didn't even deny it the second time she accused him, smiling as she did so.

She pressed herself firmly against the seat of Tasuku's bike and frowned, keen on putting some space between them.

He was just playing with her, right? He liked to do that sometimes.

The wind blew again and brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, cooling her hot skin. There was steam coming out of her ears as the silence between them grew and for some reason she was unable to make eye contact with Tasuku.

"I'm not counting the minutes anymore." Izumi huffed.

Tasuku sighed.

"I wonder about you sometimes." He mused, stepping forward to cage Izumi between him and his bike, watching as she straightened against the seat and pushed her hands against his chest to maintain some distance.

"I—I don't care. You're being weird." She complained. The heat coming off of Tasuku was nearly unbearable as he trapped her, his hands planted on either side of her against the vehicle they were leaning on.

Tasuku took a deep breath in and chuckled. It wasn't often he got to see such a vulnerable expression on her face, and he was glad he was able to have the same effect on her that she had on him.

"Did Cupid stab you or something? Tasuku—" Her breath was cut short as she quickly brought her hands up to create a barrier between their faces, warm palms covering Tasuku's mouth to prevent him from trying anything funny.

"You didn't even want to kiss me earlier." She hissed, half-annoyed. Not that she was scared that he would or anything, but she'd rather take a dive to Hell than let Tasuku change his mind without a fight. His glimmering violet eyes looked at her with mirth dancing behind his irises and she resisted the urge to bare her teeth in defiance.

"The more I look, the more I notice how adorable you are. Don't think you're escaping me before I get my kiss." Tasuku spoke, saccharine sweet.

His lips brushed over the soft skin of Izumi's palms as he talked and his words would have taken the director's breath away had she not realised that Tasuku was reciting his lines from this one romance play he featured in a few months ago.

"Dude. Obvious actor voice." She frowned.

Tasuku blinked, unimpressed.

"You know I'm not a romantic." He grouched, teeth nipping at the soft skin of Izumi's palm to punish her for being so mean.

"Yeah. Which means it's a little gross when you try to be." She frowned, removing a hand from her barrier to curl around the base of Tasuku's neck. His position wasn't ideal considering their heights, and so she decided to carefully massage her fingers into the straining muscle.

"I would have preferred it happening without you meaning to." Izumi said, honest. Tasuku relaxed beneath her warm touch and huffed out a sigh from his nose, her fingertips digging in just the right spots.

"Noted." He murmured into her hand. His eyes fell shut at the lazy circle of her fingers and didn't even notice when her hand left his face, too busy focusing on the way her cold fingers slowly warmed against his skin.

Izumi found that Tasuku was much cuter when his mouth was closed and it looked like he was getting the massage of his life, making the director laugh under her breath. His eyebrows twitched, and Izumi could feel the rumble of his chest as he hummed with contentment.

There was a moment of silence between them as the wind whistled in their ears, the growling of the cars in the city faint. The sound of the vehicles revving to life made Tasuku's skin tremble with excitement that he subdued with a heavy breath, and Izumi stared at his sharp visage with an intrigued smile.

She dragged a hand through his hair while the other came up to frame his jaw, fingers coaxing his face closer to hers.

Tasuku could feel her cool breath brush against his lips and he froze again, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he struggled between wanting to open his eyes and refusing to meet Izumi's gaze.

Izumi paused but kept him close, her thumb gently pressing into his jaw. "Are you okay?"

Her question was nearly inaudible, but loud enough for Tasuku to hear over the wind that soothed his burning ears. His hands shook against the seat of his bike as he clenched his fingers, and he inhaled.

"Yeah."

It was strangled, the way he responded to her, breath stuck in his throat as his senses were filled with Izumi, Izumi, Izumi. The flowery scent of her body wash stuck to her skin similar to how cigarettes stained leather jackets and Tasuku was shaken. The warmth of her hands and the soft skin that pressed into his body made his head dizzy and he so desperately wanted to hold her tight and press his face to her neck.

Tasuku could hear the smile in her mockingly dubious hum and he bit the inside of his lip when her nails scratched along his scalp.

"Tell me what you want." She said. It was more of a request than a demand, but the fingers in Tasuku's hair curled and tugged, urging a response from him.

It was like her attitude did a complete one-eighty and Tasuku was the victim she held in her delicate hands. He had nowhere else to go other than let himself be trapped in her embrace and his arms trembled anxiously, aching to wind themselves around her waist and feel their mouths press together.

He longed for this moment to come and here it was; his ears were burning terribly hot at the fact. Tasuku opened his eyes then to meet Izumi's gaze with his own, and it was like all the air in his lungs was sucked out when he noticed just how close they were.

With their noses barely touching, Tasuku could see Izumi's eyes sparkle with delight, pupils shaking as she searched for the emotions that crashed like waves behind his violet irises. Her lips the colour of a pink rose smiled at him and she lightly scratched his jaw with her nails.

Tasuku took in a deep breath and let his eyelids flutter shut once more, brushing his nose against Izumi's like an affectionate cat. "I want my kiss."

She giggled. "Yeah?"

With a playful scoff, Tasuku tilted his chin forward, just barely brushing their lips together. "Yeah..." He murmured and raised a tentative hand to trail along Izumi's waist, eyes peeking down at her through his lashes.

"I want i—...mmh." He was barely able to finish his sentence, plush lips finding his in a searing kiss that left him groaning against Izumi's mouth. His chest rumbled in a way that told her he was pleased with the situation they were in, and the sound made her lips tingle.

Izumi's palm cradled Tasuku's jaw with care as she pulled him down the same time that she went on her toes, mouth damp and warm while their breaths mixed and became one. To ease the strain in her legs, Tasuku curled a strong arm around Izumi's waist and pulled her tight to his chest, teeth gently catching her lower lip when her fingers down to his biceps and his free hand found the back of her neck.

The heat of her body made Tasuku light-headed, the way she fit against him was everything he imagined and more. Her waist was soft beneath the muscle of his arm and the way her hands explored his arms and neck made him want to sink his fingers into her soft flesh and mark her with his nails and teeth.

With each part of their lips was a desperate gasp for air before they reunited in the middle for another kiss. The subtle scent of Tasuku's cologne nearly sent Izumi into her overdrive as his arm dug into her waist and the shaky moan that left her mouth was swallowed up by the man himself.

"Tasuku..." She whispered shakily, lips abused with each suckle and bite he gave her. The actor gave a low rumble in response, but didn't cease, too high on the feeling of her swollen mouth desperately trying to catch up with the movement of his needy lips.

The evening's cold air was no match for the searing heat the two of them were sharing, Tasuku's fingers sliding through Izumi's hair to comb away the tangles while his burning palm burrowed itself under the layers of clothes she was wearing. She shivered against him as the rough pads of his fingers scratched at her waist and she sighed, hands moving to frame either side of his jaw.

"Mmh... Takato." She murmured again, lips slotting messily with his own as his tongue made a playful appearance. Their breathing was heavy, clouds puffing from the corners of their mouths as Tasuku lost himself in the feeling of her body squirming beneath his ministrations.

"I've wanted this for so long..." He sighed breathlessly, blunt nails scratching up Izumi's ribcage in such a devilish way that left her twitching and gasping. "I don't want to stop."

"First, breathe." Izumi sighed back, coaxing his jaw to loosen by massaging her thumbs into the hinges. She did her best to calm the excited thrum of his pulse by doing this and tipped her chin up to brush their noses together.

With their lips parted for each other, Izumi's tongue met Tasuku's for a brief moment and just the smallest touch brought Tasuku back to his mindless haze.

"Fuck. I'm going crazy." He groaned as if he was in pain and pulled Izumi flush against him, the soft growl of his breathing making the director shake as he licked into her mouth like he was eating his favourite ice cream. He traced every crevice of her mouth with purpose, memorizing how she felt around his tongue as he laved at her canines then her tongue, lapping at the lingering taste of the beer she drank hours ago.

God, it felt like he could do this forever, but he knew that he'd have to stop eventually. And if there was a sign that told him so, it was probably the way Izumi was now whimpering and shaking in his arms, pretty, brown eyes glistening with vulnerable tears as she pawed at his shoulders and neck.

He pulled away slowly, their tongues connected by a thin string of saliva that broke when Tasuku gave her a final kiss. This time it was chaste and the man revelled in the way Izumi melted into his chest and mewled like a sweet little cat.

"You okay?" He asked, gentle as he set Izumi back on her feet and let her lean against his bike once more. He still held her in his embrace as she nodded, and with a light brush of his thumb wiped away their mixed spit from her reddened lips.

"Yes... You monster." She murmured hazily, legs weak as Tasuku's hips pinned her to his bike to keep her upright.

The man chuckled at the weak jab and affectionately kissed her cheek and forehead, still cradling the back of her head while Izumi threw her arms around his torso in a loose hold.

"Did you feel good?" He asked again, smiling when her eyes closed with a nod as he massaged her scalp. He was relieved to feel his pulse go back to its own steady thrum even though it felt like his heart was going to burst and he pressed his nose against her temple to placate the wave of emotion that ran through him.

His lips, warm and damp from the kisses before were now tickling Izumi's ear and with a teasing lilt to his voice, uttered his own honest thoughts.

"Well, you taste good."

Ugh. Izumi wanted to punch him.

With an embarrassed huff, the young woman turned her head to bump her nose into his jaw, still feeling weak even as he pampered her with chaste kisses to her face and his knuckles caressing her cheek.

"There's no turning back from this now." She said after a few moments of him tracing each curve of her face with his fingertip. She opened her eyes to gaze at him through her damp lashes and he paused with admiring the face he'd always longed to hold. "I can't pretend this never happened."

Her wavering voice made Tasuku smile; slightly charmed by the way she thought this was only a one-time thing. She really didn't understand just how much she affected him.

"Wasn't planning on doing that. I want to do this forever." He said, honest. His fingers combed through her hair for the umpteenth time this night and sent Izumi a charming smile.

"I want to kiss you every morning and every night. I want to greet you with a kiss every time you come home and I want to kiss you in bed." Tasuku whispered into her ear, chuckling as she shied away from his ticklish breath.

"Three years. Three years I've waited to find the opportunity to make you mine and here it is."

He hugged her close after his small confession and sucked in a deep breath when he felt her lips kiss his cheek.

"And all it took was a bike ride, huh?" She mused playfully, hiding the fact that her heart was rattling in her ribcage like a bird trying to find its way out. Izumi giggled when Tasuku sighed with a nod and she went on her toes to kiss him once more. Brief and chaste.

"I guess I'm yours now." She shrugged nonchalantly, smiling at Tasuku who stared down at her with hooded violet eyes.

"Then wanna have another go around the city as lovers this time?" The man whispered with a hint of excitement, already reaching out to grab their helmets from the handlebars of his bike.

"Hell yeah, man." Izumi grinned and held out her fist for Tasuku to bump.

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes in a fond manner at her term of endearment but indulged her anyways, knocking their knuckles together before getting Izumi ready for their second joyride of the night.

That's all it took. Tasuku mused as he mounted his bike and felt a familiar pair of arms curl around his waist.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter three.

wc: 1,972. original publish date: october 5, 2020.

Van Gogh switches off his phone, smiling to himself in secret contentment to have his best friend back. The fight didn't last more than an hour -- definitely their shortest fight to date -- but usually he's the one who has to go seek out Kennedy to make things right. Which makes sense: Gogh's usually the one who starts the fight so he should be the one to finish it. But it still feels nice to know that JFK cares enough to put an end to it all. Sometimes Van Gogh wonders if Kennedy is ever as hurt by their arguing as he is. Now he doesn't have to guess.

Van Gogh begins packing his carryon-sized suitcase, which is brown with black trim and scuffed plastic wheels. He's had it since he was a kid -- he used to have to go on his parents' business trips with them. They started leaving him at JFK's house when he was ten and eventually stopped leaving him with anyone at all. He had to learn how to watch the house himself once he turned fourteen -- he was a scared freshman with only one friend who lived on the upside of town. He never learned how to meet anyone new. Van Gogh grew so accustomed to being alone that he never knew he should meet anyone new.

The boy begins tossing various articles of clothing and his favourite novels into the suitcase. Mostly he just stuffs the luggage with underwear and socks. He throws in a pair of jeans and two solid colour t-shirts. He walks into the bathroom and starts shoving toiletries into a plastic Ziploc bag. He takes his toothbrush, a full tube of toothpaste (it's family size, but of course he's the only one using it), a travel-size hairbrush that he barely ever uses, and a minute box of floss that he'd acquired from the dentist six months ago, but never used since. He seals the bag and turns toward the door to walk back to his room, but decides to snatch some extra bandages out of the closet for good measure. He barely ever needs to switch out his head cast now that his ear wound has stopped bleeding, but the bandages might get dirty from outside sources and he can't have that.

Van Gogh walks back to his room and throws the Ziploc bag on top of the clothes folded in his suitcase. He crouches down to flip the lid and zip the luggage, but realises he doesn't have a real jacket and this thin and simple windbreaker won't do much good outside of the heat of the house. He unzips the bag and fishes the green fleece blanket off of his bed. It's still sitting in a messy pile. Kennedy never thinks to fold anything. Van Gogh fixes it into a neat square and places it in the suitcase. He crosses the room to his closet, searching for an extra layer more practical than a blanket.

He finally decides on a jacket after meticulously searching for the perfect one. He pulls it off the plastic white hanger by the shoulder panel. It's heavy, with its leather sleeves and fleece lining. It's orange and white, which is a hideous combination, but they're also Clone High's mascot colours. Van Gogh pushes his short arms through the sleeves of the jacket and models it in the mirror, the clothing dripping off of his body and swallowing him whole. He turns around to admire the back, which is his favourite part for some reason. Sewed in crude felt lettering are the initials JFK -- it had belonged to him in freshman year, but he'd tragically outgrown it that spring. Kennedy was going to throw it away, but Van Gogh had told him not to, insisting that there was no reason to dispose of a structurally sound jacket.

Van Gogh zips the suitcase securely and tilts the whole thing upright, taking one more sweeping look around his room before deciding he's ready to go. Well, he's not ready, exactly; he just knows it's now or never. He's never been one to contemplate that sort of dilemma and still choose now, but maybe if he doesn't think at all he'll actually go.

He turns off his bedroom light, blanketing the orderly knickknacks and tight corners under a veil of deep velvet. Only the moon, hanging high and glowing bright, lights the room through the window. Van Gogh nods in satisfaction, or maybe in farewell, before turning around to walk through the ocean cave hallway and out the front door of his house. He locks it with the key which is miraculously still hidden away in the pocket of JFK's jacket from the last time he wore it. Gogh usually doesn't lock the door at all. Maybe one day the house will get robbed and his parents will finally take that as a hint to stop putting him in charge of their most expensive asset all by himself. Who trusts their sixteen-year-old son with their whole house, anyway?

Van Gogh sits on the wooden steps leading up to his splinter-hazardous porch, elbow on his knee and head in his hand. He's pushed the handle of the suitcase down and parked it on the wood slat next to him. He waits for Kennedy patiently, but his stomach sinks down into the soles of his feet as the endless minutes tick by. Maybe his dads caught him sneaking out. Maybe he changed his mind about spending so much time with Van Gogh. How long were they gonna be spending together, anyway? Kennedy hadn't said.

Gogh's head is still spinning, swirling like moonlight caught in the infinite night sky as JFK pulls up. He's driving a flashy red convertible... not the most practical car for a road trip, but the only one he has all to himself. Van Gogh doesn't have a car. Even with his parents absent as often as they are, he still doesn't own something so luxurious.

"I started to think you weren't going to come," Gogh says in place of a greeting.

"I was packing."

Van Gogh looks at his own suitcase. "So was I."

"Well, maybe you should've packed more."

"I'm sorry I don't have as many beauty products are you do," he scoffs. "I'm naturally pretty."

Kennedy walks up the stairs to wheel Van Gogh's suitcase to the car for him. "That you are."

Gogh rolls his eyes, but doesn't give a passionate retort. His head drains of all thought -- including the spinning moonlight that dizzied his conscience just minutes prior.

"I don't need help with that," he finally manages, hoping his voice is frozen over enough to make up for the seconds of thoughtlessness. He lifts himself up off the steps and snatches the suitcase away from JFK, probably a little too hastily for how he's feeling.

"Damn, I was only trying to help."

Van Gogh freezes and turns around, painting on the most innocent smile he can find. "I know you were." He lifts the trunk of the car and hoists the suitcase in. He then walks around to the passenger side door of the vehicle and climbs in, clicking his seatbelt securely before closing the door. He stares ahead out the windshield as he waits for JFK to join him.

Once Kennedy is securely inside the car, he drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and stares out the windshield as well, seeing the neighbourhood from a different view than Van Gogh even though they're looking at the same place.

"So," JFK starts, and the sound of his voice almost makes Van Gogh jump as he's pulled out of his trance. "Where do you wanna go?"

Gogh stares at the boy in the driver's seat, his eyebrows knit together and a scowl frothing on the corners of his lips. "You mean you don't have a plan?"

Kennedy turns to the boy, his expression soft. His whole body looks so calm and relaxed. He looks like himself, but it's a different sort of cool -- almost... withdrawn.

He's wearing his letterman jacket -- the new one he'd gotten at the beginning of the year after outgrowing the one Van Gogh is wearing. His fingernails are bitten down to stubs, from anxiety, or possibly just poor hygiene.

"My plan is that I don't want to be here."

Van Gogh shrugs agreeably. "Then let's just drive."

JFK doesn't pull his gaze away from Van Gogh, and the shorter boy shrinks down into his seat with each second that passes. Kennedy's stare is so intense and serious that Gogh squirms under the pressure. He squeezes the side of the leather seat. It's cold, just like the rest of the snowy world. He wonders if wherever they're going will being having as shitty of an April as Exclamation! is.

"Put on the seat warmers," Van Gogh whispers.

Kennedy finally looks away. He seems to snap back into reality, not knowing he'd ever left it. He starts the car and it spits to life. He revs the engine and it whirrs, comforting him with its eager lurching. Van Gogh watches JFK's hand as he presses some buttons, illuminating them green. A few seconds later, the bottoms of his thighs are warming up through his jeans.

Kennedy sinks his foot down onto the gas, oblivious to the fact that the accelerator might disturb Van Gogh's neighbours, some of whom go to sleep before 9:55pm on a Friday night. In the part of town where JFK lives, the lots are all so big that noises can't be heard from other houses. Gogh's street is jam-packed with families, stuffing their single-story homes full to the brim. Sometimes he envisions the buildings overflowing, flooding the streets with unnecessary as-seen-on-tv merchandise. Maybe that's something he'd like to paint one day, when everyone stops worrying about him and overanalysing his artwork.

JFK eases off the gas as they drift out of town, exploring the unfamiliar landscape. The night is somehow brighter out here, despite being away from all the motion and the lights. They drive up a hill, slowly, the car wheels gripping the asphalt cautiously. Kennedy pulls into a turnout, a barren overhang with a view of nothing for miles and miles spread beneath it. Kennedy turns off the car and the headlights die along with it. Van Gogh's head snaps in his direction, his chest welling up with fear. The height, the quiet, the darkness under the moon -- Kennedy doesn't do any of this. They sit on the floor of Van Gogh's bedroom when his parents are MIA. They do homework or stare at the ceiling as they listen to music from a record player. Gogh doesn't know how to be silent with his best friend -- not when they have no other task to be occupied by.

Van Gogh opens his mouth, his eyebrows heavy with concern. Kennedy starts to speak, as if on cue.

"Just breathe," he says, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion.

"It smells like nothing," Van Gogh replies after taking a deep breath.

"No," Kennedy says, shaking his head slightly. "It smells like our world."

Gogh's expression switches from vulnerable to critical. "Our world. Like we own it."

JFK turns to him. "We can. We do."

Van Gogh opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by his best friend again. He makes a low shhing noise without turning to his passenger.

Gogh stares out the windshield at the unfinished map beneath them, and he wonders where to begin. They have the whole world at their disposal. Van Gogh wishes he'd packed darts to throw at the map, so he could plan an unplanned trip.

From up here, he feels like he could touch the moon. He closes his eyes and relaxes in his seat. For a second, he does touch the moon.  

[writer-rochelle]

In the Still of the Night: Javier Peña x reader

(a/n originally this was a steve randle fic I cooked up once upon a sleepless night. but after re-reading it I decided to turn it into a javi one shot because pedro pascal owns my ass. this takes during season 2, specifically episode 6. Also for plot’s sake pretend you are a nurse who used to work with Connie) 

Javier trudged up the small flight of stairs that led to the front door of the apartment building. It had been another late night stuck behind a desk. Another late night with a plethora of leads that inevitably led nowhere. It had taken the pot of coffee he and Murphy had been drinking to gradually turn into hot burnt bean flavored water for the two exhausted Agents to finally throw in the towel. Maybe Javier could convince (y/n) to let him steal some of the gourmet coffee she had stashed at his place. 

Recently, he had taken to staying longer and later, trying desperately to weasel in the information he received from Los Pepes without causing suspicion. Javier knew he was on thin ice with Steve after that incident at the checkpoint when they were close to catching Blackie. It was a wonder his friend hadn’t let anything slip, but then again he knew Murphy was more inclined to let Javier deal with his shit on his own. Besides, he had told Steve he could handle it. Couldn’t he? 

Javier signed, leaning his forehead against the cool wooden door to his apartment. How had he never noticed how truly exhausted he was? He felt heavy, weighed down by all that had been happening in Columbia lately. His feet felt like cinder blocks as he took a step back to unlock the door. The seasoned agent wanted nothing more than to eat, sip an ice-cold beer, take a shower, and collapse into bed. Maybe he would be lucky enough to sleep soundly with little to no nightmares. Undisturbed till his alarm would sound off early the next morning. 

"Damn it", he groaned, searching blindly for his apartment key. He had forgotten to put it back on his key ring after he had made a copy for (y/n). He exhaled in relief, having found the piece of metal nestled in the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket.  

‘I told you to put it back on there! One day you’re gonna lose that damn thing for sure, and I promise I’m not giving you my copy to get in!’, Javier smirked imagining his girlfriend scolding him. Her voice would be tinted with laughter, her threat empty. The pair had each other wrapped around their respective fingers. There wasn’t anything (within reason) that the young nurse wouldn’t do for Javier. And when the used to be bachelor was told he was whipped he simply shrugged and said, “Listen, when you really care for someone you’ll do whatever it takes to show them that. (y/n) says jump? I say how high.”

Much to the surprise of his colleagues (Steve included),  Javier had moved past the honeypot method to get what he wanted from certain informants. And to add more to the surprise, (y/n) was very much aware of the man Javier Pena used to be. It never ceased to amaze him how open-minded she was. Most women would have run-away after being told of the things he’d seen and done in the field. “At the end of the day, you come home in one piece to me. But don’t think about trying that crap again while you’re with me.” she had said one night during one of their few late-night conversations. 

"(y/n),cariño? You still here?", Javier called into the seemingly empty apartment. He stepped in, closing and locking the front door before moving towards the living room area where he threw his leather jacket over the arm of the cream-colored couch. All the lights were off, except the one in the kitchen. He turned on a lamp, the white envelopes sitting on the coffee table littered with some paperwork caught his eye. He’d deal with it tomorrow. 

"Babe?" he called again, climbing the steps that led up into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock built into the stove, the neon green glowing numbers reading 12:30. He spotted a plate of food resting on the small circle table, and a pink sticky note stuck to the top. He smiled softly, wondering how she managed to take care of herself, her busy workday, and still make time to cook for him. 

Javi,

I hope you came home at a decent hour. I’m still here, had a long day. You missed the dust bunnies I excavated from under your couch. 

Love, (y/n)

It read, her neat handwriting taking up little space on the small piece of paper. Javier paused a moment. Dust bunnies? Had she cleaned his apartment? He took a quick look around the area laid out in front of him. Gone were the empty bottles and cups he usually left lying around. The thin film of dust that usually graced his small television screen was gone, and it actually smelled nice in the room. The musty male and cigarette odor had been replaced with the smell of cleaning products and a candle she had left burning on the stove. Placing the note down, he turned to blow it out; the time now read 12:40. Javier turned to the fridge, grabbed a beer and took his lukewarm dinner in front of the TV in the adjoined living room. Maybe he could take a crack at some of those papers still sitting out there. 

[One hour later]

Javier woke with a start, the black and white static on the tv illuminating the room. He blinked blearily, standing up to stretch.  How long had he been asleep? He meandered over to the kitchen, disposing of his empty plate and bottle. The stove time now reading 3:00. 

‘May as well just head to bed, no point in showering now.’ Javier thought, making his way into his bedroom, turning off the few remaining lights as he went. 

He stood staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Not necessarily enthralled with the tired, grumpy looking man staring back at him. The past few months had taken their toll on him, the bags under his eyes adding on a year or two. It didn’t help that  his vision hadn’t been up to par as of late either. He refused, however, to get glasses until absolutely necessary. He could already hear the jokes that would be made at his expense. “Having trouble in any other departments Pena?”

Rolling his eyes, he shut off the bathroom light and shivered as the cool ac hit his bare legs and chest. Clad in only his boxers, he moved out into the hallway, trudging zombie-like into his bedroom, his dark brown eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkroom as he quietly shut the door behind him. Javier picked up on (y/n)’s soft breathing as she slept, everything but her head swallowed up by the thin white blanket on their bed. It was a wonder she had slept through the noise he had been making since he had gotten home hours earlier. She really must have had a long day. Ever since Connie and Olivia had left back to the States, the (y/h/c) nurse had taken more hours, helping to fill in the spot her blonde friend had left. And in some ways, maybe Steve had taken to staying longer to avoid an empty apartment. Something Javier had once been used to, but now the thought of having to start sleeping alone in his queen-sized bed made him cringe. 

An orange street light filtered in through his blinds, casting a soft spotlight onto the bed, drawing him closer. The "spotlight" shone on (y/n), illuminating the soft unique features of her face. Her mouth slightly open as quiet snores slipped through. Javier yearned to freeze time. To simply lay in this lumpy bed, with the most beautiful kind-hearted woman he’d ever met. His mother had only been the one other woman who cared this much about him, and it hurt that couldn’t she meet her. Javi was sure she’d love the passionate young woman as much as he did. He crept closer slipping under the covers, curling his arm around her waist to draw her closer to his bare chest. He lay a soft kiss to the back of her head, the sweet scent of her shampoo clouding his senses. He was content. 

“Javier? Is everything okay? What time is it?" the young woman mumbled her voice heavy with sleep, raising her head slightly to catch a glimpse of the alarm clock on the bedside table. 3:30 am.

"It's me, baby, everything is fine. Go back to sleep."

 "Okay. I love you."

"Love you too," the tired man said, kissing the back of her head as she fell back asleep. Javier lay awake for only a few moments more, finally succumbing to the slumber that was now his master.

Javier Pena knew that when the morning came he would have to return to that godforsaken office, and shift through the same pile of papers, and deal with the weight of his actions resting on his shoulders. But for the time being as he lay next to the love of his life in the fleetingly late hours of the night/early morning, he could pretend that he was just another man off the street, far away from Escobar, far from cocaine, and far from Columbia. 

A reality that only existed within the still if the night.

(i hope you all enjoyed my first Javi fic....and I hope i didn’t write him too OOC. Let me know what yall think, and my requests are open! more work to come soon. <3 roach) 

taglist: @sunshinepascal (dm to be added!) 

[themangoyogurt]

Between 29th and Astoria: The Appetizer

Chapter 5

It was always the same story after a night of hard drinking - waking up with regret, plotting your own death, and revisiting misdemeanors committed under the influence of alcohol. To make matters worse, you had fallen asleep on the commute resulting in missing your stop. By the time you went above ground, back down on the other side, and hopped on the right train - you were hopelessly late.

Not only that, but you had been drunk enough to make stupid life decisions such as feel up your freaking boss, but not blitzed enough to have forgotten what had happened. You stepped off the executive elevator and onto the forty-fifth floor completely ready to die of embarrassment.

Only, you didn’t.

Ren’s door was closed, but you heard gentle murmuring behind the glass. His morning conference call must have begun earlier than scheduled. At least that took care of any awkward A.M. confrontations. If you had any doubts that your job was on the line though, they were immediately cleared as you stepped up to your little glass fortress.

Sitting neatly in the center right between your monitor and keyboard was a cup of coffee. A sticky note was stuck to the sleeve with two sentences scrawled in surprisingly beautiful penmanship.

“May I suggest a different addictive substance? Perhaps one that won’t kill you?”

The smell of hazelnut and spice wafted up from the lid, enveloping the area with a warm scent. The caramel liquid inside was still hot, and burned deliciously as it was consumed. Seeing that he bought you coffee, perhaps Kylo’s hypocrisy regarding smoking could be ignored. For now at least. You reclined into the leather seat underneath and began your typical morning rituals.

The computer fired on with a half-hearted beep. Next, physical memos were sorted as the screen slowly loaded. Some papers were shuffled into the trash. Others were filed away for later use, and a select few were organized into a folder to hand off to Mr. Ren. As soon as the monitor pinged to life, e-mails were next on the list. Similar to the memos, you organized and sorted the digital mail. Once in a while, you’d be interrupted by a phone call.

Most of the time it was a frantic Mitaka in search of one thing or another for Hux. The poor man was clearly stretched far too thin, and you always spent the latter half of your conversations giving the assistant a pep talk. By the time everything was catalogued and dealt with, it was usually lunch. That was almost always taken alone at your desk. First Order certainly didn’t encourage friendships, that much was for sure. If you were lucky and Mr. Ren had an outside appointment during the hour, you were able to eat elsewhere. Even then it wasn’t very exciting. You’d usually just grab a sorry excuse for a salad from Hale & Hearty, and eat it in the break room.

Today was different though. Twelve o’ clock struck, and Mr. Ren emerged from his office. Dark hair coiffed backwards, he slowly ambled towards your desk. Your name slid from his lips like oil and you looked up in surprise.

“Mr. Ren! I thought you had a lunch appointment today.”

He tapped his fingers along the smooth surface of your desk and nodded. Reaching over, he plucked your purse hanging from the back of the chair. Smiling, the man responded, “Yes, I do. You’re my appointment.”

You mouth slackened in surprise, and Kylo smirked at your reaction, filing away the image along with others he had collected over time. Twirling the leather strap of your bag in one hand, he turned on his heel and marched over to the elevator. You immediately jumped up from your chair and hurried a step behind the man.

He brought you to a swanky restaurant somewhere uptown. Just like at the club last night, you felt incredibly out of place. It was the type of establishment you’d only read about in magazines alongside the words “so-and-so celebrity spotted at”. It certainly wasn’t the kind of venue a failed photographer turned personal assistant ate at. And it definitely wasn’t the kind of place a boss should be taking his assistant just for kicks.

Regardless, Kylo still placed a warm palm on your lower back and ushered you through the large doors and into a marble waiting area. The hostess immediately recognized the raven-haired CEO and lead the way to a private dining area secluded in the back.

The lithe blonde’s eyes darted between the two of you and then to Kylo’s hands before asking, “Mr. Ren, would you like me to check your - uh - friend’s bag?”

Oh my God. Kylo Ren was still holding your purse.

Your face colored in embarrassment as you thought about how this woman probably checked Birkins worth six figures. Your little flea market find of cracked leather definitely had no business being checked anywhere. Panicking, you snatched the purse away from your boss and awkwardly tittered that you’d be fine holding onto the handbag.

Did the woman just give you a look of sympathy?

If she kept up that attitude, you’d give her something to be sympathetic about. Your eyes squinted ever so slightly, and Ren let out a snort. He waved the hostess away and pulled out your chair before settling in across the table.

“If you’re ashamed of your purse, you could always buy a new one.”

“Excuse me?! Just because I don’t enjoy being judged, doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of my purse! And what do you expect me to do? Go out and buy a Chanel with the zero dollars in my savings account?”

Kylo’s head tilted backwards as he chuckled, “You looked ready to choke the hostess with your mind.”

“My purse has character. Something she wouldn’t understand,” you pouted.

“Yes. I’m just finding out about how much character you possess.”

Heat spread across your cheeks and your face bloomed pink at your boss’s teasing. Fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth you whispered, “I’m so sorry about last night, Mr. Ren.” He dismissed your apology with a wave of his hand and chortled, “I’ve seen Phasma do worse on a better night. Don’t worry about it.” He slowly drank in the sight of your flushed skin and the way your lashes shyly fluttered at his words. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

Thankfully the waiter arrived, and provided some relief as he went over the tasting menu. Who on earth ate five courses at twelve thirty in the afternoon?

Apparently, Kylo Ren did. The man didn’t even flinch as the waiter rattled off various dishes and accompaniments. You blushed again as Mr. Ren ordered a whiskey neat for himself and a gin and tonic for yourself. He ignored your protests that it was too early to drink, and opted to lean back and watch your fruitless objections with mirth.

“Are you done?”

Your ears turned red, and Kylo grinned with his full set of teeth. He was beginning to discover a new hobby - making his assistant blush. Once again, the waiter came to the rescue as he set down a white oval porcelain dish with two oysters perched atop a hill of ice with caviar scattered about. Ren expertly fed himself the appetizer and watched you struggle in amusement. Compared to Ren’s effortless elegance, you looked like a pelican choking down sardines.

He quietly placed a palm on the table and asked, “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do after work?”

An eyebrow raised on its own as you studied Mr. Ren with some suspicion. Just a few days ago, this man was one missed memo away from flipping over your desk and booting you out the door. Now he wanted to know what you did for fun? As if sensing your apprehension, Kylo teased, “Isn’t this what friends do? Get to know each other?”

The memory of Kylo’s massive hands gripping your slight wrists was enough to make you gag on your drink. Were gin and tonics always this difficult to stomach?

Clearing your throat and wiping the edges of your lips, you replied, “Well. Honestly, I go to work so early and stay so late...there isn’t really much time for me to do anything. My friends are pretty understanding though, so we spend most of our time at my apartment or theirs. We - uh - you know, talk. Sometimes we play board games or just watch Netflix. We do other things together, too.”

Kylo arched a brow and joked, “You do ‘other things’ with your friends? How conveniently vague.”

Coughing again, you sputtered, “No! No. I mean, we’re all single, but we don’t - you know - do weird things. Uhm, Rose is a mechanic and she works on these crazy fancy private planes that come in and out of the city. Sometimes her clients invite her to cool things, and I’ll get to tag along. Poe has a really sweet job, and he’ll hook us up with tickets to events, too. And, uhm, Finn also works at Poe’s company, but only part time. But he’s trying really hard to be an actor and he just wrapped up a really great show. We’ll go see him in different performances, and it’s really fun!”

Kylo ran his bottom lip along the edge of his glass as he took in your response. The name “Poe” sounded oddly familiar to him. It was a rather archaic sounding name that not many in your age group had. He’d have to look into that later, rather preferring to settle on one key fact he was surprisingly happy to learn - you were single.

“What about you, Mr. Ren? Do you have any hobbies? Or - uhm - date?”

You were going to be the death of him. If he could die via cuteness, he would choose you every time. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, almost as if you wished you could push the words back down. He thought for a moment: no, what he did with the fairer sex certainly wouldn’t be considered dating. As for hobbies?

“Sure. I enjoy calligraphy. It’s a nice marriage of art and the written form. I also like taking my cars out to the speedway from time-to-time. As for dating? No. I wouldn’t say I have the time to date...per se.”

You nodded along, thinking the entire time that Mr. Ren sounded lightyears above you. Of course someone like him wouldn’t play fucking Cranium in his free time. You continued to eat and chat until the meal wrapped up. Kylo was even suave enough to take care of the check while he got up to use the restroom, saving you the embarrassment of having to act like you could even afford to split the $700 bill.

Walking out the door, you stopped to turn to the man. Rocking a bit on your heels, you meekly murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Ren...”

“What was that, little mouse? I didn’t quite catch that.” A quirk of his lip indicated that he was teasing you again.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, “Thank you, Mr. Ren. For the meal. And the conversation. I - uh - quite enjoyed spending time with you.”

He gave you a warm smile. The most genuine one you have yet to witness. He carefully patted your back - high enough to be professional, but low enough to leave you confused.

Looking up into the sky, he replied, “I’m glad. Perhaps we could making spending time together a habit.”

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Road Trip - Epilogue

pairings: logicality (platonic or romantic, depending on how you view it) words: 3990 chapter warnings:  talks about upcoming death, vomiting (brief & non descriptive), passing out, swearing, alcohol consumption chapter summary: patton finds out and then, finds logan. (or, the beginning of the end.)

a/n - this is the first chapter of my big bang fic! do not let the title fool you, heh. i hope you enjoy <3

[read on ao3]

[masterlist]

*credit to art in this chapter goes to @lemonyellowlogic​​ ✨*

---

Patton Morgan closed the door behind him  and took one long, deep breath. 

That wasn’t so bad , he thought as he pushed up his glasses. 

And he was pretty much right. It wasn’t that bad, especially given what he’s heard from all his friends about this place. He would always listen to their stories the day after their 21st birthdays with a racing heart, watching as they broke down in either happy tears or devastated ones. In both cases, they made it seem like their Doctors made a whole, cruel show of it.

But all they did was sit him down, looked through his files, and told him. 

And he was going to have to know eventually. 

Everyone has to know eventually. 

Patton gritted his teeth as if trying to force a smile. It wasn’t bad. None of this is bad.

He walked down the hallway slowly. He walked past doors that were cracked slightly open, with quiet sobs and angry murmurs floating out of them. He heard a door open next to him and before he knew it, two people bolted past him. They knocked into Patton’s shoulders trying to chase each other. 

Lots of crying. Patton frowned, almost resentfully; pretty typical for this place.

He stared ahead, watching as the two people made it down the hall and turned the corner. He assumed they left the Clinic judging by the loud, hollow slam of the front door. 

He then looked to the door that had opened and caught a glimpse of a man in a white coat, sitting still at his desk and looking at papers on a clipboard. 

The man suddenly stood up, taking off his coat and grabbing a brown, leather messenger bag as he walked towards the door. Startled, Patton took a step forward, moving out of sight and staring straight ahead as if he were a deer trapped in headlights.

As he heard the man walk out of the room and leave behind him, he felt as if there was a ringing in his ear; which was when he realized that he couldn’t quite feel his hands. 

Patton looked down at them, almost quizzically. 

They were clenched up, his nails digging into his palms. He held them up in front of him and concentrated–  really concentrated– on them. 

They didn’t even feel like they were his. 

And then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"Mr. Morgan?” Patton blinked and turned around to see his Doctor standing behind him. He cleared his throat. 

“Um– yes. Hi.” His voice sounded so distant. Even his own heartbeat sounded closer; in fact, it was all he could really hear.

The Doctor’s sympathetic smile made his blood run cold.

“You dropped your wallet in my office.” Patton looked down to see that yes, she was offering him his wallet. He didn’t even realize its absence in his pocket. 

“Oh.” He took it slowly, not looking at her. (Everything suddenly felt so slow; so sluggish.) “Er, thank you.” 

“Of course.” Her smile didn’t seem as sympathetic anymore; it just felt forced, like she was playing some character.

“You know, Mr. Morgan, I understand that the news you received was...well, not ideal.”

Patton didn’t even feel like he had the energy to stop her from talking. Instead, he just numbly nodded as she began to lead him down the hall. Each step felt like he was staggering forward into a hot, dry desert.

“You know,” she continued, “there are a lot of people going through the exact same experience as you.” 

I’m sure there is, Doctor, Patton thought resentfully. That’s such good news.

He was squeezing his wallet now. He tried his best to stuff it and his shaky, shaky hands back in his pocket.

“I can recommend a multitude of resources that can help you in this difficult time. There’s a group meeting next Sunday, they accept new members every month. Not to mention the possibility of becoming a Doctor, giving you the gift of more–”

“That’s quite alright,” Patton said, reaching the end of the hall. He didn’t have the heart to remind her that he didn’t even have until Sunday. And he didn’t have the energy to scream at her for the last suggestion. 

A gift. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t need to make new time for himself. He just wanted to convince them that there had to be some time– any time – left in the world for him.

The Doctor kept looking at him as if looking at a lost puppy. That was when Patton suddenly became too aware that he was just standing there, speaking loudly and staring into space, in front of an entire waiting room of people who all probably had it worse.

And they were all staring at him.

He then looked at the Doctor. Her hair was tied back in a neat, brown ponytail; and she wore a small button on her white coat that said “Ask me about the Procedure!”; as if smugly dangling the idea in front of him.

She looked too perfect ; a mere shell of a human, frozen in time,

and so full of life.

Then, a bitter thought: You’re never going to go through this.

“Have a good day, Doctor,” he gritted out, the air growing thin enough that it escaped through his teeth. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge her when she morbidly said “Take care” as he walked away. Part of him wanted to, though — make a scene, maybe throw a chair at her. 

I can do things like that now , he thought, because what does it matter, anyway?

And, as if a switch flickered in his brain, he stumbled out of the clinic and towards the nearest trash can he could see to throw up.

He felt himself sweat and shake, holding onto its cold, metal edge as if it was the last real thing he was ever going to hold. 

When he felt like he was done, he made his way towards the parking lot, hoping to get to the bus station on the other side without being sick again. 

But it was no use. His vision was suddenly blurry, and he felt as if the pavement was slowly being flipped upside down. 

Patton went to the car closest to him, and leaned against it, doubling over and holding onto his stomach. He could feel himself breathing loudly, as if there wasn’t any air in the world left for him and–

 --- 

Patton woke up in the passenger seat of a car he didn’t own. 

His first instinct was to scream, but he felt a cold hand on his shoulder and his entire body froze. He could feel his breathing start to pick up again. 

“You’re awake,” a new voice floated into his ears, which were still receiving any and all noise as faded murmurs. 

“I imagine that the situation you find yourself in is rather daunting and confusing,” the voice continued, “but I would ask that you try your best to remain calm.”

Patton blinked, trying to clear the lines from his vision. He pushed his glasses up and turned his head to see a man wearing glasses as well; though his were darker, more square than his light brown ones. His hair was dark brown and slick back, other than the strands that fell across the side of his face. He wore a black polo shirt, with a navy blue tie rested on top of it.

“Who…” He coughed, his own voice sounding so foreign in his mouth. The man frowned, fishing through his bag before pulling out a water bottle. He offered it up to him. 

“I will answer your questions as you drink.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest — “I have water,” he would say, or “I’m allergic” (Something stupid like that) — but the man just shook his head. 

“It is important to stay hydrated after all; especially after passing out.” 

A beat of silence. Patton didn’t even have the energy to be shocked because yeah, that would make a lot of sense. 

Instead, he just nodded and took the bottle. He nervously fumbled with the cap as the man began to talk. 

“My name is Logan.” He cleared his throat. “Logan Fray. You passed out in front of my car and I didn’t want to keep you outside in the cold so I brought you into my car.”

“Kind of an odd choice of action,” Patton mumbled, taking a long sip of water and wincing. What kind of response was that?

Logan, to his surprise, chuckled. 

“I suppose it is,” he hummed. “I apologize if I scared you, I only intended to take care of you.”

Patton sighed, lowering the bottle and looking at Logan meekly.

“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly. “I...I really appreciate your help,” he chuckled, hoping to lighten things up. “It’s sort of like you’re my hero or something, heh.”

A pause. Logan just nodded. “It’s what I do.” 

Patton took another sip of water and stared straight ahead in the uncomfortable silence. He saw the Clinic sign through Logan’s car window, its bold font proudly flashing down at him in the sky. 

“Did you receive bad news?” he heard Logan suddenly ask.

Patton felt his lip begin to tremble as he closed the water bottle and put it in the cup holder between him and Logan. He kept looking at the sign, nervous tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. 

He heard Logan sigh. 

“My...my deepest condolences.” He sounded so sincere ; which was admittedly a nice change of pace from the cold demeanour inside the clinic. 

“It’s okay,” he looked up at Logan, giving him a tearful laugh. “You have to know eventually, right?”

Logan looked at him with some kind of indescribable remorse. 

“...I suppose you’re right.” 

They sit in silence again, staring at the damned building. 

“Could I drop you off somewhere?” Logan finally asked. Patton shrugged. It didn’t really matter; he took a bus, after all. Then again, he didn’t really want to sit in a bus full of strangers, surrounded by their full and hopeful lives. He felt awful just thinking about it. And then, he felt more awful thinking about what he’d tell his mum when he got home…

“I don’t know,” Patton murmured. He looked at Logan. “Where are you off to?”

“Um, I was supposed to go to McCather’s,” he replied with a frown. “It’s a bar fairly close-by.”

“Supposed to?” 

“I was going to meet with a friend,” Logan explained, “but I cancelled after finding you.”

Oh. Patton tried not to sputter out a teary, pathetic apology. 

When Patton didn’t say anything, Logan just nodded; moving his stare down to his lap as an awkward silence filled the car. Patton snuck a glance at him and noticed that he was tapping on his thigh, seemingly deep in thought.

“Can I be your friend?” Patton suddenly blurted out. 

The tapping stopped. Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a confused expression. Patton shook his head. 

“Sorry, that was weird, heh.” He cleared his throat, smiling nervously. “Let me start over. My name is Patton. And I know I just threw up then passed out in front of your car, but I...I promise I’m much cooler than that, heh.”

Logan chuckled, still not looking up at him.

“And now that... that is out of the way,” Patton continued, “I’d like to be your friend and go with you. To, um, the bar. If...if that’s okay.”

A pause. Logan finally looked up at Patton, and his gaze felt more intense than its absence. He was looking at Patton as if he was studying him. 

Logan then cleared his throat.

“Usually, I would be entirely against this,” he finally said, but was already putting on his seatbelt and starting the car. 

“Me too,” Patton replied, and leaned his head on the window as the car began to move. He smiled sadly. “Today’s just different, I guess.”

 --- 

Patton had always remembered bars to be bright and loud; with neon lights hanging on red, brick walls and people cheering every two seconds for something. 

But for whatever reason, this one didn’t live up to the expectation. Maybe it was because everyone looked like they all received the same news. 

“A week.” Logan winced as Patton took another sip of his drink. “That’s...awful.”

“It is .” Patton closed his eyes at the bitter taste. He set the glass down and stared at it. “It’s such a stupid system. And– and it’s such a stupid place. The Clinic–” he hiccuped– “is stupid .”

Logan just nodded solemnly, sipping his drink until it was done before raising his hand to catch the bartender’s attention. Patton sighed, shaking his head. 

“I really shouldn’t have any more,” he said. 

“That’s fine,” Logan hummed. When the bartender came over, he said, “One more glass for me, then the bill.”

He began to take out his wallet and Patton’s eyes grew wide. 

“You don’t have to–”

“Nonsense. My treat.” A pause. “For a friend.”

Patton broke into a small smile, which soon turned into a long sigh as he slumped over on the bar counter, his chin resting on his folded arms. 

“You know,” Patton sniffled, “I– I didn’t even get to go everywh’re.”

“There are not many people who do, you know. Statistics and all.”

“ Still .” Patton buried his face in his arms, his voice muffled as he continued. “Now I can’t go anywhere .”

“Oh, come now,” Logan scoffed. “You can go anywhere you want. I know it may not seem like it, but you have all the time to do that now. I am sure that there are services for predicaments like this — if you wanted to go somewhere, they would most likely assist you with that.”

“I’m not some Make-A-Wish kid, Logan.”

“And what I’m saying is that you can be.” 

Patton giggled as he made a move to finish his drink. The bartender came back with Logan’s drink and the bill underneath it.

As he fished through his wallet, he asked, “What would you wish for?”

“What?”

“Right now,” Logan repeated, “what would you wish for?”

The question, for some reason, made Patton giggle again. He forgot how giggly he got when he was tipsy. 

But when Logan looked at him with a certain kind of knowing he couldn’t deflect, Patton sighed. He looked down at the counter surface that was so close to his nose before lifting his head. 

“The Grand Canyon,” he declared. Logan chuckled. 

“You want...the Grand Canyon?”

“I– I wanna visit it.” He looked at Logan. “My dad tried to take us– he tried three summers in a row, actually– but...well, it never really panned out the way he wanted it to.”

He smiled, more sure of himself. “I wanna go to the Grand Canyon and– and yell something at it.”

“And what would that be?”

Patton slumped back down on the counter. “No one’ll ever find out.”

Logan rolled his eyes slightly as he counted the bills in his wallet. 

“You know–” Patton hiccuped loudly– “maybe I should’a just done the Procedure.”

In the corner of his eye, he watched as Logan froze. 

“It sounds like such a grand adventure, doesn’t it? Being a Doctor?” The words came out as a sad drawl. If Patton wanted to be bitter, he clearly wasn’t capable of it. “I’d have unlimited time to just rain on everyone’s parades; pitter-patter, pitter– ”

“Patton–”

“And then!” he exclaimed loudly. “Then I could go anywhere I want. I mean, if they’re even allowed to leave the Clinic.” He scoffed. “But hey! It’s the ‘ultimate sacrifice’ for unlimited time, isn’t it?”

Logan said nothing in response, but Patton could see his face scrunch up in thought as he put bills on the counter next to his now-empty glass. 

“Whatcha thinkin’?” he mumbled. Even quieter, he added, “Was I too much?”

Logan shook his head with a small frown.

“I’m...deliberating.” 

“Deliverin’ what?”

Logan gave him a tired laugh then, after a bit of silence, turned to face Patton.

“I want to tell you something,” he said. “Two things.” 

Patton perked up from his seat and stared at him. 

“Number one,” Logan smiled. “I want to take you to the Grand Canyon.” 

Patton became sober in almost a second.

“You...you what?”

“It’s a two day trip,” he continued. “You’ll be back before you know it, then you can spend your last few days with people you care about.”

“ Logan .” Patton laughed, almost nervously. “You’re...you’re not serious about this, are you?” 

“I’m always serious,” Logan said, seriously. He pointed down at his shirt. “Necktie.”

“Logan, you’re drunk.” 

“Evidently, you are as well,” he replied pointedly. 

“Logan!” Another giggle. Patton almost wanted to fall right against him as he swatted at him playfully. “Shut up, shut up, shut up… ”

“We can take my car,” Logan was practically beaming now. “We can exchange numbers and I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We can split gas and the cost of the motel, or we can just sleep in my car– I don’t mind.” 

“ Logan …”

“It just makes sense , Patton.” Logan suddenly took his hands into his own. Patton blushed even more; they were so warm . 

“Say no if you want to,” Logan murmured, staring down at their hands. “But I think– I think we should do it. I know it is illogical to believe in fate of any sorts but fuck. This could be our last leap of faith– our last big... thing .”

Patton frowned. “ Our? ”

A beat of silence. 

“That is, um, the other thing,” Logan finally said, his voice now barely above a whisper. 

“I have a week too.”

 ---

Patton stared at the ceiling of his empty apartment, lying still on his bed. For some reason, he was antsy; as if every second that passed was a wasted one. 

So many seconds then, he couldn’t help but think. There’s been so many seconds…

He sighed, sitting up and squinting at the rising sun that peeked through his window. He rubbed his eyes, reaching over for his glasses on his bedside table. 

As he did, he felt the surface of the table buzz. He frowned, slipping his glasses on and looking at the source of the noise. 

His phone. His heart nearly sunk at the realization and he softly muttered, “Shit.”

That’s why his head was hurting then, he assumed. Parts of the night returned to him. He remembered giggling on a barstool, he grimaced at the memory of him humouring the idea of even considering becoming a Doctor, and his heart nearly stopped as he recalled exchanging numbers with a complete stranger who offered to take him to the Grand flippin’ Canyon…

Patton picked up his phone carefully, as if it would set him on fire upon contact. He turned it on and winced at how bright it was. 

Logan | Today | 7:03 am

Dear Patton, 

I hope you did not find that I was too forward last night. 

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered under his breath.

I am messaging you to apologize for my actions. While I was sincere in my sentiment, it was incredibly foolish to suggest such a concept so persistently and without much regard for how you felt. I do not know why I was so insistent about travelling with someone I barely know, but...well, there is no more time for logic, is there?

Regardless, I hope you are feeling better this morning, and I wish you the best with the time you have left. 

Sincerely, Logan.

He stared at the text for a few more seconds, almost perplexed, before closing his phone and looking out his window once more. 

“The time you have left.”

Patton sat there for a while, watching the sun rise in the slowly-awakening sky. Across from him was another apartment building, its windows filled with the silhouettes of people moving around their homes.

They all moved with purpose ; like they all had somewhere to go. 

Then, Patton looked down at his phone. 

For whatever reason, his mind couldn’t stop going back to the conversation with Logan. He never really stopped to think about the odds of bumping into someone with the same fate as him. It made him wonder how many people were given the same sentence by the Clinic. It was almost ridiculous. 

The whole situation was ridiculous, actually. Patton couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh; a stranger wanted to go to the Grand Canyon with him…

His mind suddenly drifted to the Clinic; to the grey walls and the grey chair the Doctor sat him on as she went through his files. He remembered her cold stare as she lifted her eyes to her computer screen, the green digits almost burning into his head. He thought about the way her eyes never met his as she told him.

A week. 

They only gave him a week.

Without even thinking, he opened his phone and pressed ‘ call’ as soon as he saw Logan’s name. 

“...Hello?”

Patton inhaled sharply upon hearing him. His voice was quiet and muffled, and Patton could still hear the sleep in it.

“Um, hi.” He straightened his back. “It’s...Patton.”

A pause. 

“Oh. Hello, Patton. Did you receive my texts?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” 

“I see.” Patton could feel himself grow stiffer; why was this suddenly so hard? He had drinks with the guy, after all. 

“Was there something wrong?” Logan continued. “Or is there something you need further clarification on?”

“No!” He sounded too loud, all of the sudden. He softly continued, “No, no there wasn’t. I...I appreciate you letting me know.” 

“Of course.”

A beat of silence. Patton shifted slightly in his seat. 

“Um, Logan?” Patton suddenly asked, his voice small. 

“Yes?” Logan replied readily, as if he was just as anxious for noise as Patton was. Patton sighed.

“Last night–” Patton tried to focus on the window and the rising sun; move with purpose – “I...I don’t know if I really understand what you were offering.”

“Oh.” Logan sounded so echoey, so distant. “In all honesty, I do not know either. It is as simple and absurd as the offer of a preposterous road trip with a stranger.”

Patton paused. The way Logan phrased it made the whole situation...well, preposterous, for lack of a better word.

And then, Patton winced. What was he doing? He should be going home . He should be on a train back to his mum’s so he could tell her that he failed to live past 21; and that yeah, he gave it his all, but he didn’t give enough. 

“Patton?” Logan cut through Patton’s thoughts like a knife. “ Are you still there?”

His voice was filled with so much knowing. 

Patton squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tug at the longing in his chest.

I can do this, he thought. 

Then, he decided: I can give something– anything– for once. 

To me.

“Do you really have a week?” he finally asked.

Patton heard some shuffling on the other side, before he heard Logan speak. 

"...I do.” 

Patton’s breath hitched. His hand was shaking and he didn’t even know why. 

“I apologize if that information made you...uncomfortable,” Logan continued slowly. He heard him clear his throat. “My intention was not to guilt trip you into a decision you did not want to make–”

“No, no,” Patton said firmly. He felt himself inhale sharply, as if gathering the words that sat in his throat in one place on his tongue. “Gosh, you know what? You...you’re right.”

“About?”

Patton held his breath as he took a leap of faith.

“There’s really no time for logic now,” Patton finally said with a small smile, exhaling in relief as he did, “is there?”

---

next chapter >

[the-deeds-to-shibden]

Sunday 1 September 1839

[Today Anne and Ann visit a historically important toilet, hear a grisly account of a terrible crime, and feast on thick cream, biscuits, and pancakes. The making of brandy and Anne's beloved limpa bread is discussed, and more Swedish is learned.]

[up at] 7

[to bed at] 11

Fine but dull and F 61° at 7 ¼ a.m. breakfast at 8 40/60 to 9 ½  - off at 10 from Fahlun – beautiful winding hilly  foresty laky drive to Örnas on the lake Dalsjö (Dalshew)  nortwest of Fahlun – at Ornas at 11 ½ the house Gustaf  I slept in one night and from which he escaped by the necessary – all kept  up as it was then –  Gustaf I son of count Vasa – born at Lindholmen I Roslagen  3 miles from Stockholm 12 May 1490. Crowned at Upsala 12 February 1528 reigned 37 years ob[iit] 29 September 1560 – the room in which he slept  in is about 9 x 7 yards – one window to the north 8 lights about 2 feet high  and 17 or 18 inches broad and one window of 4 such lights to the east –  the bed too high and modern to be that he slept in – himself in armour under canopy in north east corner – large map (about 4 yards x 7 or 8 feet)  of the environs of the place (of Dalecarlia) done by Johan Brandberg  1751 and 1758 of the royal col[lege] of mines at Stockholm – old pictures of  the kings since Gustaf I including the present king – large pedigree tree of Gustaf I and  his descendants down to the last of his line (about 5 feet x 5 feet worth copying)  Besides Gustaf there are 3 other figures large as life standing near the door – 2 Dalecarlians (peasants) and a man in armour from near Upsala –   Shingle roof each shingle about 18 x 5 inches and about ½ inch thick  fined away to 1/3 of that – every where 3 laps except just at the eves  and there 2 laps – then whole of the premier down to the floor and the parapet  of the gallery (upper gallery) covered with red smeared shingles rounded at the bottom  

a  the white washed place just to the west of the winding staircase, must be the cellar.

edge – the winding staircase  also thus shingle covered – fronts south  the necessary an oblong squary  projection to the north – the building is 3 equal sized rooms  the necessary entered by a passage taken off 2 tiers of gallery 3 doors  on each opening into the 3 rooms  apparently same size as Gustaf’s above and below – no fire place  in his room – could not see the  others – locked up – doors  about 5 feet + high with each     A high threshold to step over – all kept in good order – the  timbers laid log-wise (tree upon tree) and boarded against in the inside  (lined with boards inside) – the wood house raised on rough stone work  (white washed) 3 or 4 feet high more or less according to the level of the ground.  Lake close south and west of the house within a few yards of it – Lake with wooded islands very beautiful – 2 or 3 cottages hereabouts and houses scattered about at some distance – at a little distance is small neat white washed house – the house of the squire?  The place belongs to the grandson of the man (noble) just dead before his  trial ordered for the cruel imprisoning of his wife who in consequence lost  her reason and died miserably – her corpse ½ eaten by rats - 2 or 3 years ago –   7 lights east end of top gallery window and 2 lights in the window east end of house  6 ditto west end of ditto – the 2 ditto in window west end of house look on the  lake – they are 2 nice little rooms one at each end of the upper  gallery – the lower gallery parapet an open sort of trellis work    

Rain came on about (after) 1 and now at 1 ¼ heavyish shower for ½ hour Curious old house well worth seeing –  should like a model of it.  Hops today – everywhere lilacs – generally forming garden-hedges –  fair some time ago – sat writing till now 2 ½ p.m. – then went  to meet madame Starenfeld, 

wife of mister le majeur owner of the old house and the squire here – he had gone for her to do the honours, speak French and shew us the rooms locked up –  

an old date cut on 1 of the  timbers EM 1391  in the passage going to the necessary  said to be the date of the house    

Very civil nice little woman – had her from 3 (just as  we were setting off) to 2 40/.. – it was her mother who  died so miserably – she (madame Starenfeld) distantly related to Mr. Brandberg who made the map and fitted up the room as it is at present – he bought or got the property and it came to Mrs Starenfeld’s family about 30 years ago – she shewed me the cellar – one of the rooms at the end of the gallery –   Off at 3 ¾ - they stopt us with coffee – went to the house – off from there at 4 ¼ – at 4 47/..  at the ferry over the Dal – over in 5 minutes – beautiful foresty laky drive – pretty ferry – the distance shut in all round by wooded hill – 17 to 18 famms deep water – noir  like deep water – over in 5 minutes for 4 skilling banco – at Naglerby  at 5 20/.. – village – sat (waiting for horses) in the carriage in the farm or  straw yard before la poste – seems a neat little place – 1 ¼ miles from  Falun to Örnes and 1 mile from Ornes to Naglerby – instead of returning  to Falun have come along the other side the lake (Dalsjö) good road to  here and from here to Säter 1 ¾ miles –   

Korn (koorn) barley – lade, barn – Træske, to thrash corn

Havre (haav-räh) oats

Ochre – harva (ochre ploughed – harva harrow)

Naglerby, a wood, unpainted rather scattered village  20 minutes off the large good white washed church Gustaf’s kirke – at 7 ½ pump long line of high across the road  for iron works and large unpainted wood village – and just  out of the end of it turn right to Säter having till then seemed to leave instead of approach its white church seen ¾  hour before arriving at the station quite at the end of the town and far from  the church – Our drive from Örnes and more particulary from Naglerby  the best farmed, most livable, part of Sweden we have passed  thro’ – good corn and potato crops – a good deal of oats yet to cut, but riper  good pasture – ground clean from stones as in other countries   The Dal a good river – lost sight of it from Naglerby –  wide open, large well inhabitated valley all along  particulary from Naglerby – very nice agreeable comfortable  pretty drive this afternoon – madame Starenfeld said the people were  poor in Dalecarlia – no appearance of it but the women’s  sheep-skin jackets woolside in,  and leather (looking  rather like buff) outside – a fine healthy looking set  of people – madame Starenfeld told me that a large glass wicker-enclosed  bottle of brandy (like one of our vitriol or aqua fortis bottles cased in  wicker like a florence oil flask) is worth 20 rigs  dollars – they distil brandy for themselves but not to sell – distill from oats but a little wheat is mixed with the oats –  Limpa bread has syrup, and orange peel and aniseed in it.  They make it for home use but can’t make it so well as the boulanger  They gave us very fair coffee with cream so rich one could hardly  pour it, and a thin sort of wafer biscuit gofery called rohan – their house that they themselves live in and where we  were has 2 rooms below their salon and bedrooms and opposite  the entrance door a closet and door to the stair case leading up to the grenier garret above – near is another building for  the children and servants and another for the kitchen,  and another for  storehouse etc etc and thus every the establishment consists of several houses and outbuildings – they have 14 servants all paid partly  in kind and a small part of their wages in money – the owners of estates  can’t leave home – she said they had too much to do – true – wrote the above  till 9 p.m. and then supper coffee and bread and butter and little round pancakes  all good – supper and all ready for bed at 9 ¾ - fine day, except  the heavy shower between 1 and 2 p.m. F 66° in our little bedroom now at 9 ¾ p.m.

Anne’s marginal notes:

next to Gustaf (among the kings) is the picture of the lady?  to whom the house then belonged when Gustaf was here. Map and pedigree  

majeur and Mrs Starenfeld

biscuit limpa bread brandy

WYAS pages: SH:7/ML/TR/13/0019     SH:7/ML/TR/13/0020

Lake Runn, whose southwestern part, named Ösjön rather than Dalsjö as Anne believes, the Ann(e)s drive past and admire in this entry:

Anne’s sketch compared with a modern photo of the house which the future king Gustav Vasa hastily left through the toilet (the projection in the middle of the first floor frontage):

[ificouldau]

Section 3 - Chapter 23

> 62% of you chose to grab Dino’s hand.

38% of you chose to back away.

You reach forward, no time to spare, Chan’s fingers locking into your own as he pulls you into the safe haven of the cave tunnel.

You feel the heat of the fire lapping at the side of your face as you duck underneath the wooden planks. Jihoon follows, right on your tail.

The two of you collapse onto the dark ground in fright, all of the other boys backing away to let you catch your breath. A mere second slower, and it could’ve all been over from there. The burning red flames spread thoroughly across the wood, lapping at the cave air in a boiling rage.

You turn to look back at Jihoon, noticing a light burn stretched across his arm despite his unmoved expression.

( -1 Health: Woozi )

“Are you okay?” You ask frantically, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been faste-” “I’m okay.”

He sends you a quick, subtle smile, looking grateful more so than in pain. His ever so slightly gentle manner says it all; you did good. ( +1 Reputation: Woozi )

You cough away the smoke as Vernon helps you to your feet.

“The others…” Chan begins, struggling to see past the high flames. Jeonghan is quick to ease his worry.

“They’ll be fine. Believe me.”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Soonyoung asks, a barely conscious Mingyu resting upon his and Joshua’s shoulders. You all take a moment to gather your surroundings, glancing about at the rocky cave walls and the tunnel extending down into Lord knows what.

Jihoon wipes the sweat off of his forehead and stares down the dark passageway with concern. You don’t have many options. It’s clear that there’s nowhere else to head, other than forward or back through the violent fire. You all walk on silently, knowing full well you’ve no other choice.

A long while- minutes, maybe hours- passes before any sort of image other than rocks and darkness meets your eyes.

“Are you-“ Chan stutters, squinting his eyes, “Is that-“

A rusty old ladder comes into view before he can finish his sentence, fastened tightly against the cavern wall and headed up into what seems to be a trapdoor.

“What kind of shitty horror movie is this?” You hear Jeonghan mutter as Shua takes the lead, clambering the first few rungs up. Soonyoung shakes Mingyu a bit in his hold, and the exhausted boy’s eyes flutter halfway open in confusion.

“Wake up,” Soonyoung murmurs, “I can't carry you up that thing.”

Mingyu struggles to stand on his own, slowly easing back onto his feet and grabbing his stomach as if just remembering the pain of his wounds. He stays silent all the while, watching Soonyoung grab onto the ladder without a complaint to be said.

Jihoon goes next with a blank look on his face, but as he turns to look back, you smile, flashing two thumbs up his way.

“Dumbass,” He scoffs. You follow behind him, grabbing hold of the grimy rungs.

Within moments, the pitch black cave is flooded with dim, gray sunlight. Jihoon pulls you up onto the surface, and you look around to realize you’ve entered into some sort of old storage room.

As Vernon helps Mingyu off of the ladder, Joshua pulls open the first door he sees, revealing your location to be some sort of empty store. With bare racks and expired cans littered throughout the dusty tile, it's clear that it's been abandoned for quite some time.

“If we’re here…” Chan begins, a finger on his chin as he looks over the shattered windows, “We must be in some sort of city, right?” Jeonghan nods. “We better find somewhere to go, then.”

The boys take their cue to head out, making their way over to the graffiti covered front door. Right as Joshua reaches for the handle, however, Vernon’s hesitant expression at the back of the group catches your eye.

“Hey,” You mutter, leaving Jihoon’s side and trotting over to join Hansol, “Is something wrong?”

His eyes darken for a moment. It’s clear he’s not feeling alright. “No, nothing.”

“Okay,” You begin walking away to allow him space, “But if there is, you know I’m here.”

Joshua pushes open the door to reveal a sight so expected yet so damn sudden: a city street, people going about their days and cars roaming about as if a cult sacrifice weren’t happening beneath their buildings just moments ago. The boys take a second to process the situation before continuing down the sidewalk, ignoring the judgemental glares of those passing by.

“Wait,” You hear Hansol say softly, tugging at your hoodie and cueing you to the back of the group to walk with him.

“Yeah?”

“I… Honestly…” He struggles to land his wording, “I just… I’m going to tell you the truth… I… I actually... know where we are.”

Your eyes widen. “You know where we…?” “Yeah, but… damn it…”

He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, closing his eyes for a moment and prepping himself to delve into detail.

“It’s...” He mutters, “It’s near where the note says. But like I told you before, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle where we might end up…” You briefly remember the note, and the fight with Soonyoung, and the man on the bus, and the shithole of a journey it took to get here. Your heart thumps with hope, but Hansol’s nervous expression throws that excitement off balance.

“Look,” You say gently, “You know that address better than any of us. I… As much as we might need it… I won’t force you to tell me. It’s not my place to make that choice for you.”

Vernon closes his eyes, relieving a quiet sigh before meeting your gaze.

“Thank you,” He mutters, “But…”

“But…?”

“But now that there’s no other choice... I… I’ll take you.”

His words catch you off guard. “You’ll… take us?”

“I’ll take you. But… they’ll kill me if I change my mind now, I-”

“Who’s gonna kill you?” Soonyoung’s loud voice chimes in as he throws an arm around Vernon’s shoulders.

You meet his challenging gaze, eyes full of mischief and utter dislike.

“No one,” You say before Hansol can speak, coming right to the poor boy’s defense, “Hey- Jihoon! Wait up!”

As you pull Vernon over to the front of the group and away from Soonyoung, the older boy’s fiery stare darkens. He backs away to talk to Mingyu, eyes never losing track of you. Vernon heaves a soft, relieved sigh, clearly grateful to have your genuine help. You imagine how things might’ve gone if you hadn’t been here.

( +1 Reputation: Vernon )

For the next long while, you all walk along the streets, brushing off the countless stares as you move. Thanks to the boys trailing your path blindly, you’re able to follow Hansol’s silent directions without getting him into trouble. His mere points and gestures are enough to finally stop you at a tall apartment complex, where you all stand staring up in awe.

Fountains line the sides of the building, complemented by neatly trimmed bushes and trees. Hansol briefly gestures for you to lead the others inside, so you do.

“Why are we going in here?” Mingyu asks innocently, Vernon glancing towards you for help.

You wait patiently as the elevator door slides open. The boys file inside in confusion.

“I… think I remember this building name on the note.”

Joshua frowns. “Are you sure it's this city? How did you know where to go?”

“Just trust me.”

Vernon holds up four fingers at his side, so you press the button for the fourth floor. As the elevator dings and the boys pour out into the hallway, he tugs at the rim of your hoodie, nodding up towards one slick black door amongst the many others. You don’t waste a second before trotting up to the wood and knocking.

“Wait- Are you sure?” Chan asks, brows furrowed in worry, “Did you have the address memorized this whole time? What if this isn’t even the right city on the-”

The door swings open before he can finish his question, and you’re all completely taken aback to see Seungcheol standing before your eyes.

He looks happy, even freshened up in new clothes, and soon the others you’d left behind are crowded right behind him with smiles on their faces.

“You’re not dead!” Mingyu gasps, running forward and pulling Wonwoo and Minghao into his arms. Chatter fills the hallway almost instantly as the boys meet yet again, making such a fuss that you’re forced to stand back for a moment and watch. As they laugh and check in, however, Vernon stands still at the back with a dark expression. You forget what this place might mean to him, wherever it is. He meets your gaze as you walk over. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You ask. He relieves a shaky breath, but a smiley Seokmin hurries over and rushes both of you inside before the boy can think up an answer.

Marble floors and spotless leather couches are the first to greet you as you walk inside, and you almost forget about the situation entirely at the sight of chandeliers and floor to ceiling windows. The group stands frozen in surprise, and those who wound up here first still seem just as awestruck as the rest.

You raise an eyebrow. “How did you guys…?”

“One of the cult dudes! Can you believe it?” Junhui replies. Seungcheol shakes his head, nodding your way with a subtle smile. “He brought us down a tunnel and went back to finish the fight. We were lost until a man stopped us on the street. I didn’t want to trust him at first, but he showed us a picture of the guy… the one from the bus. Explained he’d been looking for us, thirteen guys and a girl… Drove us over here, and-”

“And you’re safe now, is what.” You glance up at the low, unfamiliar voice, shocked to see another new face. A middle aged man, sporting dirty blonde hair and a neat black dress shirt walks out from one of the rooms to greet you, eyes crinkling into a smile upon seeing you all arrive. “It’s nice to finally meet you all. I’ll show you your rooms, where to find clothes and towels and all of that… So please, feel at home.”

He shakes your hands one by one, wearing simple white gloves and thin squared glasses. Vernon pulls his arm back hesitantly as the stranger comes his way for a greeting, but while the others look on in shock, your heart hurts a bit to see it.

“I…” The man begins, subtle pain in his eyes for a brief moment as he steps back from Hansol, “I’ll… just get dinner ready. The TV is on, so feel free… I… Okay. I won’t be long.”

The man turns around, heading off into the kitchen without looking back even once. You look on at Hansol in pity, unsure of the situation, but the others crowd around him with puzzled looks before you can get there first.

“What was that, Vernon?” Seungcheol asks, eyes wide, “Is there something suspicious about him? I thought so, too… Maybe we should leave? He could be dangerous, I don’t kno-”

“No,” Vernon says quietly, turning away from the group with eyes on the ground, “He’ll take perfect care of us. Don’t worry.” “Then what was…?” You place a careful hand on Cheol’s arm, silently shushing him as you watch Vernon ease himself onto the couch. The others all look on quietly, just as clueless as the rest as Hansol relieves a soft sigh and glances up at you with a weak smile.

“Wanna watch a movie?” He asks, “Or Wonwoo can kick your ass at some games?”

It’s almost as if nothing had happened at all throughout the mess of a day. As if the kidnapping, the fight, the cave, the fire... had just never existed. The boys share nervous mumbles of confusion as you frown. Hansol waits patiently with bright eyes on yours.

- Watch a movie.

or

- Play games.

( Vote now on instagram.com/ificould_au. You have 24 hours. )

[wolfy58]

1839 September Sunday 1

Got up 7   Went to bed 11

 Fine but dull and F 61° at 7 ¼ a.m. breakfast at 8 40/60 to 9 ½  - off at 10 from Fahlun – beautiful winding hilly foresty laky drive to Örnas on the lake Dalsjö (Dalshew) nortweast of Fahlun – at Ornas at 11 ½ the house Gustaf I slept in one night and from which he escaped by the necessary – all kept up as it was then –

 Gustaf I son of count Vasa – born at Lindholmen i Roslagen 3 miles from Stockholm 12 May 1490. Crowned at Upsala 12 February 1528 reigned 37 years obiit 29 September in 1560 – the room in which he slept in is about 9 x 7 yards – one window to the north 8 lights about 2 feet high and 17 or 18 inches broad and one window of 4 such lights to the east – the bed too high and modern to be that he slept in – himself in armour under canopy in north east corner – large map (about 4 yards x 7 or 8 feet) of the environs of the place (of Dalecarlia) done by Johan Brandberg 1751 and 1758 of the royal college of mines at Stockholm – old pictrures of the kings since Gustaf I including the present king – large pedigree tree of Gustaf I and his desendants down to the last of his line (about 5 feet x 5 feet worth copying) Besides Gustaf there are 3 other figures large as life standing near the door – 2 Dalecarlians peasants and a man in armour from near Upsala –

a  the white washed place just to the west of the winding staircase, must be the cellar.

“Utsigt af Ornäs”, Edward Bergh, c 1850.

 Ornässtugan still a popular visiting point.

Shingle roof each shingle about 18 x 5 inches and about ½ inch thick fined away to 1/3 of that – every where 3 laps except just at the eves and there 2 laps – then whole of the premiere down to the floor and the parapet of the gallery (upper gallary) covered with red smeared shingles rounded at the bottom edge – the winding staircase also thus shingle covered – fronts south the necessary an oblong squary projection to the north – the building is 3 equal sized rooms the necessary entered by a passage taken off 2 tiers of gallery 3 doors on each opening into the 3 rooms apparently same size as Gustaf’s above and below – no fire place in his room – could not see the others – locked up – doors about 5 feet and high with each a high threshold to step over – all kept in good order – the timbers laid log-wise (tree upon tree) and boarded against in the inside (lined with boards inside) – the wood house raised on rough stone work (white washed) 3 or 4 feet high more or less according to the level of the ground.

 Lake close south and west of the house within a few yards of it – Lake with wooded islands very beautiful – 2 or 3 cottages hereabouts and houses scattered about at some distance – at a little distance is small neat white washed house – the house of the squire? The place belongs to the grandson of the man (noble) just dead before his trial ordered for the cruel imprisoning of his wife who in consequence lost her reason and died miserably – her corpse ½ eaten by rats  - 2 or 3 years ago.

 7 lights east end of top gallery window and 2 lights in the window east end of house 6 ditto west end of ditto – the 2 ditto in window west end of house look on the lake – they are 2 nice little rooms one at each end of the upper gallery – the lower gallery parapet an open sort of trellis work  

Rain came on about after 1 and now at 1 ¼ heavyish shower for ½ hour

Curious old house well worth seeing – should like a model of it.

 Hops today – everywhere lilacs – generally forming garden-hedges – fair some time ago – sat writing till now 2 ½ p.m. – then went to meet madame Starenfeld wife of mister le majeur owner of the old house and the squire here – he had gone for her to do the honour, speak French and shew us the rooms locked up – an old date cut on 1 of the timbers EM 1391 in the passage going to the necessary said to be the date of the house                                                                                                                

Very civil nice little woman – had her from 3 (just as we were setting off) to 2 40/.. – it was her mother who died so miserably – she (madame Starenfeld) distantly related to mister Brandberg who made the map and fitted up the room as it is at present – he bought or got the property and it came to mrs Starenfeld’s family about 30 years ago – she shewed me the cellar – one of the rooms at the end of the gallery –

 Off at 3 ¾ - they stopt us with coffe – went to the house off from there at 4 ¼ – at 4 47/.. at the ferry over the Dal – over in 5 minutes – beautiful foresty laky drive – pretty ferry – the distance shut in all round by wooded hill – 17 to 18 famms deep water – noir like deep water – over in 5 minutes for 4 skilling banco – at Naglerby at 5 20/.. – village – sat (waiting for horses) in the carriage in the farm or straw yard before la poste – seems a neat little place – 1 ¼ miles from Falun to Örnes and 1 mile from Ornes to Naglerby – instead of returning to Falun have come along the other side the lake (Dalsjö) good road to here and from here to Säter 1 ¾ miles –

 Korn (koorn) barley – lade, barn – Træske, to thrash corn

Havre (haav-räh) oats

Ochre – harva (ochre ploughed – harva harrow)

 Naglerby, a wood, unpainted rather scattered village 20 minutes off the large good white washed church Gustafi kirke – at 7 ½ pump long line of high across the road for iron works and large unpainted wood village – and just out of the end of it turn right to Säter having till then seemed to leave instead of approach its white church seen ¾  hour before arriving at the station quite at the end of the town and far from the church –

 Our drive from Örnes and more particulary from Naglerby the best farmed most livable part of Sweden we have passed thro’ – good corn and potato crops – a good deal of oates yet to cut, but riper good pasture – ground clean from stones as in other countries

 The Dal a good river – lost sight of it from Naglerby – wide open large well inhabitated valley all along particulary from Naglerby – very nice agreeable comfortable pretty drive this afternoon – madame Starenfeld said the people were poor in Dalecarlia – no apperance of it but the women’s sheep-skin jackets woolside in-  and leather (looking rather like buff) outside – a fine healthy looking set of people – madame Starenfeld told me that a large glass wicker-enclosed bottle of brandy (like one of our vitriol or aqua fortis bottles cased in wicker like a florence oil flask) is worth 20 rigs dollars – they distil brandy for themselves but not to sell – distill from oats but a little wheat is mixed with the oates – Limpa bread has syrup and orange peal and aniseed in it. They make it for home use but can’t make it so well as the boulanger.

 They gave us very fair coffee with cream so rich one could hardly pour it and a thin sort of wafer biscuit gofery called rohan – their house that they themselves live in – and where we were has 2 rooms below their salon and bedrooms and opposite the entrance door a closet and door to the stair case leading up to the grenier garret above – near is another building for the children and servants and an other for the kitchen and another for storehouse etc etc and thus every the establishment consists of several houses and outbuildings – they have 14 servants all paid partly in kind and a small part of their wages in money – the owners of estates can’t leave home – she said they had too much to do – true – wrote the above till 9 p.m. and then supper coffe and bread and butter and little round pancake all good – supper and all ready for bed at 9 ¾ - fine day except the heavy shower between 1 and 2 p.m. F 66° in our little bedroom now at 9 ¾ p.m.

 In margin:                          next to Gustaf (among the kings) is the picture of the lady?  to whom the house then belonged when Gustaf was here. Map and pedigree  

                     majeur and Mrs Starenfeld

                     biscuit limpa bread brandy

[unicyclehippo]

ok bc i have no self control Whatsoever - patterson & jane

//

she’s the smartest one in the room, pretty much always. it’s not something she likes to bring attention to for a number of reasons—everyone in the team is brilliant at something, everyone brings their own skills to the table, it’s not polite—but it’s something she knows like she knows that two is the prime element in the Z/6Z quotient ring. a fact. 

so when she has no idea what to do, it’s a new and frightening situation for her. 

‘patterson?’

jane—taylor, maybe—touches her elbow very gently and patterson looks up at the bird tattooed across her neck, at the choppy haircut, and then, finally, knowing that she must, at the concern in jane’s eyes. 

‘hi, hey, are you headed out? too? because i certainly am, yup.’ patterson clicks again at the button to the elevator, realising that this is the sixth one that she’s called. she hears the faint click of moisture in jane’s—taylor’s?—mouth when she opens her mouth to speak and she thought she could deal with it, she really did, but the relief that crashes through her at the sound of the elevator doors opening is...really something. ‘oh wow that was quick! i should, uh, time these elevators at some point.’

‘you don’t already know?’ jane asks, stepping in with her. patterson chances another look and jane has her head tilted away, shoulders hunched a bit uncomfortably. 

‘it differs in a lot of elevators, actually,’ patterson tells her, and she lets the facts filter out. ‘gearless traction elevators move, eh, about twenty metres per second.’ jane makes a small sound of surprise and patterson grins. ‘which is cool, right? that’s only a climbing speed, though, and it doesn’t factor in acceleration and deceleration time but, you know what I mean. but yes, that’s climbing. safety regulations mean that descent is restricted to ten metres per second.’ the elevator dings politely and patterson lights up, gesturing to the opening doors. ‘fortuitous timing.’

‘yeah, that’s cool.’ jane looks a little baffled but she’s nice enough not to mention it. 

she walks out with patterson, through the lobby and toward the street. patterson picks up her pace a little; with every second that goes by, it’s another second that jane might try to talk to her about it.

‘i heard the call this morning,’ jane bites out before they make it to the door.

patterson sighs and slows. ‘oh.’

‘yeah. sorry.’ jane looks as awkward and uncomfortable as patterson feels but the difference is that she presses on. ‘i think you should go.’

‘excuse me?’

‘i know, i’m sorry, it’s none of my business,’ she hurries to say, ‘but i think—pattereson, i don’t know anything about my life or the people i lost or, or, hell i don’t even know what my favourite colour is and when i get flashes of anything, it’s...’

‘good?’

‘terrifying, actually.’

‘oh.’ 

‘yeah.’ jane shoves her hands into her pockets, casts a look over the street. it’s not a look that civilians have; it’s one patterson recognises from weller, from zapata and reed. mayfair less so but patterson thinks that’s just because she’s better than all of them. patterson adds it to her growing number of mental notes on jane. ‘anyway, i know it’s not the same but, you said to me that you feel empty.’ she lowers her voice, which patterson is grateful for. ‘maybe if you go to this dinner and, and surround yourself with all the things you and d-david,’ she stumbles a little over his name. likely because patterson feels herself flinch. ‘sorry.’

‘it’s fine.’

‘right. it was just a thought.’ jane shrugs. ‘uh—good night, patterson.’

‘good night.’

they part at the door, jane toward the train, patterson toward the taxi rank. 

//

‘i’m not brave like you.’

jane looks very much surprised to see her there, which...shouldn’t surprise patterson. but it does because she tends not to think about what other people are thinking; she gets so wrapped up in her own plans and train of thought that she forgets that other people aren’t following. or can’t. 

‘patterson, what,’

‘i’m sorry,’ she says, steps back from the door. ‘i’m sorry, i totally just barged into your life and,’

‘hey, whoa, calm down.’

jane’s hands settle around hers; they’re cold, and patterson hisses, wraps her own always-warm fingers around hers. 

‘your hands are freezing.’

‘yeah, i,’ jane looks embarrassed. ‘i can’t get the heater to work.’

‘what?’

‘i—can remember how to take out a guy in two seconds flat,’ she grumbles, ‘but i can’t remember how to turn on a radiator.’

‘oh. oh no.’ patterson doesn’t mean to sound amused but...she is. 

jane rolls her eyes. ‘yeah, yeah. hey, you’re smart.’

‘i...i am, yes.’

‘come on in then,’ jane offers, and she opens up the door to her safe house and guides her in. ‘it’s over there.’ she points and patterson nods. 

'oh sure, you just need to turn the valve.’

‘the...valve.’ jane lifts a hand to her forehead. ‘of course.’

patterson tries not to smile, pressing her lips tight, but she can’t really help it. until she remembers why she had come, and then her smile drops away. ‘i, actually, came to ask you for a favour.’

jane leans back against the counter, crosses her arms over her chest. ‘sure.’

‘really?’

‘yeah.’ when patterson doesn’t say anything, twisting her fingers together until it starts to hurt a little, jane says, ‘you said you’re not brave.’

‘huh?’

‘when i opened the door. that’s what you said. is that about the restaurant booking?’

‘the—no, pfft, no, it’s about something completely different and—yes. yeah, it is,’ she sighs, when jane just looks at her, eyebrows raised. ‘it is. i want to go—actually, funny story, doctor borden said something really similar to what you did, which means it’s probably a good idea and,’

‘patterson?’

‘huh?’

‘breathe.’

‘right.’ patterson sucks in a breath. ‘i don’t want to go alone.’

jane blinks. she straightens, a look of surprise mixed pity—no, not pity, something that grates less at patterson. understanding, maybe? the look is there for a second and then it’s gone. 

‘i’ll get my jacket.’

//

they look ridiculous.

the restaurant is nice, something david always insisted dressing up for. ‘anything to treat my lady,’ he would say with that goofy smile of his,that made all those crinkles curl around his lips and his eyes, and patterson feels warm and then so, so cold thinking about his smile. 

‘steady,’ jane murmurs next to her, and patterson lets go of jane’s wrist where she’s clutching so tight jane’s skin has gone blister white.

‘sorry.’

‘it’s fine,’ she says, and she sounds honest, she sounds like she really wasn’t hurt, and patterson lets herself wonder as they’re lead to the reserved table what exactly jane might have gone through. what kind of pain she might have felt. true, patterson isn’t the strongest person but having someone grab at your arm so tight hurts a little, she’s sure of it. does she just have a high pain threshold? stupid, she chides herself, we already know that she does. yes to a high pain threshold, and to experience, judging from the scars. 

‘patterson,’ jane murmurs, and she touches a hand to patterson’s elbow to pull her back into the moment. ‘we can leave, if,’

‘no. no. i’m here.’ she forces herself to look at jane, smile. ‘i’m okay.’

‘okay.’

jane nods to their server, a young asian man wearing a very neat apron tied around his waist, and he sets the water and their glasses on the table.

‘may i get you something to drink?’

‘bourbon,’ patterson says, almost a rasp.

‘i—uh,’

‘two bourbons,’ patterson corrects herself, and the man nods and leaves with a brisk step. ‘if you don’t like it, i’ll drink it.’

jane, instead of looking worried by the comment, grins. ‘good to know.’

she’s wearing a leather jacket over a thin hoodie and her best non-stained shirt. and patterson, she couldn’t change out of her work clothes for this—couldn’t think about it being anything like a date with her now-d—her now dead boyfriend, so she’s in the same clothes she’s been wearing all day and smells a bit of sweat and chemicals. super attractive. she hopes david is happy. the thought sends a pang through her chest and she takes the bourbon when it arrives, wraps her fingers around the glass, and sips at it. 

jane tastes the bourbon too. ‘not bad.’

‘you might like whiskey. i wouldn’t be surprised, actually, you have a bit of a,’ patterson wiggles her fingers toward...jane. just all of her. ‘whiskey vibe.’

‘what’s a,’ jane mimics her, grin growing, ‘whiskey vibe?’

‘i don’t know. just, zapata plays this game where she looks at someone and figures out what their favourite drink is. she’s pretty good at it.’

‘what did she say about me?’

patterson sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, tries to smile. it comes out as a bit of a grimace. ‘she didn’t know.’

jane turns her head away, laughs. there’s a harsh edge to it, but just the edge. the rest is a little sad. ‘figures.’

‘sorry.’ patterson looks over at her for a minute longer, the line of her neck, the lines of her tattoos, before she takes up the menu and scans it. ‘do you know what you want to eat?’ her neck and cheeks burn when the silence stretches on and she clears her throat. ‘right. memory.’

‘yup.’

‘well, how about we get another bourbon each and pick some random meals and we see what you like? it’s all really good here,’ she adds.

looking up to see how jane feels about that, the other woman just shrugs, nods. ‘it’s fine, patterson. this isn’t about me anyway.’

‘no. it’s about my dead boyfriend having made a reservation for me and me needing a f-friend to come with me so that i can face it. and i’m not doing too well,’ she says, as lightly as she can, fingers fluttering at the sides of the menu, ‘so let me do something nice for you so i don’t have to think about it. okay?’

jane’s eyes flash again. ‘yes ma’am.’

‘thank you.’ she downs the rest of her bourbon when she sees the waiter making his way over. the burn of it makes her voice tight and high—or maybe the whole situation, who could tell? ‘two more bourbons, please, and we’ll take the tasting course.’

‘of course. excellent choice.’

//

the wait for their meal is excruciating until patterson remembers the crossword she shoved into her bag. she pulls it out and jane instantly moves to clear a space on the table between them, an interested frown creasing her brow. 

‘you like crosswords?’

‘i don’t know.’

‘but you remember what they are?’

‘sure. borden said that i have my... my procedural memory is fine but my declarative memory is,’ she makes a sound like a miniature explosion, opens her fingers out from her right temple. ‘so i know what a crossword is but i can’t remember ever having done one before.’

‘right.’ patterson drums her fingers on the newspaper. ‘this is the times crossword, it’s kind of a big deal. lots of readers, lots of followers. they’re pretty difficult.’

‘okay.’

‘and i have a way i like to do it,’

‘patterson.’ she looks up a little nervously to find that jane is outright grinning at her. ‘we can do it your way.’

‘okay great, it’s just that i have a way that i like to do things and,’

‘and i don’t remember having a specific method so i don’t mind using yours. we’re a perfect fit,’ jane drawls. ‘go ahead.’

patterson wants to laugh, almost, at the comment but she isn’t sure if that would be in poor taste. instead, she quirks a little smile at jane—relieved to see it returned—and pulls the crossword toward herself. 

‘i like to start by using the gimme’s.’

‘gimme’s?’

‘oh, those are, like, the easiest ones. the ones you can fill out without even trying. once i have those, it’s like having landmarks that you can pin into a word and work backwards from there.’

‘got it.’

‘okay, so, drones, seven letters—‘

‘like airforce drones?’

‘not necessarily. the crosswords are a bit of wordplay sometimes so it might mean a surveillance system of some kind or it could mean,’

‘you already know what it is.’

‘it’s menials, i’m sorry,’ she apologises, writing the word into its place. 

jane laughs. ‘next one. maybe by the end i’ll actually get one before you.’

patterson sucks in a breath through her teeth. ‘is that a challenge?’

‘i think it is, yeah.’

‘you should know that i am incredibly bright.’

jane shrugs. ‘i might be too. let’s find out.’

//

‘five down, six letters, response to don’t panic.’

‘panic,’ jane says promptly, making patterson grin. 

‘that’s five letters and it doesn’t fit with the letter l that we have.’

jane cranes her neck over her plate, purses her lips. ‘something that ends in calm?’

patterson taps her nose with her pen, nods. ‘very good.’

‘you already guessed that.’

she smiles at jane, ignores the way her vision blurs to put david’s face sitting across from her. tugging her attention back to the page, she murmurs a quiet, slightly smug, 'maybe.’

//

‘navigation abbreviation. three letters.’

‘ene.’

‘huh?’

‘ene,’ jane repeats. ‘east nor east.’

patterson points to her, competition and success shining from her eyes. ‘good one.’

‘wow, that sounded painful.’

‘it wasn’t. i’m thrilled you got one.’

‘keep trying, patterson, i nearly believed you that time.’

//

‘got. one. patterson.’

‘what?’

‘that’s what it says,’ jane tells her. ‘got one, patterson. do you think...’

‘david,’ she whispers, snatching the paper back. she traces the letters, fingers shaking. ‘what—‘

‘you said he booked the restaurant a month ago, right?’

‘yeah.’

‘and you said that you do crosswords on your romantic nights out?’

‘yeah.’

‘so,’

‘he got a clue in a crossword for me, for us to solve together? why would he do that?’

jane purses her lips. ‘he solved one of my tattoos with you, right?’

‘well, yeah, but,’

‘miss? something sweet?’

patterson looks up, smiles a tremulous smile at their server who sets the slice in front of her and makes a quick getaway. she isn’t sure if it’s a heavily tattooed woman in leather, or a plain, sweet looking woman perpetually on the verge of tears, but he hasn’t lingered at all tonight. 

‘there’s a sheep on my dessert.’

‘is that common?’

‘i,’

‘i’ll find out.’ jane stands swiftly, sets a hand on her shoulder when she passes by headed for the kitchen. only moments later, she’s back. ‘it’s not common. david came by weeks ago with it and directions to put it on your cake.’

patterson glances over at the david in jane’s abandoned chair. ‘why? david, what is this?’

he smiles. ‘a clue.’

‘a clue.’ she turns the sheep over between her fingers. ‘got one patterson. you solved another tattoo. he solved another tattoo,’ she says, bursting from her chair. ‘we have to go!’

‘patterson!’ jane tears after her, following her out of the restaurant. ‘patterson, wait!’

‘we can’t wait—i’m not crazy, jane, david left this for us—me—to follow and,’

jane catches her hands, one a fist around the little sheep. ‘i don’t think you’re crazy. i just don’t have any money and we have to pay the bill.’

‘oh. oh.’ patterson looks back to the restaurant, the server waiting, nervous, on the stairs. ‘yes, yes, of course, i’m so sorry.’

//

‘do you really think it’s a good idea to break into this apartment?’

‘we showed him our badges,’

‘your badge,’

‘my badge,’ patterson nods, a grumpy little frown making her nose crinkle. ‘i can’t believe he didn’t let us in!’

‘not everyone loves the FBI.’

‘yeah, well, this is really important and—what are you doing?’

‘huh?’

‘why are you climbing—jane, get down.’

‘you said we need to get in there,’ jane points out very reasonably. ‘that is a ladder.’

‘that is illegal.’

‘do you want to find out what your boyfriend left for us or not?’

‘left for me,’ patterson reminds her, sharply, and jane steps back. the metal taps under her boots and then there’s a dull sound as she jumps down from the air conditioning unit. ‘i’m sorry.’

‘don’t be, it’s fine. it’s your information to follow. however you want to do it.’

‘it’s yours too,’ patterson reminds her. ‘i mean, it’s literally yours.’ she waves a hand to jane, her body, and turns back to the ladder. ‘i don’t think i can make that jump.’

‘you can. i’ll go first, kick it down for you. you climb up after me. if that’s what you want to do.’

her eyes are totally calm fixed on her, though they’re the colour of a churning green sea, and patterson’s breath hitches at the thought of directing jane—a super secret memory-wiped top agent—to do something that’s super illegal like breaking into an apartment block. it’s wrong. very wrong.

it’s also pretty cool, and she’s had three drinks, and she wants to. 

‘do it.’

jane nods. she swings back up onto the air-conditioning unit. while patterson does the math—force, distance, mass, time—jane simply looks and then leaps. her hands catch around rusted bars and she heaves herself up like a chin-up, pulling the ladder further down with an ugly squeal of metal. 

‘better hurry,’ she advises. ‘we don’t know who heard that.’

‘right. right. because it’s super illegal.’

‘last chance to back out.’

‘no.’ she clambers up the ladder until she’s on the fire escape next to her. ‘this could save lives. it’s important.’

and, she doesn’t tell jane, she can see david waving down at her cheerily from a few levels above. 

she pushes ahead of jane, climbs the steps quickly. there’s a single heart-stopping moment three floors up where one of the railings gives way and she topples through it, falls. and then jane is right there and she grabs the back of patterson’s jacket and swings her into the ladder. there’s another horrid squeal crunch of metal and patterson is shaking but she’s alive and clutching onto the ladder.

‘you okay? come on,’ jane guides her, voice soothing. ‘climb back over. i’ll go first and make sure it’s all safe.’

‘o-okay,’ patterson nods, and jane’s cool hands ease her tight grip on the rungs and grab her thigh behind the knee and haul her over the railing. ‘you’re bleeding,’ patterson pants.

‘huh?’ jane pokes at a red spot on her shirt, wipes it away on dark jeans. ‘no, it’s nothing. rust.’

‘i am a scientist, i know what blood looks like.’

‘fine, it’s blood,’ jane allows, but doesn’t tell her where it’s from or if she’s okay, instead walking ahead to test the railings and the steps. 

the landlord from before starts to yell at them, slamming his window shut. they hear his feet on the inside stairwell and exchange a look, running up to beat him.

//

‘alright, we’re inside. now what?’

the landlord screams at them from the other side of the door. jane drags a chair across the apartment and tucks it underneath the jiggling handle. 

‘that’ll stop him for now,’ she says. ‘but not for long. and i feel like i probably shouldn’t kill him.’

‘probably not,’ patterson huffily agrees, though adrenaline and alcohol are mixing to make her feel like, hell, maybe jane should take him out. she wheels around to point to david, who leans cockily against the window like an asshole. ‘and you! all your shit is gone! why didn’t you tell me that before we wasted all this time getting here?’

‘how would i know that? i only know what you know,’ he points out, and patterson makes a disgusted sound, turns away from him, throwing her hands up into the air. remembering her company, she spins around to find that jane is examining the walls and floorboards, testing for suspicious creaks and knocks. 

‘i’m not crazy.’

‘i didn’t say anything.’

‘i know.’ patterson does know that, and she would leave it. except for the fact that if jane mentioned it to mayfair, or borden, or weller then...then she wouldn’t have her job anymore. no one wants to work with or hire someone who talks to ghosts. ‘i know he’s not real,’ she continues. ‘i just...it makes me feel,’

‘better?’

‘yes.’ 

the landlord batters again at the door. screams his head off to be let in. 

like hell, patterson thinks, and tunes him out.

jane nods, walks the perimeter of the apartment slowly. ‘i can’t see any normal hidey-holes,’ she says. ‘it’s your boyfriend, your clue. where would he hide it?’

‘well. everything is gone. but,’ she glances over to the still-grinning david, looking the same as he had in life, lovely brown eyes, glasses slightly smudged. hope that this might not be an entire waste of time, she starts to talk out loud, hoping that will help her pick up on something she’s missed. ‘he gave me the crossword clue. and the sheep—of course. the sheep.’

‘of course!’ jane agrees.

patterson looks eagerly over to her, only to stop and laugh when she realises that jane is joking. ‘it’s—it’s from one of your favourite boardgames,’ she explains, fishing the sheep out from the zip up pocket in her bag. ‘you have the sheep and you cook it in the fireplace.’

jane’s eyes flash to the fireplace. she strides over, hand disappearing into the dark space up to the shoulder. after a moment, she takes her hand back and stands. 

‘well?’

‘it’s your find,’ jane tells her, waving her forward. ‘i just wanted to make sure it was safe.’

‘oh. i—okay.’ patterson kneels. sets her bag to the side. she slips her hand up the inside of the fireplace, fingertips brushing against rough brick and the smooth band of metal and then—‘i feel it. a bag?’

‘that’s what it felt like to me.’

it crinkles under her questing fingers and she sticks her tongue out, reaches a little further. grabbing it, patterson pulls it out and stands, bringing it over to jane to examine. 

‘a key?’

‘carson’s clockworks. i know this, it’s a speakeasy on willabe street.’

‘well then.’ jane grins, orange from the streetlight throwing her face into a puzzle of shadow and light that patterson finds fascinating, beautiful. she moves before patterson can memorise it, though. ‘what are we waiting for?’ she asks, voice tight with anticipation, and her cold fingers wrap around patterson’s wrist and she tugs her to the window. 

//

the speakeasy has an automaton— ‘is that not the coolest thing ever?’ she asks jane, who agrees but in a placating kind of way, which makes patterson roll her eyes— that stabs a constellation into the placemat. 

‘lets get this back to the lab. i’m about nine hundred per cent sure that it’s andromeda but i want to be certain.’

‘nine hundred per cent isn’t certain?’

‘not in my line of work,’ patterson grins. the alcohol has mostly burned off by now so she’s running on fumes and maybe a little desperation. that this whole thing isn’t a waste of time, that david really did solve another clue. that somehow, just for this one night, she can keep him right here next to her a minute longer. 

it’s funny, being back in the exact same place only a few hours later, and jane grins at her when she leans back against the wall of the elevator, watching the numbers click over in the screen of the elevator. 

‘thank you,’ patterson blurts out after a few seconds that draws out to feel like an age. ‘for coming with me tonight and doing...all of this. without question.’ jane nods, shrugs, but patterson continues on. she wants more than that, she thinks. some acknowledgement that jane knows that this is above and beyond. ‘people don’t, they don’t really do things like this.’

‘what? help people out?’

‘you barely know me,’ patterson says quietly, steps to halfway across the elevator. jane’s arms come up to fold over her chest, so patterson stops. ‘i just, i just mean that i’m thankful. and you didn’t have to do any of this so the fact that you did, it...it means a lot.’

‘you’re welcome,’ jane says in that low, crackled rasp of hers. it gets stronger when she’s tired or worked up or maybe uncomfortable, patterson has noticed, so she steps back and bobs a nod, smiles. 

david, in the corner, smiles too. 

‘so, to your lab?’

‘yes! to the lab.’

//

‘it’s the bull,’ patterson whispers. ‘but we’ve figured that one out already.’ she sags, lifts shaking hands to press against suddenly hot eyes. ‘weeks ago.’

‘patterson,’

she jerks away from the cold touch to her shoulder and there’s a moment when she thinks jane is going to leave but then she’s holding her again and turning her into her chest, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

‘it’s okay,’ 

‘it’s not, it’s not okay! i dragged you all across the city because i thought we would solve another,’

‘patterson.’

she pulls back, swipes under her eyes. jane shakes her head. 

‘i didn’t go with you because i thought we would solve a tattoo. i went with you because you asked me to.’

patterson blinks up at her. ‘oh.’

jane’s lips flatten into an uncomfortable grimace. ‘yeah. besides, maybe it’s one of the tattoos that has a second meaning,’ she suggests, like it isn’t the most brilliant thing anyone has ever said before, and when patterson gapes at her, she says, ‘is that stupid?’

‘stup—no. no that’s amazing,’ patterson tells her with a surprised laugh. the slip of emotions is dizzying but so is the possibility of another clue and so patterson grabs onto that and whirls back to her monitor. ‘what are we missing!’

//

‘it would make sense if it was taurus, it would connect to the constellations,’ she suggests, chewing on her lip.

‘right.’ jane squints at the screen, clearly out of her depth. she smiles grimly at patterson. ‘i’m sorry, i’m not much of a partner for this bit.’

‘that’s okay. we just need to find someone to chase down or shoot and we’ll be right up your alley again. that was a joke.’

‘you’re not wrong,’ jane shrugs. ‘you think it’s constellation aligned. taurus is a bull.’

‘yeah, but that’s too general. what about this,’ she points to the eye, blank where the rest of the bull is totally filled. ‘this...could be a star.’ she lines up the taurus constellation with it, barks a satisfied laugh when the star and line of the constellation fits perfectly with it. ‘ah! we solved it! that’s great!’

‘and what is the name of that star?’ david asks, and for a moment his face moves through jane’s to smile at her. 

she blinks quickly, looks away from that back to the screen. ‘alderbaran. what...is aldebaran?’

//

‘this is the only place within three hundred miles with the word alderbaran in the name.’

‘can’t imagine why, it just rolls off the tongue,’ david snarks from her left. 

‘super catchy,’ jane drawls from her right.

‘tattoo must point to something in here,’ patterson tells...them...and she makes her way to the shop door, talks her way inside. it isn’t long before the owner offers them tea, and breakfast, and patterson is already telling him about david, and the scavenger hunt, before she notices jane’s frantic signals not to say anything. 

he leaves to bring out some pieces from his astrological section and jane strides over. 

‘what was that about?’ patterson asks her. 

‘you just told him everything.’

‘not everything.’

‘enough, then.’

‘he seemed nice. and he gave me tea.’

jane squeezes her eyes shut. ‘patterson, everyone seems nice. it doesn’t mean they’re not...’

‘what? russian spies?’ 

‘honestly? yes.’

‘that’s enough, mark is nice.’

jane sighs. ‘i’m going to look out back for more bulls or something. just be careful.’

//

she doesn’t see the rag. 

//

‘—blood sacrifice under taurus—they sent another message! —lovely veins,‘

‘i’m so stupid.’

‘opposite, opposite,’ david says, and patterson sobs because it’s just one more fucking sign that he’s just a figment of her own mind.

//

the ropes rasp against her skin, burning red lines around her wrists. 

the snow is freezing on her bare feet.

‘jane,’ she whispers to the trees, stretching out forever into the distance. ‘god, jane,’ she says again—if he did this to her, what did they do to jane? 

//

‘hey, hey don’t do that. don’t you give up. we’re gonna stay here, stay quiet, stay low.’

//

‘patterson,’

‘that’s jane,’ david says. ‘go to her. pick yourself up and go to her.’

‘she’s not real.’

‘she is, she’s real,’

‘right. real in the same way you’re real.’

david’s face falls. ‘patterson, trust me. she’s real. go to her.’

//

she has a log in her hands and he’s there, nice mark with the bleeding scratch she gave him, and jane is in his crosshairs and it hurts so much to hold onto the log that it’s almost a relief when she loses her hold of it, smacking it up into his arms and making his shot go wide.

blood spatters bright red over the white snow—it’s not poetic, or holy, blood spilled under the taurus stars. it’s just red. 

and patterson hurts all over. 

jane’s hands feel warm, which isn’t a good sign. ‘—hear me? can you hear me, patterson?’

‘i - i can hear you.’

‘we need to get you warm,’ she says, and her words are brisk but so, so gentle, and she strips off her own jacket and helps her into it and then, telling her exactly what she’s going to do, she crouches down and pulls patterson up and over her shoulder and carries her out of the forest and back to their truck.

the cold and the air still stings her feet and hands and face, but jane’s jacket is burningly warm around her and she just keeps talking to her, ‘you’re gonna be okay, patterson, you did so good, i’m so proud of you, you did so good’ and patterson relaxes. 

//

the hospital releases her once her core temperature is normal again. her toes are still tingling but she buys three pairs of socks from the giftshop - all of them ugly - and checks out AMA. the ride to david’s old apartment is inadvisable by any stretch of the imagination but she stops a few buildings down and leans against the railing, looks up at the window of his old apartment and remembers the plants that used to hang there and how they could see the new years fireworks from the firestairs. 

‘thank you.’

‘for what?’

‘everything. today. and the scavenger hunt.’

‘have you forgotten that i almost got you killed?’

patterson smiles. shakes her head. it’s harsh to hear that from him because it’s her own stupid mind saying it, and it’s hypocritical because she is the one that got him killed. she looks down at her hands and can’t make them move, too stiff in her mittens. when she cries, she can’t stop that from happening either. 

‘i’m so sorry,’ she tells him. ‘i - i don’t know how i’m ever going to forgive myself,’

‘you can’t blame yourself.’ the words don’t sound real, not really. because she still feels guilty and so fake-david doesn’t really believe what he’s saying either? or because she doesn’t want to hear it?

‘i do. if i hadn’t’ve,’

‘it’s not your fault. you loved me. i know that. and i loved you. you know that. i won’t go away. i know you think you’re never gonna find someone like me again and,’ he shrugs, with a cocky little tilt of his head. ‘well, you’re right. it’ll be impossible to find someone of my specific intellectual and,’ he grins, ‘sexual gifts. i know it seems impossible but one day you’re gonna be ready for someone else. and they’re gonna be incredible.’ patterson shakes her head. david presses on. ‘know who i’ve always liked? that jane chick.’

‘what?’ patterson’s head snaps around. ‘you’ve never even met her.’

‘oh wow, you’re right. it’s almost like i’m a manifestation of your subconscious or something.’ he laughs when she huffs, looks away. like a pang in the chest, she knows what he’s going to say next before he says it. upside of creating company yourself—you always know what they’re gonna say. that would make everything so much easier. or not, because when he does say it, her heart still breaks a little. ‘i’m gonna go.’

‘i don’t want you to,’ she says, almost a wail. she’s glad there’s no one around to see her.

‘i know. but i’m already gone.’

patterson lingers a minute longer, then as carefully as she can with numbed fingers, she sets the little sheep on the rail. 

‘goodbye, david.’

there’s a figure all in black at the end of the street, dark hair chopped to just below her ears. patterson stops when she’s on the corner across from jane, noticing that she didn’t bother to hide herself. 

‘see everything you wanted to see?’ she calls over, knowing it’s not fair to be harsh to her but unable to help it. ‘crazy patterson who gets herself kidnapped talks to her dead boyfriend. more on the six o’clock news!’

jane stares over at her, eyes so dark in her bone-white face. ‘you shouldn’t have left the hospital.’

‘i was cold. it’s not like i’d been shot or something.’

‘you were freezing,’ jane hisses, nearly unheard from across the street. she looks both ways before jogging over. patterson thinks about leaving but doesn’t; she really is very cold and she can’t make her legs move. whatever jane wants to say—probably how foolish it was to talk to mark, or go into the backroom without her, or anything else like that—what she does say is, ‘do you need help?’

‘no.’

jane waits. 

patterson’s shoulders slump. ‘yes,’ she whispers. ‘i can’t feel my legs super well.’

‘okay.’ 

//

jane flags down a car, takes her home. she must have found a wallet somewhere because she pays with some tattered twenties over the picked vinyl taxi seat and helps patterson out, and up into her apartment. 

‘exposed brick. nice.’

‘you like that?’

‘apparently,’ jane tells her, turning her head slightly to grin at patterson. their faces are very close together and jane looks quickly away. ‘keys?’

‘here.’

she hands them over, well aware that she can’t use them when her fingers are like icicles. 

jane leads her to the bathroom, runs the water warm and leaves her with instructions to slowly heat up the water so she doesn’t scald herself. 

patterson doesn’t know why but she assumed that jane would leave but fifty minutes later when she stumbles out of her bedroom, pink-skinned and dressed in her thickest flannel pyjamas, two blankets in her arms, there she is. staring at the wall.

‘oh. that’s, those are,’

‘my tattoos. i thought you were told to stop bringing them home,’ jane says, but she doesn’t sound mad.

‘i was. i did.’ patterson dumps the blankets onto the kitchen counter. ‘but. i’m sorry—is it weird for you to see?’

‘they’re on my body,’ jane tells her. ‘it’s not any weirder. besides, i’ve got a wall of my own. i’m really not allowed to bring things out of headquarters, though, so all of mine are hand-drawn.’

‘really? you’re an artist, then?’

‘i’m pretty sure i was a soldier,’ jane tells her, exhaustion written into every line of her body and in the flatness of her voice. she turns away from the wall, casts a careful look over the apartment, over patterson. ‘you look warmer.’

patterson becomes very aware of the beanie on her head, bright pink with little round tufts of fur. ‘ah. yes. i am.’

‘good.’ she looks toward the door. ‘can i sleep here tonight? on the couch, i mean?’

‘yes.’

‘i won’t get in the way and i’ll clean up after—oh. okay. great.’

‘you saved my life, jane. you can sleep here.’

‘it was a, a team effort,’ jane points out, and she scratches a little uncomfortably at the tattoos on her left wrist, the beehive on her hand. 

‘and if they wanted to stay over, they could,’ patterson lies without a flicker of hesitation. ‘d-david used to get cold so there are a lot of blankets. you’re welcome to take some.’

‘thanks.’

‘you’re welcome.’ patterson looks to the kitchen, to the tea she was going to make for herself and the file she was going to look over, but maybe it’s the long shower, maybe it’s knowing that jane would watch her the whole time—or even help—or maybe it’s the fact that she is keenly aware that there is very little in this world, blood-sacrificers included, that can get through jane, but she feels the lure and tug of sleep at her eyelids. ‘goodnight,’ she yawns, and to her surprise jane strides across the room and pulls her into an incredibly gently hug. 

‘i’m glad you’re safe,’ jane tells her, and patterson curls her fingers into the shirt jane is wearing, still blood-stained, and breathes in the smell of gun-smoke and sweat and pine and biting cold. 

she blinks. an arm curls beneath her knees. 

she blinks. the light in her room flickers on. 

she blinks. a cool hand brushes against her chin as it tugs warm blankets up. ‘sorry,’ a familiar voice rasps. ‘cold hands, i know.’

‘s’okay,’ patterson slurs. 

she blinks. the room is dark, but the door is cracked open an inch. there’s a faint hint of light and the flutter of papers. jane, she remembers, and sinks into her pillow, sighs. she is warm, and safe, and for now that’s kind of the most she can hope for. 

[writingsofmyimagination]

Submissive Injunction Chapter 1

New Joker Fic, no idea how many parts this will be, i’m just rolling with it :)

Happy Reading.

any comments welcome :)

WARNINGS: None...Yet :)

“Come on Sarah, it will be fine, Gotham’s not as bad as you make it out to be” pleaded Stacey, her coal coloured hair swept across her flawless face as the bitter chill of the wind unrelenting in its assault. Even since becoming a MD her college party attitude somehow still remained intact. She was always chased the bad boys and with her beauty she never did any real chasing. She’d been droning on for ages about coming just to catch a glimpse of The Joker and even actively wanted to try and catch his attention. Lunatic! Even in Metropolis his reputation was like no other. I was in no doubt she’d definitely catch something in her revealing blood red jumpsuit. People would definitely enjoy the view of the large gap down the middle front of her outfit teasing all the way down to the top of her naval. It definitely contrasted to my more dignified outfit consisting of a white blouse with a thin strip of black material loosely tied into a bow under my collar, my slim black trousers sat over ruby red ankle strap heels. “You’re not going to take no for an answer are you” already premediating her answer;  a heavily drunk Stacey was completely stubborn as I’d found many times. “Nope!” she beamed, I returned an exaggerated sigh in defeat; she excitedly linked arms with me and headed to the waiting line managed by two of the biggest bouncers I’d ever seen.

   I hated to admit that I was pleasantly surprised with the interior, everything was pristine considering it’s a night club; there was a hell of a lot of gold décor. Even the exotic dancers in the glass rectangular cubes dotted around the floor looked elegant. We hustled our way to the wall length gold rimmed black bar and ordered a round of cocktails; all the while Stacey’s gaze keep scanning and returning to the barricade of heavy set security guards lined up in front of the heavy gold beaded curtain. The peak of her interest was beyond the curtain on the infamous neon green slicked back hair. She gripped my arm as soon as our drinks were placed in front of us and indicated heading towards the barred off private area. We got separated in the swarm of club goers as she raced ahead; upon finally catching up she’d stopped outside one of the vacant dance boxes nearest to the private booth. I gave her a don’t even think about it look and she countered with a hell yes look. Just like that she clambered into the box and began dancing provocatively. I rolled my eyes in embarrassment tolerating the constant knocking of people around me. I motioned her to come down and she just smiled, grabbed my arm and yanked so hard I had no choice but to follow the direction of the force. I became riddled with panic, my stomach knotting with each breath. As soon as I was freed I hurriedly got back down but not before noticing the burning chaotic eyes flicker between Stacey and me and then whisper into to one of the guards who followed his gaze in my direction. Yet more trouble she’d got me in. I successfully retrieved her back to my level all giggly. A hand firmly tapped my shoulder and on the end was one of security guys who looked exactly like his jobs stereotype. His face stayed stern as he spoke “He wants to see you two ladies, please follow me” I turned to Stacey whose eyes had glazed over. “Please, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting” We followed Mr Serious who parted the crowd with ease.  We reached the threshold, my heart constricted as the curtain was peeled; I took a massive breath and stepped into the dragon’s lair.

      I stepped into the thick fog of power which froze my already incapacitated insides.. The black leather seating certainly matched the mood of the moment. The table was missing in this booth so there was nothing but dangerous space. The Joker was sat straight backed staring, legs slightly apart staring into the crowd. Both of his heavily ringed hands were wrapped loosely round a black cane with a gold top. He didn’t even acknowledge our presence as we sat down. With a flick of his wrist the security guard left and returned to his guard duty. “We’re sorry sir” I pleaded. He turned to me seriously glaring.  “It’s not you who is lacking in judgement doll” He turned to Stacey who apologised with no seriousness. “I think you should take yourself and get some water kitten” Stacey turned to me I nodded reassuringly and she staggered out leaving us alone. “I’m so sorry about her I did try and get her out of there” I crossed my legs just to stop me from fidgeting with nerves. “Princess you have been my cynosure all evening, no one else.” He turned unapologetically and deeply scanned every inch of me.  “Oh, thank you” I was taken aback not sure how else to react other than politely. I naturally returned the scrutiny, and despite the rigid stone cold persona physically he was another story.  His soft prominent cheek bones sculpted his face, his eyes with the strength of a diamond cut through my thoughts of this criminal and attractiveness was added.  I’d be lying to myself if the half opened white shirt exposing his toned tattooed pecks wasn’t sexy. He grinned, tilted his head “Are you from around here princess?”

“No I’m down here for business mainly and attempting to catch up with old friends like that one” I nodded to the beaded curtain”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Four Seasons just outside Gotham” As soon as I said it I probably realised I shouldn’t have.

“Like the finer things in life do you?” he seemed pleased with this fact. He rose to his feet and swiftly switched and sat next to me. He placed his arm along the back of the chair behind me leaning in; a surge of ice flowed through my veins originating from the touch of his hand running up the inside of my thigh “I could show you a lot more” he purred into my ear. I jolted up.

“I think I’d like to leave now” I demanded avoiding eye contact for fear of those dangerous eyes. I stood confidently hiding the internal bungee jumping of my stomach. He vultured around me, his breath on my neck, he paused before speaking “But of course anything you want, Frost will show you out” He must have been in earshot as he walked in, he presented professionally in a fine tailored suit which he filled nicely. His neat full beard covered the majority of his lower face but his eyes, kind, thoughtful yet shadowed with seriousness, He held the curtain for me and I took his lead. “I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon” I wanted out of there, tunnel vision focusing on the exit I did not even turn round to acknowledge him. I felt like I was only able to breathe when I was outside. My heart was still shaking, I leant against a cold brick wall and exhaled my fear until I realised that what bothered me the most was not the fear of The Joker it was that my body responded more in the way of arousal than fear. This thought trail or more probably the alcohol made me feel a bit queasy and prompted me to look up and sort out my ride home. I took my phone out to message Stacey to let her know I was done for the night; there was no need she’d already messaged that security got her a taxi home.

       I switched my bedside lamp on, chucked off my clothes and crashed into bed and clicked of the lamp. I was wide awake restless constantly fidgeting getting irritable, my brain could not stop thinking about The Jokers hands caressing up my thigh. I felt the need for that release from my frustration as I began teasing my skin with my fingertips.

[hamlet-writes]

Study Hall

Jonathan Crane was used to dealing with unexpected visitors, whether they be potential assailants or fellow rogues (or both).  Therefore, the insistent knocking on his apartment door came as no major surprise.  Glancing somewhat warily in its direction, Jonathan unfolded his legs and rose from the tattered leather couch he had been perched upon.  He started forward to greet his guest, then paused, thought for a moment, and swiped the syringe of fear toxin from its spot on the coffee table before crossing the room in two long strides and cautiously pulling the door open.

He had been expecting a number of people- Edward, here to pester him yet again; Jervis, here for medication or advice; Batman, here to break his nose and drag him back to Arkham- but the young woman he found himself faced with now was not one of those options.  Her long, blonde hair was disheveled and tangled, yanked out of its neat ponytail and falling forward over her tear-streaked face, and she looked up into his eyes with such an expression of horror and relief that he found himself speechless.

"...Ms. Randall?" Jonathan asked after he had regained his voice, incredulous.  That seemed to be the final straw for poor Molly.  With a strangled sob she half-stumbled, half-jumped across the threshold, throwing herself into the stunned Jonathan's arms.

"Professor Crane, please," Molly gasped, clutching his shirt in balled fists as if he would disappear if she let go. "I-I-I recognized you on the street, b-but I didn't tell anyone, I sw-swear!"  Almost by instinct, Jonathan wrapped a protective arm around his former student’s trembling figure, pulling her inside and closing the door. "My dear child, what happened?" Jonathan asked.  Even as the question left his mouth, he had already figured out the answer.  If the floral blouse pulled haphazardly back across her chest after being torn open wasn't a clear enough indicator, her shredded and blood-stained white skirt certainly sealed the deal.

"My-my coworker followed m-me out on the way home," Molly stammered out between quick breaths, still clinging desperately to Jonathan. "I...t-told him I wasn't...B-But he wouldn't, wouldn't listen t-to me.  I-I-I couldn't get him off, I couldn't, h-he wouldn't..."  She broke off at that with a sound somewhere between a whimper and a shriek, burying her face in Jonathan's chest and sobbing hysterically.

It took every ounce of Jonathan's self control to swallow the righteous fury threatening to overtake him.  Setting the vial of fear toxin down on the table, he grabbed his coat from where it hung on its hook by the door and pulled it over Molly's quaking shoulders, leading her gently inside.

“Shh...” Jonathan said. “You’re safe now.  I got ya, Molly.”

How odd to see the Scarecrow speaking so gently now, so different from the callous cruelty he usually reserved for his fellow human beings.  Stranger still to see Jonathan, usually so averse to physical contact, allow Molly to keep her vice-like grip on his shirt even as he settled both of them onto the raggety couch tucked against the peeling and mildewy wall.  For a long while he simply sat there, one arm still around her, rubbing reassuring circles on her shoulder with the thumb of his hand as she sobbed into his chest.

After what seemed an eternity Molly finally pulled away, wiping the last tears from her red and puffy eyes and pulling Jonathan’s coat tightly across her chest.

“...Ms. Randall,” Jonathan said after a moment’s pause. “You’re most certainly welcome here, but why come to me?  Why not go to the police?”  A strange question, given his open despisal of the Gotham City Police Department, but Jonathan was willing to admit that there were some things that they were better equipped to handle than he was. “Or the hospital, at the very least?”  The girl’s wounds were obviously more than psychological, but she bit her lip and shook her head.

“No, I- my parents are paying off my student loans,” Molly said, wiping the heel of her hand quickly across her face. “If they found out this happened, they’d think it was my fault.  I can’t afford that.”  Jonathan clenched his jaw but made no comment, simply nodding.

“But why me?” he asked. “Outta anyone you coulda gone to?”

“You were the closest person I knew I could trust,” Molly said.  

Her words hit him like a truck.  “Trust” and “rogue” weren’t words that were usually associated with each other, and for good reason.  Jonathan hadn’t earned his reputation as one of the most dangerous people on the eastern seaboard on words alone, and to hear Molly say that she trusted him was almost surreal.  The thought brought him back to his days as a professor, and that was enough to set the beast in his chest to growling again.

“Who did this to ya, Molly?” Jonathan said, and his voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried on it the beginnings of a storm.  The underlying threat was not lost on Molly.

“Professor, I really don’t-” she began, biting her lip.

“Who?” Jonathan insisted.  Molly looked him over for a moment, pulling his coat more tightly across her shoulders and shivering.

“Michael Bromley,” she said, then cast her gaze down to her lap. “Professor, can I...use your shower?”  The girl was giving him exactly the opportunity he needed and she knew it.  Jonathan nodded and put on what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“First door on the right, my dear,” he said, offering her a hand and pulling her gently to her feet.  She nodded slowly, starting away from him and sliding the door wordlessly shut behind herself.  As soon as the latch had clicked Jonathan had swiped his phone from its spot amongst the clutter of the coffee table, hurriedly typing in the number.

“Edward, I need an address,” Jonathan said as soon as the phone stopped ringing.

“Well hello to you too,” the Riddler said. “I’m doing wonderfully, thank you for asking.”

“This ain’t the time, Edward,” Jonathan snapped.

“Well, if you want information, you’re going to have to pay like anyone else,” Edward said with a bored sigh, no doubt draping himself dramatically over the nearest chair or person.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake-” Jonathan began.

“I run a business, Jon, you can’t just expect me to give out freebies to every tall, dark, and handsome man,” Edward interjected.

“Edward, please,” Jonathan said, lowering his voice.  There was a pause on the other line.

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” Edward said, recognizing the rare urgency in his friend’s voice. “What’s the name?”

“Michael Bromley,” Jonathan said.  The faint tapping of computer keys was the only sound for a moment.

“Just sent it to you,” Edward said with a bit of a huff. “I hope you’re gra-”

Jonathan hung up before he could finish his sentence.  Stomping across the room, he swiped his mask and the syringe of fear toxin from their spots on the table before slamming the door behind himself with a loud clang.

~

Michael Bromley fumbled with the apartment door, finally managing to get the key into the slot and throwing his shoulder against it to force his way inside.  Scratching at his sideburns, he chuckled dumbly to himself before stumbling through the dark.  Thick fingers finally found the light switch, and a hazy yellow glow flooded the apartment.  Bromley didn’t even notice the figure illuminated suddenly from behind until a hand grabbed him by the back of the neck.  Something jerked his head down, cracking his face against the kitchen table with enough force that he could feel his nose collapse in on itself even before blinding pain shot through his entire skull.  He cried out, clutching his bleeding face with rough hands and stumbling away before whirling to face his attacker.

Jonathan stood snarling from beneath his mask down at Bromley, framed by a crown of faltering yellow light- THE SCARECROW ON HIS PERCH.  

“I know what you did,” Jonathan growled, stalking towards Bromley.  The man finally seemed to take in the mask leering down at him, the hangman’s noose fastened around the monster’s neck, the syringe clutched between claw-like fingers, and all the color drained from his face as he took a hasty step away.

“What the hell’re you talking about?” Bromley said.  He knew, oh, he knew what he had done, Jonathan could see the fear in his eyes now, and in a different circumstance it might have brought a sadistic smile to his lips.  This wasn’t the time for pleasure though, oh no; this wasn’t just control, not power, this was pure, righteous fury, and a dangerous growl rumbled like thunder in the back of the Scarecrow’s throat as he advanced on Bromley.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy!” Jonathan snapped.  He bared his teeth beneath his mask. “Didja think she owed ya, hmm?”  Bromley scrambled backwards, striking the back of his knee on one of the chairs around the table in his haste to escape and falling with a harsh crash to the linoleum floor.

“Didja think she’d say yes to an animal like you?”  Jonathan tightened his grip on the syringe, prowling forward. “And ya are, ‘cause only an animal woulda done what you did to her.”  Bromley swallowed hard, glancing feverishly around for something to defend himself with.  

“Didja enjoy it, Bromley?” Jonathan hissed. “That rush of adrenaline when she tried to push ya away?  The feelin’ of power when ya hit her?”

“Why the hell do you care, man?!” Bromley said, high and strident with tremulous terror. “She’s just some dumb bitch!”

Three things happened next.  The first was that whatever thin barrier had been holding Jonathan back shattered.  He launched himself at Bromley with a high-pitched sound caught somewhere between a growl and a screech, plunging the syringe into the animal’s jugular and jamming his thumb down on the stopper with enough force to bruise.  

“She was my student,” Jonathan snarled.  Bromley stiffened, eyes widening with shock as the fear toxin slid like ice through his veins.  Jonathan could see the fear set in, could see reality slipping away, but it brought him none of the usual satisfaction.

The second was that Bromley began to tremble, crying out and clawing frantically in a desperate attempt to free himself from underneath Jonathan’s snare.  Jonathan dug one viciously bony knee into Bromley’s stomach, pinning him to the floor and glaring down at him.

“D’ya feel that, Bromley?” he growled. “It’s got ya in it’s grip now, don’t it, boy?”  

“Get off!” Bromley cried, trying to shove Jonathan away. “Get off get off get off!”

“How’s it feel, Bromley?” Jonathan hissed. “To be completely powerless?  To try an’ get away, terrified, but be unable to escape?”  He grabbed a fistful of Bromley’s shirt, lifting him up and slamming him down hard on the linoleum floor. “To be completely at someone else’s mercy?”

The third was that the door flew off its hinges, crashing into the drywall as a swift heel cracked against it.  Jonathan’s attention snapped to the door just as a gauntleted fist grabbed him by the hangman’s noose fastened around his neck, and he gagged as Batman yanked him off of Bromley, tossing him across the kitchen.  Day-old dirty plates and unattended pans clattered to the floor as Jonathan landed with a cacophonous crash on the table’s surface.

“How?” he gasped, teeth bared in a pained snarl as he propelled himself to the floor, keeping the table decidedly between him and the Bat.

“The neighbors heard everything,” Batman said, reaching for something on his utility belt.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jonathan growled.  Heaving with all his strength, he flung the table off its wobbly legs and into Batman, making a mad dash towards the open window.  Just as he was steeling himself to take the drop from the third floor, there was a flurry of yellow and red, and a puckish, masked boy appeared in the frame.

“Mind if I drop in?” Robin asked, grinning cheekily.  

“You li’l brat,” Jonathan growled, reaching into his coat for the switchblade.  Robin grabbed the top of the window frame and lifted himself up, swinging through the window and kicking Jonathan hard in the chest.  The Scarecrow stumbled backwards, wheezing from the impact.  Unfortunately, Batman had recovered from the momentary distraction, and was ready for him now, confiscating the knife with one hand and twisting Jonathan’s arm behind his back with the other.

“Damnit!” Jonathan swore, trying vainly to jerk himself out of the Bat’s vice.  Batman pulled up ever so slightly on Jonathan’s arm- a warning, but it sent a spike of pain up through his elbow that made him gnash his teeth together.

“Check on him,” Batman said, jerking his head towards Bromley.  His struggles had ceased, and he lay curled up in the very furthest corner of the room, shivering violently and gasping for breath.  Robin nodded, darting to the man’s side.

“Don’t bother,” Jonathan snapped. “He ain’t wakin’ up.”

“What did you do?” Batman growled.  Jonathan chuckled despite himself.

“My toxin’s effective at a concentration of point-one molar,” he said.

“How many did you give him?” Batman said.  Jonathan couldn’t help it- he threw back his head and laughed.

“How many, Crane?” Batman insisted, pulling up sharply on Jonathan’s arm, whose laughter turned quickly to a pained gasp.

“Five,” Jonathan snapped. “The mind can only take so much.”  Robin looked up from his crouched position beside Bromley’s comatose form.  Batman turned to look at him, and the boy simply shook his head.

“Why?” Batman said.

“Why?” Jonathan said, and the beast had begun to rumble in the back of his throat again. “Why?  If you had any idea what that, that animal had done, you woulda been here yourself long ‘fore I was.”  He tried once more to pull himself out of Batman’s vice-like grip, to no avail, and fell back, gnashing his teeth together like a feral beast. “But where were ya, Dark Knight, hmm?  You self-proclaimed protector o’ the innocent, you come to the aid of an animal, but where were ya when she needed your help?”  Batman said nothing; he knew he would keep talking, yes, Jonathan always kept talking, perhaps too much, a byproduct of his teaching years...

His student.

“She showed up at my door, jus’ a-sobbin’ away, bleedin’, an’ she asked for my help,” Jonathan snarled.  Well, that wasn’t exactly fair- Molly would be horrified by what he had done, he knew it, but the man had deserved it...

“Who?” Batman asked.

“Molly Randall,” Jonathan said, as if it were obvious. “He-”

“WayneTech employee,” Batman interrupted, pursing his lips.

“Well, yes,” Jonathan said, though he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything.

“What happened to her?” Batman asked.

“Whaddo ya think?” Jonathan spat, craning his head to glare back at him.  Batman clenched his jaw and said nothing.  Jonathan’s attention was drawn to Robin, glancing uncertainly between rogue and vigilante, and the small part of him that was still a teacher hoped the boy had no idea what they were talking about.

“Your time passed, Batman,” Jonathan said. “She didn’t need protection, she needed revenge.”

“Not like this,” Batman said.

“Exactly like this,” Jonathan snapped.  Red and blue lights pierced through the hazy yellow glow still illuminating the apartment, and police sirens crescendoed slowly to life.

“Took ‘em long enough,” Jonathan scoffed.  Wordlessly, Batman steered Jonathan towards the door, allowing for one last glare at Bromley’s eerily still form before he was being led swiftly down the stairs.  Batman all but shoved him down the last flight, and Jonathan squinted against the sudden light.  

“Hey, wouldja look at that?” a gruff voice barked, and a rough hand yanked the Scarecrow’s mask from his face. “If it isn’t our favorite straw-stuffed freak.”

“Charmin’ as always, Detective Bullock,” Jonathan said, giving the man his most unimpressed look as Batman pushed him further into the throng of GCPD officers and squad cars.  Flashing lights, angry voices, and callous shoves surrounded him, flooding his senses, too much, too much-

Someone was snapping handcuffs onto his wrists, yanking him out of Batman’s custody, he wasn’t sure who- not that it mattered- and a nightstick was rammed into the small of his back, forcing him towards the nearest, very unappealing backseat of the squad car.  He’d been pushed halfway into it when he turned, locking eyes with Batman.

“You know I’m right,” Jonathan said.  A hand planted itself on top of his head, shoving him the rest of the way into the seat and slamming the door behind him.  Through the window Jonathan maintained eye contact with Batman.  The Bat looked away under his scrutiny, and the Scarecrow grinned.

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 40791/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7

Read on: Ao3

Emma wonders how thin the floor below her is. She also wonders if the person who lives below her can tell that she’s been pacing for the last hour. It’s always been her nervous vice- when starting a new family, before English exams, waiting for grad school acceptance letters- she’s always taken to walking in circles. And despite what Killian told her the day before, despite the millions of assurances she’s told herself- it’s not stopping her from walking in circles around her apartment’s floor.

When her phone rings, she flinches before pulling it out of her bag. The phone was an early investment, a Misthaven Sim card so that she’d be able to get calls while here. Now, she extracts her phone from her purse on the counter.

She’d spent hours before worrying over what to wear. What does one wear to meet a queen? She finally settled on a navy knee-length skirt that tied at the waist, a striped blue and white button up, and fake pearl earrings. A little make up, a professional pony tail, and a suitable brown leather tote finished her look.

“Hello?” She says into the phone.

She still hasn’t mastered area codes, but she can tell from the country code that it’s a Misthaven number.

“Hallo? Dis eez Jacques, of zee Queen’s securitay,” He says, his Misthaven accent thick and hard to understand, “Zye am waiting outside, when you please.”

“Oh right,” Emma mutters, “Um, merci? I’ll be there in a moment.”

She grabs her purse, gives her pony tail a final tug, and then heads down the stairs.

Waiting for her outside the apartment is a black car with the royal seal on it. Emma’s beginning to get familiar with it now having seen it on the Royal Box at the opera, but also on many other public places in Misthaven.

The man exits and opens the door for her. She steps in, a little bewildered by the treatment. Inside, there are bottles of sparkling water inside the cup holders, an assortment of fresh fruit between the two seats. Emma tries not to feel completely out of place.

“Eet well be a twenty-minute drive to zee house of zee Queen,” The driver says, as he slips into the front seat, “Zif you need anyting, please just let me know, Madame.”

“Merci,” Emma manages again.

She watches from the window as the car drives through the familiar streets of her neighborhood, before giving way to more unfamiliar areas. They drive past the outskirts of Misthaven City, where there are still a few rundown buildings left to be restored. The sight of them gives Emma the chills, remembering the pawn shop of her first week.

Still farther they drive and the city gives way to the countryside. Misthaven is a very small country, but it does have a sizable amount of countryside considering how small it is. There are friendly green farms, cheerful windmills, and old grey cottages flicking past her window.

Slowly they begin to drive up the mountain, there are more trees here, along with winding mountain roads. Occasionally she gets a peak of the town from mountain side, and each time it is farther and farther below her. Emma can imagine why a Queen like Mary Margaret would want to live here- far from city center and the troubles and stress that come with it.

Finally, the car stops in front of the small chateau. It’s elegant, light grey stone and archways. Emma can see some stained-glass windows farther up. Did Chagall do these ones too? There are gardens going off in all directions- a neat rose garden, organized in Tudor patterns, then beyond that an English-style garden with follies and wild flowers.

“Emma!” Queen Mary Margaret’s voice calls.

Emma had been so engrossed in taking in the estate, that she didn’t notice the Queen’s arrival. The woman is waving brightly, walking down the main stairwell to greet her.

“Your majesty,” Emma says, dropping a curtsey.

“Oh my dear,” she says, “Don’t feel the need to engage in such dramatics. You are at my home. It’s much more casual here.”

“Oh, right, okay,” Emma says, trying to figure out what ‘casual’ means to a queen, “Well, it’s great to see you again.”

“You as well, my dear,” the Queen replies, taking Emma’s hand to give it a friendly squeeze. “Come on in. Welcome to my house.”

The inside is just as seriously insane as the outside. There are ancient tapestries lining the entrance hall, fine dark wood, and golden embellishments. Emma feels like she’s entered some sort of historical display house, not a place that a real person actually lives in.

“This is a really lovely place,” Emma says politely.

“Oh,” the Queen replies, “It’s just our old summer place really. It’s not as ornate as the main castle. I wanted a simpler life when I returned here.”

Simpler life? Emma not certain this exactly what she’d describe as simple.

“Do you have a lot of these?” Emma asks, “Other houses?”

The Queen sashays her way down a corridor and Emma follows.

“Yes, of course,” She says, “There is family home by the seaside, close to the Belgian border. And then in south there is a small, little estate that has been in the royal family for years. It was supposed to go to Emma.”

The Queen pauses and gives a little glance back before adding, in a more melancholic tone. “My daughter. Princess Emma.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma replies softly.

There is a moment of silence that falls between them, as Emma looks down awkwardly, picking at her nails.

“She’s out there,” The Queen replies, “I feel it inside me. One day she’ll return to the kingdom and she’ll have her house in the southern valley.”

It’s a lovely thought. But Emma can only think of Killian’s thoughts the day before. She’s probably dead. If not, she could be anyone.

“I know it sounds silly,” the Queen says, “but I’m very bad at giving up hope.”

“That’s admirable, your majesty,” Emma tells her.

The Queen smiles softly, ruefully, before leading Emma towards a pair of French doors.

“Let me show my favorite room in the house,” She says, her voice is brighter now.

She leads Emma into a small green room with gold stripes. The room is circular with long windows that open out onto the woods nearby. Upon further exception, realizes that the walls aren’t just green and gold. The walls are a forest.

The gold stripes work as illustrations of trees, diving the walls into a multitude of foliage. As Emma gets closer, she sees more- knots in trees, tiny fairies and nymphs peaking out of trees, birds and butterflies, mushrooms and moss- all of it detailed into the walls.

Her eyes turn to the ceiling, it’s decorated so that one half shows the night sky and the other the day. Puffy white clouds and sunshine on one side and glittering constellations on the other.

“I see why it’s your favorite,” Emma remarks.

“I call it my Enchanted Forest Room,” the monarch tells her.

“It’s dazzling,” Emma murmurs.

The Queen beams and leads Emma over to a table. The table has already been set for tea with fine china cups with delicate floral designs. Seconds after they sit down, a servant (holy crap a freaking servant) brings over cart with a pot of hot tea and three-tiered tray of treats and sandwiches. The whole thing is so beautiful that Emma’s fingers twitch as she tries not to Instagram the scene. Seriously, this place would get so many likes.

“Is tea alright for you?” The Queen asks, “Or would you prefer coffee or hot chocolate?”

Emma would always prefer coffee and she’s pretty sure that Princess Emma would ask for a hot chocolate, but the truth is Emma’s nervous and doesn’t want to disturb the woman.

“Tea is perfect,” She replies.

The queen nods at Emma and she knows that it’s her cue to pour the tea. Emma’s listened to enough of Belle’s talk on regency books to know that it is a sign of respect to the elder woman to have the younger pour the tea. But that doesn’t actually mean that Emma knows how to pour the tea. Especially when the tea pot is hot and heavy (and like, obviously, not in the good way).

She tentatively reaches for the pot, not sure where to put her hands. Does she keep her hand on the lid while she pours? Will her wrist actually hold the weight of the pot? Emma puts the handle in one hand and the spout, but she’s instantly burned.

“Fuck,” she hisses, pulling back her hand.

The queen looks up at her, eyes wide.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry your majesty!” Emma says, “I didn’t mean to use foul language in front of-“

“Oh please,” she laughs, “I may be a queen, but I’m still human! Let me show you.”

The queen takes the pot gingerly in her hand, one hand on the handle and the other on the lid.

Dang it. It was the lid!

The queen pours Emma’s cup and then her own. She takes a bit of milk and sugar, before adding a small lemon tart to her plate. She nods at Emma to do the same. In turn, Emma swirls in a splash of milk and puts a small pink macaron onto her plate. She’s pretty sure that there are sparkles somehow baked into the cookie.

“So, Emma,” the Queen asks, “How are you liking Misthaven so far?”

“Very nicely,” Emma replies, “The university is very supportive. It’s a beautiful place to spend a semester.”

“It is, isn’t it?” the queen smiles, taking a sip of tea, “The library is just breathtaking. When I was getting my degree, I used to try to sneak in there to study. I’d dress like a commoner- with a baseball cap and everything. Normally my security would find me and drag me out, you know, off to study in the royal library- but the few minutes I’d get in there would be amazing.”

Emma smiles, taking a nervous sip of tea. She’s drawn in by a specific detail.

“You have your own royal library?”

The queen blushes and smiles, “I do, a few actually. There is one in the main castle, but mostly it’s just filled with legal books now that the parliament has relocated there. A lot of government scholars study there. I’ve moved most of the fiction to my private library here. And the overflow to the Princess’s castle in the valley.”

“Wow,” Emma murmurs, “I can’t imagine having so many books to myself.”

“I know that being queen comes with immense privilege, trials too, but definitely privilege. I think that all the books are the biggest part of that, and the free opera tickets,” She laughs.

“I remember the first time I got a library card,” Emma says, a little wistful between munches of macaron, “I felt like I won the lottery. All those books, as many as I wanted to read, all for free. I’d never felt so lucky.”

The queen smiles, “Well, Emma, since we are friends, you are welcome to use my library whenever you wish.”

The Queen of fricken Misthaven just offered her library to her?

Emma gapes a little bit, “Thank you. I’d really love that.”

The Queen blushes again and takes a sip of her tea.

“So what do you like read?” Emma asks.

“All sorts of things,” The Queen replies, “Classics, of course, Austen, Eliot.”

Dang it, she should’ve meet Belle instead, Emma thinks.

“But I also have a soft place for fairy tales,” She adds.

Emma looks up from her tea, a smile playing on her lips.

“Me too,” Emma blurts.

“Do you?”

Queen Mary Margaret’s eyes look as bright as Emma’s own.

“The Red Fairy Book saved my life,” Emma tells her, “Seriously, those books were my first favorites.”

The queen looks like she might cry, “I had a copy of those that I meant to give my daughter. The shoe books too- you know Ballet Shoes, Dancing Shoes, Theater Shoes- those ones. And all the Little House on the Prairie. And Anne of Green Gables. And Little Women. The Secret Garden. And of course, The Little Princess. I wanted her to read all the little girl classics.”

Now Emma feels like crying too. She has never thought that she’s the kind of person who could feel bad for a queen, yet she feels overwhelmingly sad for this woman who never got to watch her daughter grow up. A daughter which Emma is trying to impersonate, kinda. Emma doesn’t know how to react so she reaches for another macaron and shoves it in her mouth.

Then she mumbles, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to read them with her.”

“Thanks Emma,” she says, “What other things do you read?”

“Well, I like kind of post-modernism and contemporary things. You know? The weird, techno-infused, inventive things,” Emma says, “Creative, unique stuff.”

She takes another sip of tea before she keeps going.

“I’m also into world literatures. I like the concept of books as nations. I’m really interested in how we tell stories about different places and cultures, and how those stories change based on who is writing them,” Emma explains.

“Wow,” The queen says, “Your interests seem to be all over the place, yet you seem to be very articulate about what you like.”

Emma smiles, pleased.

“My favorite,” she continues, “is Blanche Neige. Have you heard of her? I think you’d like her since you like fairy tales.”

There is a small pause as the queen grimaces, searching for what to say. Her voice is grave when she responds.

“Actually, sorry, not to be rude, Emma, but I don’t really care for Blanche Neige.”

Emma feels like she’s been slapped in the face.

WHAT DOES SHE MEAN SHE DOESN’T LIKE BLANCHE NEIGE?

Emma is immediately grateful that she’ll have Killian to call tonight to rant to about this whole situation.

The queen continues, “It’s just that I don’t think she has the right to speak about Misthaven. This tiny country is my life, my whole life, and she uses it as a plot device.”

“That’s not fair,” Emma snaps, “She uses it to encourage revolution. She uses it to stand up for Misthaven during a time of oppression.”

“Does she?” The queen asks, “Or does she take advantage of the oppression to capitalize on a story?”

Emma gapes. She can’t believe that the queen doesn’t like Blanche Neige.

“Do you even know if she lived in Misthaven at the time?” The queen demands, “There is no proof that she cared about Misthaven. She was just someone making money and getting sympathy by using exploited people.”

Emma gulps. The woman is taking down the most important person to Emma and it makes her feel borderline sick. Blanche Neige is Emma’s life. The idea that Blanche Neige is anything but a hero seems blasphemous to her.

“Does that mean that no one can write about exploited people? Tons of people write everyday about the Holocaust, about genocide, refuges, war, oppression of all forms.”

The queen frowns, “I’m sorry if it sounds harsh. This is the real world, my real world, not an academic classroom. My husband died for Misthaven. My daughter died for Misthaven. My friends, my guards, my subjects- they all died for Misthaven. If Blanche Neige thinks it’s as easy as climbing a tower to find a savior, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Emma swallows and exhales before saying, “I’m sorry for bringing her up, your majesty. I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay Emma,” She says softly, her tension defused after her outburst. “Your heart is the right place. I won’t dislike you for liking her writing, but just please respect my request to never mention her again in my house.”

Emma nods.

“Would you like a tour now?” The queen asks, rising.

Emma stands immediately. That seems like another Jane Austen-y thing to follow. Don’t sit when the queen is standing? Not that there are queens or kings in Jane Austen, but still it seems like a proper thing.

“Sure,” Emma says.

“Let’s start with the library,” The queen says, “I wasn’t lying before, you really are free to use it whenever.”

She leads Emma down several hallways, before she approaches a pair of doors. She gives Emma conspiratorial grin, before throwing them open.

It’s an immaculate library. Emma’s never seen anything like it.

While the Misthaven University library is all dark wood, this room is bright with long windows. It’s all marble floors, gold leaf, and ornate blue reading chairs. Emma wants to explore it all immediately. Just from where she’s standing, she can see several large fairy tale anthologies. She wants to devour them immediately.

Emma can only begin to forgive Queen Mary Margaret for the Blanche-Neige-hating-thing because she has an impossibly perfect library.

“Can I really use this anytime I like?” Emma gasps.

“Of course, my dear, you are very welcome here,” The queen tells her.

“Do you mind if I look around?” Emma asks.

“Take your time,” The queen smiles. “I’ll leave you to it. Just give me a ring when you’re done and I’ll finish the tour.”

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles, as the queen backs out of the room. Emma gazes around at the gorgeous library, grinning, before pulling a stack off the shelf and curling up in a chair.

Killian is just finishing his shift when Emma calls.

“Ah, there you are, love,” He says, flopping onto his bed, the exhaustion of the long shift leaving him.

“Hey Killian,” She replies.

He listens to her voice. There is something tired and hesitant about it.

He’s been thinking about her all day. Her meeting with queen. He’s proud of her for even agreeing to the thing, despite her walls and baggage. He knows how it is to open one’s self up to vulnerability after being hurt by someone. In essence, it’s what he’s doing with Emma now.

“How’d it go, Swan?” He asks.

She lets out a moan, “Good I guess, but also horrible.”

“Horrible,” He repeats. “How so?”

Emma lets out another sigh.

“Here, actually, stay where you are. I’ll be right over,” He replies, hanging up.

He stops at Mamie’s on the way, grabbing two drinks, before heading towards the tram. It’s early evening and chilly. Killian’s wearing a lumpy knitted navy jumper (a gift from Ruby’s mamie last Christmas) and a pair of jeans, but it’s almost not enough. Early September has brought with it a kiss of fall.

It’s hard to jump the turnstiles with two warm beverages, but Killian Jones isn’t an ordinary rapscallion and he manages it surprising grace (or so he tells himself).

He arrives at Emma’s apartment twenty minutes after her call. He rings her apartment and she buzzes him up. She waiting at the door when he arrives.

She’s dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants, the European jogger style ones that stay close her legs. She also has a bright pink sports bra and a thin tank top over that. Her blond hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders. The whole look is obvious casual, so it’s alarming how incredibly sexy she is. Damn it Emma Swan.

Yet all the same, he can see faint smears of black on her face. Smeared mascara. She’s been crying.

“Emma,” He says softly, “What’s wrong?”

She lets him. Her grey blanket is crumpled on the couch. Her stack of Blanche Neige books are scattered across the sofa and coffee table. He wonders what she was doing before he arrived.

“Ugh,” She groans, “it’s all so stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

He takes a seat on a stool at her counter. She slides in beside him.

“The reason I’m upset,” She replies, folding her arms on the counter and pressing her head into them.

“There’s no stupid reason to be upset,” He laughs, “Out with it, Swan.”

She makes a grunt from where she’s buried her head.

“I’ve brought Mamie’s cocoa, if that will tempt you to tell me,” He tells her.

She reluctantly raises her head, rolling her eyes as she takes the mug.

After a sip she says, “Is there cinnamon on this?”

They both let loose into laughter.

After it calms, she tells him.

“Queen Mary Margaret doesn’t like Blanche Neige.”

Killian laughs again.

“Swan, this is what you are so upset about? Her majesty doesn’t share your same taste in literature?”

Emma takes another sip of cocoa.

“No, it’s not just that. She doesn’t just dislike Blanche Neige, she abhors her. Or moreover, she seems to think that there is something morally abhorant about liking Blanche Neige.”

Killian is beginning to put it together. Blanche Neige is Emma’s life. The queen’s condemnation of the author feels like a condemnation of Emma herself.

“She thinks that Blanche Neige had no right to write about Misthaven and their troubles. She doesn’t think that she was encouraging revolution, so much as profiting off of it,” Emma continues to explain.

“I’m sorry Swan,” Killian says.

She nods at the book messy, “I’ve been spending the rest of the afternoon rereading her books, trying to prove to myself that Blanche Neige is a good person.”

“Of course, dear old Blanche is good,” Killian laughs, “She saved our lives.”

Emma nods, “I guess. I mean this is a huge issue in literature today. Who gets to tell what stories? Can you tell a story about a place you’ve been? Can you tell a story about a struggle you’ve never been through? Are you bringing attention to a place or people in need? Or is it merely profiting off their tragedy?”

She sips her hot chocolate.

“I always thought that the argument was irrelevant. Who cares who tells the story? Literature isn’t about the author or the author’s intentions. The novels we read need to analyzed on their own,” she continues.

Emma removes the lid of the cocoa, using a spoon left on her counter to eat a bit of cinnamon flavored whipped cream.

“But it’s different now that I’ve met someone whose life has been so affected by the tragedy. Queen Mary Margaret lost everything. Does someone have a right to capitalize on that pain? I don’t know. The whole thing makes me feel sick.”

“Oh Emma,” He says.

He stands and moves behind her. He sweeps her hair from her back and over one shoulder in a single movement. Emma might be afraid of kisses and not ready for anything beyond friendship, but he’s realized that he can help her make progress in small, tender gestures. Holding hands, hugs, shoulder rubs- they are all enough to start to break down Emma’s walls. She deserves to be touched by someone who cares about her.

“Is it okay I rub your shoulders?” He asks.

“Sure,” she says, resting her chin on the counter.

He begins to soothe soft circles into her shoulders. Her skin is smooth underneath his thumbs. Beneath the skin, he can feel knots in her muscles. She holding a lot of tension and stress in.

“Did you tell her that Blanche Neige is your dissertation?” He asks.

“No,” Emma mutters, “I don’t know how she’d react if she found out. This whole thing would probably come to a halt.”

“Is it really that bad?” Killian asks.

“She told me never to mention Blanch Neige in her house again,” Emma sighs.

“Yikes,” Killian remarks.

“I know,” Emma laments, “And she invited me to use her library. She wants me to keep coming back and having tea with her to talk about books. It’s going to come up at someone point.”

“So ride it out till it does,” Killian says, “Or make up a fib if she asks. Or tell her you can’t answer.”

“That’s true,” Emma agrees, “It’s just that she’s so much of my life. It’s hard not to share it with her.”

“I know,” Killian says. “What you need, love, is something to take your mind off of this predicament.”

Emma turns to him and he nods over to the couch. Her eyes widen a bit, making an assumption.

“Not that,” He says, chuckling.

He walks over to where her books are scattered and begins to stack them neatly, sliding them onto her shelf.

“I think you need a break from Blanche Neige,” He says, “You can read her tomorrow when you’ve had time to clear your mind.”

Emma walks over to her couch, her hot chocolate in hand, and pulls the grey blanket around her. Killian perches on the corner of the sofa.

“What do you say to another book?” He asks.

“What do you have in mind?” She replies.

“Have you read The Princess Bride?” He asks.

“I remember being a group home where it was one of the few VHS tapes we had,” Emma muses. “I think I watched it a million times that year. But, uh, no. I never read the book.”

Killian grins, “Well, good. You’re in for a treat.”

He slides of the arm of the couch to settle beside Emma. Her legs are tucked under her and she leans in a little to listen. Killian can smell a light floral scent waft off of her, probably her shampoo.

He pulls up the novel on his phone and settles into the story. He’s always liked reading out loud and Emma is good listener. Stories are part of her DNA and so she reacts spectacularly, her eyes wide with wonder at the most surprising turns, then glazed with tears when she thinks the lovers had lost each other for good. Killian tries not to smirk to see such rawness on Emma’s face. While she seems self-assured, walled-in, she has a secret soft spot- at least for characters in books.

In a few hours, Killian has made his way through half of the book. Somehow, between Buttercup and Wesley losing and finding each other again, Emma’s legs turned up over his. By the time they make it out of the forest, Emma’s head has drifted to his shoulder. Killian tries not to all out grin as Emma’s comfortability around him.

Okay, so they might not be dating for now. Killian hates it, but he can accept it. He can accept it if it means tender hugs like they shared yesterday. He can accept it if it means her falling asleep on his shoulder, her lovely legs draped over his. He can accept it if it means her late-night calls, showing up at her apartment to find her in her pajamas. He can accept it if it means this quiet, unspoken intimacy. Sure, they aren’t a couple, but they are close. It’s only been a few weeks of friendship and they are this close. He can live with that.

Her eyes begin to flutter shut, so he nudges her.

“Emma, love, you’re falling asleep,” He says softly, “I should go. We can finish the story when you are more awake.”

She stirs a bit, humming.

“I should go,” He says. He doesn’t want to. He wants to more time with her.

She hums again, mumbling something that sounds like, “Keep reading.”

“I don’t want you to fall asleep and miss part of the story,” He tells her.

“I guess that’s fair,” Emma says, detangling herself from him. She stretches and gets up to let him out.

“Are you a little less perturbed?” He asks her, as he makes his way to the door.

“I guess,” she says, her voice still sleep-laced.

She runs a hand through her hair, making her waves dance. “I just wish I knew who she is.”

“Who?” Killian asks, trying to follow her sleepy thoughts.

“Blanche Neige,” Emma says, “If I knew who she was, I could just ask her why she wrote it. I could figure out if she was here or not. I could figure out if she is as bad as Queen Mary Margaret thinks she is.”

“If anyone can figure it out,” Killian says, “It’s you. I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

Emma rolls her eyes lazily. “Thanks Killian.”

“Good night, Emma.”

--

Tagging some pals: @sambethe @lenfaz @pocket-anon @the-corsair-and-her-quill@kmomof4 @kiwistreetswan @princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story @shady-swan-jones @katie-dub@1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob @midnightswans

[valldoesdnd]

-- Weird War D&D: Chapter 1 --

So I’ve decided to start compiling my party’s adventures into a collection of book chapters, mainly for the ease of me recalling information and their history, but also because so many of you seemed to like my hastily written “Cthulhu vs Airship” scenario. So, just like before, this will likely be a long post, as I’ll be writing a chapter or so at a time when the urge hits me to do so. So for those that stick with it, I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: Deliveries.

+++ On board The Lightskipper, Western Elera +++

A thunderous boom roused Cie from her hammock below deck. Clambering out awkwardly, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced out the porthole window. Waves lapped at the hull, spraying fine sea mist that blurred the view of her surroundings. Looking away from the window, she stretched; instinctively checking above her bunk for the bolt rifle while feeling around underneath her for boots and a clean change of clothes.

Cie Faith hadn’t been with this group long, nor had she really spent much time out in the world herself. Looking around at the cold, metal interior of her room, she began to wonder why she bothered in the first place. They’d taken this job as easy money. Most of the time, working for the Eleran government was, especially with the cold war between it and the southern continent of Arella. And whilst she knew that Eleran military vessels weren’t the most accommodating of ships, she’d at least expected a light in the small, six foot square she’d been assigned to. She wiped the condensation from the window and let the natural light fill the room, coating the rusted tiles on the floor and bathing the empty, grey walls with some semblance of warmth.

Combing out the morning lugs in her white hair and letting it fall naturally to sit just above her shoulders, she zipped up the grey flight jacket and jammed her feet unceremoniously into a pair of battered leather boots. A low, confused voice rumbled from the room opposite, the language clear and concise, even through the closed metal door:

“Cie! Are you awake? What was that sound? Should I, er, be getting up?”

Cie sighed, shouldering the bolt rifle and hooking a pouch full of mystical ingredients to her belt.

“Probably just a training exercise Carbo! Nothing to worry about. We’ve been on this floating bucket for at least three days already. I would’ve thought you’d be used to them by now to be honest.”

Her words were met with a muttered, resonate grumbling before another loud boom rocked the cabin a little more than usual, drowning out his retort. Glancing out at the waters reflection, she spotted a glint of gunfire, followed by telltale blinding flashes of magical energy. Without skipping a beat, she checked her gear one last time, grabbed the worn, metallic flight goggles hanging on the door frame and wrenched the hatch open.

+++ The Empty Expanse. ½ Mile West from The Lightskipper. +++

“Nice shot Aurora! Keep focusing fire on the bridge!”

Thunders engines screamed as Vincent slammed the throttle open, banking the old D-Grade aircraft into a sharp, declining tailspin as the flak cannons from the gigantic C-Grade slave ship opened up in response to the group’s harrying attacks. Dipping low beneath the exploding shrapnel, Vincent pulled up, the cowling ripping off in a shower of sparks as Thunder skimmed the surface of the ocean and began to bank upward. For any normal pilot, the move would have been suicide, but Vincent Mcgraw was far from normal. Continuing his upward thrust, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger for the quintuple auto-cannons mounted along the crafts dual wings. In a roar of deafening fury the barrels opened up, tearing a deep gash in the underbelly of the vast airship above. The metal groaned, holding for a brief moment before bleeding ammunition, fuel and stolen cargo into the churning waves thousands of feet below. Seeing her opportunity, Songbird streaked towards the cut; the normally quiet, shy pixie at its controls shouting in excitement as she unleashed a torrent of magical missiles directly into the open wound. Fiery eruptions filled the sky as the falling ammunition began cooking off under the intense magical fire, sending a ripple of explosions bursting across the airship's deck, followed shortly by the delighted cries of Aurora, as she tore a neat, molten hole through the C-Grades inner levels, unfurling Songbirds mechanical wings to regain control of the bucking aircraft on her exit.

“Easy! That thing’s still got teeth!” Nomad shouted over the din, turning sharply to avoid another D-Grade craft, much like his own, that hurtled towards the large aircraft carrier below, sporting defaced markings of the Eleran Military. He banked around, taking his time through the advanced marksmen sights and sonar equipment hooked up on the interior of the cramped vessel to find his target. Barrelling out of sights of a turret shifting in his direction, he felt the judder of the rotary cannon beneath him light up, bisecting a group of slavers on the deck and sending the others running for cover before pulling away and preparing another strafing run.   Looking below him, Vincent saw the falling D-Grade impact the ships surface, erupting into a fireball before scattering debris across its deck. They might have been slavers, but by the look of their tactics, it didn’t look like their enemies wanted them captured. Another aircraft tumbled past, it’s wings stripped and it’s cockpit filled with makeshift explosives as Vincent fought to keep Thunder away from the turret mounted flak cannons still operational on the burning, metal dirigible. He reached over with a single gloved hand and flipped a switch on his console, feeling the mechanical click of the triggers realigning to their new weapon systems. Banking down toward the plummeting home-made missile, he pulled the trigger, showering the back end of it in a flurry of explosive shrapnel rounds from the twin miniature flak cannons he’d had installed. The missile detonated in a fiery conflagration before depositing its debris harmlessly into the ocean below. With a grin, Vincent released the throttle, giving his old friend a brief respite before jamming it open and sending her screeching back into the fray.

+++ On board The Lightskipper, Western Elera +++

“What in hell is going on out here?” Shouted an irritated Cie as she stormed toward the upper deck of the repurposed aircraft carrier The Lightskipper.

“I thought we weren’t expecting any heavy resistance on this job?”

She began to push open the hatch to the upper levels as the clanging of metal on metal preceded Carbos arrival. Clad in his typical reddish robes and steel plates, the construct was a stark contrast to the very human Cie, clad in her leather armour and duster jacket. He held at his side a heavy, menacing looking greataxe, and his expression was one of concern and confusion, difficult to read as it was. His form was lithe and thin, constructed from metallic fibres that weaved into each other like muscle, and his face was a blank slate, devoid of any features, eyes or mouth. As he spoke, his voice, though resonating and deep, was soft and calm, like that of an older gentlemen, though the sounds themselves appeared to resonate from the metal itself, rather than a single source.

“I’m not entirely sure. I suppose I expected something, considering they wanted us to escort them, but I didn’t expect much more than a few rogue Freerider fighters, or something similar.” He braced himself as the ship lurched again. “This certainly feels a little heavier hitting, however.”

Cie looked back to Carbo and continued to force the heavy hatch open. She grown to like the strange mechanical man over the past six months they’d worked together, finding his quick reflexes and underestimated strength very useful on many occasions, though his rash and often unpredictable tendencies did lead her to give him a wide berth during combat scenarios. A single, almost skeletal hand placed itself on the hatch and, with the metal squealing in protest, Carbo pushed the hatch open.

“Thank you Carbo. I’m surprised this carrier is still sea-worthy”. Cie smiled before continuing up the steps to the hanger.

“I hope Vorfen is airborne.” She said, her heels clanging on the metal deck as she strode across to check on Echo. The small, E-Grade one man craft sat tethered in the corner of the hanger; it’s mechanical bat-like wings folded down by its side and the magical lodestone engine bathing the interior in an arcane glow. She staggered slightly as the ship shuddered from another impact, lighter this time. Catching herself and glancing out the open bay doors of the hanger, she saw a shower of flaming debris crash into the ocean, a good six hundred or so feet away as Thunder caught the water briefly in the wake of the explosion before accelerating rapidly up and out of sight again.  

“I’m sure he will be. It takes some time for that ship of his to get airborne, but once it’s up there, I’m sure the fight will tip in our favor.” Carbo replied, striding past Cie to check on Alloy, his own D-Grade aircraft. The fighter was a standard Eleran design, with a single Skytrol engine working its way through most of the interior of the craft, ending in a large, angular propeller that rolled lazily back and forth with the rocking of the ship. He climbed expertly atop the grey wings and began clearing some debris that had landed on the window of the cockpit.

“Though I certainly think we need to really be thinking about ourselves first.”

Expecting a response, but receiving only the sounds of gunfire in the distance and echoing clangs of debris hitting the ship, he turned, looking to the direction of Echo before quickly diving off Alloys wing, moments before the small, silent aircraft unfurled its wings and darted out of the hanger, leaving a trail of translucent, arcane vapor in it’s wake.

“Right. Well then, I..er..” He muttered, pulling himself up and looking around for any sign of life, but finding none. The Lightskipper had nothing but a skeleton crew to begin with, and, with the sounds of gunfights beginning to rage across the ships main deck, it explained why no crewmen were around to assist them. Carbo looked across Alloy sheepishly for a moment, spotting figures running across the hanger towards him. As he raised a hand in greeting, it was met with a hail of machine gun fire; the bullets clanging off Alloy’s hull and whizzing across Carbos head with malicious excitement. He stumbled over a loose toolbox and collapsed into cover, his greataxe sliding out of its sheath as he did so. Staying his hand and placing the shouts between the four men taking up flanking positions nearby, the ringing across the hanger petered out as each found themselves devoid of ammunition. The lead gunman, a man thick with muscle and clad in multi-plated leather armour stepped forward, dropping the empty firearm to the ground with a resounding clatter.

“Right-o boys! They ain’t gettin’ no more birds of the ground now! This ship is ours!” He grinned, hopping over a set of crates and walking over to the battered D-Grade, turning to his men with arms outstretched.

“And this ‘ere will make a fine addition to our arsen’l. Get ready to break her down for parts lads!”

The three men, all clad in the similar, bulky armour, began walking over towards Alloy, laughing among themselves and reloading their weapons as they went. Suddenly, a gutteral, wet retching caught their ears, as their laughter was swiftly replaced by shouts of panic.

Stepping over the twitching, bisected body of their captain, Carbo shouldered the bloodied greataxe and moved toward the group, who were hastily bringing their weapons to bear. As a shot rang out across the hanger, narrowly missing the lithe, black construct, Carbo let the blade of the greataxe clang on the metallic floor, emitting a shower of sparks as he dragged it very quickly toward them.

“Now that was just rude.”

+++ The Empty Expanse. 1000ft West from The Lightskipper. +++

Vorfen wasn’t a talkative fellow. Rarely did he find time or reason to speak more than a few words, choosing instead to let his C-Grade airship, or dear friend Aurora, do the talking for him. He felt his mechanical joints whine as he turned towards the window of his bridge, looking out at the distant aerial battle above the waters. A mountain of a construct, Vorfen stood a good eight feet tall, clad in a broad steel dome that stretched upwards into deep pauldrons, held aloft by huge mechanical greaves connected via rigid support joints. Within the domed armour sat a spherical head, visible only from the cool blue glow of the sensors shaping its rectangular eyes and supported by a myriad of internal wiring. Heavy plated gauntlets slammed down on the vast array of controls at his disposal, pulling levers and spinning the helm with a veteran experience. As the metal plating groaned and tools rattled across the floor, the vast ironclad banked sharply, pulling the enemy slave ship into its crosshairs. Brick was far from agile, and by the time Vorfen had lined up the cannon batteries, the enemy was already bleeding fuel profusely; its deck littered with explosions and defensive flak clouds from his comrades. From below, a familiar D-Grade twisted sharply in the air, narrowly missing a collision with falling debris, before levelling out and refocusing its autocannons onto the now exposed engine systems of their prey, sending out another small ripple of impacts across its surface.

Checking the range dials and altitude meters, Vorfen reached across towards another section of the industrial console, clamping a heavy hand down on a square switch as his eye displays flicked from a relaxed blue to a combat red. Allowing the enemy to drift slowly between his bridge mounted iron sights and the turret mounted crosshairs, the large construct slammed down on the firing sequence, sending a volley of shells howling across the open sky, meeting their target as a vicious cannonade that tore into its starboard hull like paper. Rolling the helm to bring Bricks portside to bear, Vorfen pulled the reloader and began rotating the huge turrets to point at the deep lacerations his craft had inflicted. His bridge rattled with small arms fire as enemy crewmen began retaliating in kind with machine gun fire, taking cover behind the rented armour. Confident the reinforced windows would withstand the barrage, he continued checking dials, ensuring that Brick matched the speed and descent of its mark. His hand hovering over the firing switch, a resonating, ethereal howl echoed across the sky, staying his hand for a brief moment as a dark silhouette raced across Bricks starboard bow. Unleashing a single, intense bolt of eldritch energy into the gutted C-Grade, the esoteric bat-like shape of Echo streaked across its deck, briefly illuminated by the eerie detonation left in its wake before extending its wings outwards and vanishing into the clouds. Seizing the opportunity, Vorfen unleashed another fusilade, tearing into it like lions to a fresh carcass. Support beams, already weakened under the intense arcane heat, shattered; showering the unfortunate and beleaguered slavers with searing metal before the deck below them gave way. As the once vast, looming shape of the C-Grade slave ship disintegrated into fragments of burning debris, it slammed into the treacherous, writhing waters below, rapidly sinking from sight as the ocean consumed it.

His eye lights flicking back to a calming blue, Vorfen turned the helm, feeling Brick’s bulk below him shift as the large, once stolen, pirate airship made its way back to The Lightskipper, its newfound purpose under the hands of the protective construct at its bridge already showing promise. Glancing out the window, Aurora dipped Songbirds wings, giving him a hearty wave before beginning her descent towards the battered aircraft carrier they had been tasked to defend. Over the crackling communication radio, Vorfen heard Cie coming back into range. “Well, at least we can say we earned our keep. Maybe now they’ll consider upgrading us to something other than a metal tin to sleep in.” A hearty chuckle left the metallic figure as he laughed to himself. “Yes Cie. I Agree.” Vorfens voice was calm and direct, opting to speak as clear as only a construct could. Over the radio, a confused voice joined the conversation, crackling and distorted with static as the communications device attempted to transmit the deep resonation of Carbos voice correctly. “Did we win?” “Yep, that ship never stood a chance. Certainly something bigger than we expected on this run though.” Vincent replied, the wind whipping at his words as he came in to land. “Ah, very good. I..er, better put these locks back on then shouldn’t I?” “Carbo, did you get stuck trying to unhook Alloy again?”

The radio retained an awkward silence for a few moments as Thunder scraped across the top deck of The Lightskipper, narrowly missing a few large sections of debris covering the airstrip. Vincent let the old craft whine down slowly, waiting a few moments before placing his gloved hands on the cooling fuselage in order to lift himself out of the cockpit. Pulling off his flight goggles and facemask, he ran a hand through his dark hair before rolling his shoulders and producing a hip flask from his side. Taking a swig, he looked around, checking the horizon for any other threats, before spotting the dark form of Echo banking sharply into the battered hanger beneath him. A tough, rugged, middle aged man, Vincent was the most experienced pilot the group had. And in the age of elves, dwarves and other magical races, few could compete with Vincent's natural human talents in the sky. He breathed in the stark, Skytrol filled air, the fumes of the recent conflict lingering on the winds. He checked Thunder’s Skytrol fuel tank, and opened up the radio. “Cie, Thunder’s running on empty. Any ideas how long this trip’s got left?” “Probably only another day Vincent. We should be able to get a resupply once we reach the mainland.” Cie replied, her voice echoing across the radio from the lower hanger. “Right, well the sooner the better really. She doesn’t run on magic like yours does.” Vincent hooked the radio to his belt and walked over to Brick, the boarding ramp thudding down onto the deck and a couple of crewmen already running to hook up the mooring lines. “You did good out there Vorfen. How are you looking on fuel and ammunition?” Vincent asked, as the hefty construct trudged down the ramp. Vorfen regarded Vincent for a moment, nodding towards him in greeting before replying. “I Have Around Five Days Of Continual Flight Time Available.” He gestured to the turrets mounted on Bricks deck. “My Ammunition Count Is Approximately Five-Hundred and Forty Seven Rounds of Flak Ammunition And Fifty Rounds Of Cannon Shells” he continued monotonously. Vincent nodded. “Should be enough to get us to the Saybrcg Ports for refuelling, at least.” The construct acknowledged his response and gestured toward the steel hatch leading to the interior of the ship, allowing the fighter pilot to descend the steps towards the mess hall first.

+++ The Lightskipper Mess Hall, 18:00 hours. +++

Cie poured herself another drink and stubbed out a cigarette on the table. It had been a few hours since the attack, and things were only now getting back to normal. Looking around, she could tell that the men were still on edge. “I can’t wait to get off this thing and back onto dry land” she sighed to Aurora. The shy, 2 feet high pixie sat on the edge of the table and looked at her quietly, her mouth half full with a collection of berries and seeds. She swallowed and dusted a few crumbs off her bright, spring coloured, corseted dress, smiling at Cie. Adjusting the tiny pair of goggles strapped atop her frizzy, plaited brown hair and fiddling with her small gemstone earrings, she reached into a tiny leather pouch at her side and pulled out a small green leaf. -+- Don’t Worry! -+- A small, meek voice whispered in Cie’s mind. -+- We’ll be back soon! -+- Aurora spread her wings, fluttering into flight as she drifted over to land on Cie’s shoulder, offering her a handful of berries. “She’s right Cie. We’ll not be long, now, I’m sure” Carbo leaned across the wooden table and placing a bet in the pool of counters between the rest of the group, before checking his cards. Vincent checked his bet, raising it by a couple more counters. “Yeah, I’m with Cie though. This bites. Even with what we’re being paid. Talking about that, who do we see about getting paid?” Vincent asked, looking toward Nomad quizzically. Nomad shrugged as he considered the question, his features covered, as always, by the modified gas mask he wore, and light, studded leather armour that adorned his athletic build. Placing a dexterous hand on the table, he flipped over his cards, revealing a full house. “About a couple of hundred each, if I remember right.” His voice was muffled slightly, but his preoccupation was clear. “I think it might be another hundred for me though eh?” He chuckled as he reached over to pull in the tokens, much to Vorfen’s distaste. Nomad didn’t remember much, having suffered a severe case of amnesia after head trauma from a previous mission, long before he met the group. His ranger senses were still naturally attuned to his surroundings, however, and it was with this particular talent that he proved his usefulness to the group, especially in wild, unexplored territories. When asked his name, Nomad realised he couldn’t remember, and simply adopted the name painted alongside his craft, as a staunch reminder of his continual journey to rediscover his past. “Well whatever it is, it’s not enough. Not for these crappy conditions” Cie grumbled, taking a plate of simplistic looking foodstuffs offered from Carbo. “And I don’t know why you insist on eating with us Carbo, you don’t have a mouth.” Carbo shrugged apologetically. “It’s just nice to have the company I suppose.” Cie smiled, nodding in agreement before going back to navigating whatever food had found its way onto the plate. -+- Do you think we’ll get to see more of Saybrcg while we are here? -+- Aurora asked mentally, her fey magic allowing her to speak in silence. Vincent dealt another set of cards from the deck and threw in a few coins. “Probably. Odds are unless the I.N.C want to bring us up for a mission again like this one, we’ll be on our own for a bit.” He thought back to the first meeting he’d had with the Imperialist National Coalition. The governmental body on Elera wasn’t the most straightforward, and was certainly more militarized that he’d have liked. Everybody on the vast planet of Eressi knew that the northern continent had the biggest guns, but it didn’t stop the I.N.C from flaunting that at every opportunity. But saying that, they did pay well. And the jobs were simple. SImpler than the jobs he used to have to run back in the Arellan military. Though he was sure to keep any mention of the United Colonial Confederation out of his mercenary application. Especially with the cold war tensions slowly escalating between the U.C.C and I.N.C.

-+- I’m sure we’ll be able to find work in Saybrcg. No doubt someone will be interested in protection from the roaming sky pirates if they go east, at the very least. -+- Aurora mimed shooting down an enemy aircraft and giggled to herself. “That’s all well and good Aurora, but it would certainly be nice to have something that pays well for once.” Cie replied, polishing off the mess on the plate, and handing it to Vincent. Putting it on top of his own, he flipped his cards, showing an ace and a king. Hearing the groan from Carbo, he smiled in satisfaction as he finished the royal flush, earning back a good portion of his loss. “Well, I’m sure something’ll come up. Might just be a bit of basic work, but if it keeps us heading to Blebuff then it’ll do.” Cie stretched, standing up and looping her bolt rifle over her shoulder. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’m gonna get some sleep, anyway. If we head into port tomorrow I’d like to be ready to head out for the airfields as soon as I know we aren’t needed anymore.” The group nodded in agreement, and continued finishing up their card game. With Aurora in tow, Cie headed out of the mess hall, taking a left and heading down the steel stairwell to their separate cabins, eager to get some rest.

[fanfic-shiz]

While I’m Alive (Owen Grady)- Chapter One

Chapter Two

"Are you sure this is what you want? It's not too late to back out."

I slid off my sunglasses and perched them on top of my head, simultaneously rolling my eyes. "Come on, Claire. I already got that talk from both my folks. I don't need you doing it too." I watched as she let out a dramatic sigh, one I recognized from years of close friendship. I bit back a grin, knowing it was driving her crazy that she couldn't talk me out of abandoning my old life for this one. I bumped her shoulder playfully with mine. "It'll be fun. Like old times."

"Yeah, except now your parents hate me for influencing you to drop everything and become an islander." She grumbled, lifting one of my duffel bags over her shoulder. "Car is this way." She said, leading the way off the docks and through the excited crowd.

"Would you stop?" I chided her, craning my neck to take in my new, breathtaking surroundings. Blue skies, a wide expanse of clear waters, white beaches, and so much green. How could anyone blame me for choosing this? "They know you had nothing to do with it. I made the choice to drop out months ago...you just offered me another option." The crowd thinned out as we made our way to a parking lot near the huge ship. A sleek, expensive looking SUV was glimmering in the sunlight. I let out a low whistle. "Nice ride. The company give you this?"

She shot me a look as she clicked a button on her keychain and the trunk lifted open. "Company car. Not mine, technically speaking."

"Sorta yours." I shot back with a grin. She rolled her eyes at me as we loaded the trunk, but I caught the tiny smile tugging at her lips. She was happy I'd decided to come. I knew it. But if she admitted it, she'd also be admitting she supported my decision to drop out of college. My life had always been a whirlwind of uncertainty and spontaneous decisions and Claire hated it. She was my opposite. Structured, organized, every little detail in place. Yet somehow, we were instant best friends. Yin and yang, or whatever the hell you wanna call it. We just clicked.

"The rest of your stuff will be dropped off later, I talked to the crew." Claire said as we wedged both my duffles into the back of the SUV and slammed the trunk shut. She turned to face me, hands on her hips. She looked every bit the business professional she was, in her tailored grey dress pants and crisp pink blouse, completed by a pair of black pumps. Me, on the other hand, in jeans, a t-shirt, and a battered pair of converse sneakers.

"You don't have to say it, but I know you're happy to see me." I smiled at her, and her lip twitched for a second before she finally relaxed and smiled back at me.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You wanna see your new place first, or do you want the tour?" She asked, rounding the back of the car towards the driver's side. I climbed in the passenger seat, the leather seats unbearably hot from the tropical sun.

"Let's see this place of mine, drop off my stuff, and then you can show me around." I decided, clicking my seatbelt into place and settling back into my seat.

"Sounds like a plan." Claire agreed, the engine roaring to life as we backed out of the parking space and she steered us onto what looked like one of the only main roads on the island. "Everything you'll need is pretty much located near the park's midway. You'll probably be eating most meals in the cafeteria since there aren't any actual grocery stores on the island. Or anything else for that matter. Unfortunately there's not really much to do here."

I looked at her in surprise. "This is a theme park filled with real, live dinosaurs. How is there nothing to do?"

She gave me an amused smile by turning her eyes back on the road. "Once you've been here a while, the excitement kinda wears off. Most of the attractions will keep you busy for a while, though."

"Hell yeah they will. I can't wait to see me a T-Rex." I slid my sunglasses back on and grinned.

"How did I know you'd be the most excited about that one?" She asked, shaking her head.

I shrugged and propped my feet up on the dash. Claire gave me a pointed look, but I ignored her. "You know me too well."

"True...although I had no idea you were planning on leaving school." She added, carefully as though she was worried I'd be offended by my own decision.

Dust flew from underneath the tires as sped down the dirt road, taking curves and turns without slowing down. I smiled inwardly before answering, thinking about how her driving hadn't changed much. "I was bored. Why waste all that money when I'm not sure what I even wanna do for a living? Better to figure it out this way."

"Yeah, but, I mean what are you gonna figure out tending bar in a Margaritaville?" She asked, her voice purely curious. Not condescending, like the way it sounded when my parents asked me the same question.

"I dunno yet. But anything can happen. I'm not worried about it, Claire, so you don't need to worry either." I assured her.

She let out another sigh. "I know, Rylan, you've always been fine."It got quiet for a moment as I stared out the window, excitement building in my stomach. Maybe to Claire this place lacked the thrill it had when she first arrived, but this was all new to me. Not just the dinosaur part, but the living on an island in a different country part. I couldn't put a name to the feeling, but something was telling me that this was supposed to happen. That for whatever reason, my life was going to change here.

"So what about you, huh? I know business is booming, but what else? Any attractive men I should know about?" I asked, smirking at her.

Claire narrowed her eyes and I knew what her answer would be before she even said anything. "You know I don't have time for dating. I worked my ass off to get to the top here, not about to throw it away for a man."

I laughed. "So they're all scared of you?"

She cracked a smile and shot me a proud look. "They call me the ice queen."

This only made me laugh more, which eventually got Claire laughing. When we finally caught our breaths, she glanced at me. "So what about Parker? You guys over then?"

I made a face at the sound of my ex-boyfriend's name. "We've been over for months, Claire. He was the one who couldn't seem to understand that. Thank god this island is so hard to get to, or I'd be worried he'd pull some Romeo and Juliette shit to try and woo me and convince me to get back together with him."

Claire snickered. "Yeah, he was pretty bad."

"Seriously." I groaned, agreeing with her. "A stage five clinger. Don't know how we made it three whole months."

"Me either...I've never seen you let a relationship go on for that long."

"And I could say the same about you." I smirked.

"Touche." Claire said with a big smile.

Just then, we swung onto a different, narrower dirt road. Dozens of mobile homes dotted the grass on either side, some surrounded by neat gardens and patio furniture and others with makeshift chairs from stumps and milk crates. She drove slowly down the road, pulling to a stop in front of a twinkie shaped mobile home, the color of chrome. There was nothing in front but a single set of wooden steps leading up to the door.

"Home sweet home?" I asked, shifting to look at Claire.

She nodded. "Yup, hope you like it.""It's perfect!"

She gave me a doubtful look and I laughed. "I'm being serious. This is great."

We got out of the car and gathered what belongings I had with me. Claire dropped a silver key into my hand and I led the way to the door. I unlocked and pushed it open, and was met with the smell of fresh paint. The walls were a dull white color, the carpet brown. There was a small kitchen area to my right and a living room furnished with a couch, a coffee table, and a small TV to the left. A small, narrow hallway led to the tiniest bathroom I'd ever seen and a decent sized bedroom with a bed and a dresser.

"Anything else you need, you can just order and it can be shipped here. I know it's not much right now, but I tried to make sure you had at least some stuff." Claire shrugged, dropping my bag near the couch.

I gave her an appreciative smile. "Thanks, you're the best."

"I know." She answered.

I moved into the kitchen and started opening and shutting the cupboards, happy to see most of them were filled with mugs, glasses and plates. Although considering that Claire had said grocery stores were few and far between, I doubted I'd be doing much cooking. Which was fine, considering I was terrible at it.

"So where do you stay? I take it you upgraded from the mobile home brigade?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

Claire shifted uncomfortably. "Well, they gave me an apartment on park premises when I got promoted. It's a part of the hotel."

"Okay, you don't have to act all embarrassed about it. That's amazing, Claire. You deserve it for all the shit you do to keep this place up and running. And anyways, we both know I'm more comfortable here. When I'm in the mood to feel like royalty I can come crash with you." I shrugged.

Claire smiled appreciatively. "I really did miss you, Ry. Your optimism is borderline annoying."

"I take that as a compliment." I said proudly.

"So, should we go take a look around elsewhere? I can introduce you to your manager at the restaurant and show the ropes of getting around. You'll be on your own for dinner, though. I have a business meeting with the heads of the marketing branch."

"Sounds good, I think I can manage on my own. I am a big girl now, you know." I smirked.

"Only some of the time." Claire remarked from over her shoulder as we made our way back outside to the SUV. I paused to survey my surroundings, shielding my eyes from the sun as I admired the bright blue water of a huge lake that was just a short walk away.

The road that lead through the employee housing curved towards it and I could make out an oddly shaped house in the distance. Part mobile home, part beach shack.

"Who the hell lives out there?" I asked curiously, gesturing down the road.

Claire followed my gaze and let out a snort, rolling her eyes. "Oh that's just Owen Grady's private bungalow."

"Bungalow?" I repeated and grinned at Claire over my shoulder. "Sounds pretty fancy."

"Yeah, well, it's not. There's nothing fancy about Owen."

"Yeah? You don't sound like a fan." I turned my back on the so-called bungalow and climbed back into the car which was still cool from the air conditioning.

"You'll understand if you ever meet him. He's good at what he does, I'll give him that. Otherwise, he's incredibly irritating."

"I feel like you've said that about me before..." I joked.

"Yeah, well, you rubbed off on me. He didn't." She started the car and we rolled back towards the main road.

"I guess I'll have to see for myself just what this irritating, bungalow dwelling Grady is like." I shrugged, a slight teasing tone to my voice.

Claire let out another snort of laughter, checking her hair in the rearview mirror as we flew towards the park. The excitement I'd been feeling in my stomach ever sense I stepped onto the ship that brought me here seemed to magnify by about a hundred. It felt like I was in a dream. As disappointed at the rest of the people in my life were about my decision, I'd never felt more sure.