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junisfics · 4 years ago

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Too Much or Not Enough* — Armin Arlert

Request:

can u write armin with a praise kink???

Summary: Reader gives Armin head for the first time after a particularly long day

Content Warnings: Smut/ Nsfw 18+ (M Receiving Oral, Praise Kink)

Word Count: 2.9k

Notes: (1) i didn't know whether you wanting giving or recieving praise so i just went with this (2) i just binge wrote this mf for that anon that wouldn't leave me alone 😩😩 ugh the things i do for yall

It felt like Armin was always busy; pretty eyes staring down at aged parchments like he’s waiting for their text to change beneath his watch, ancient books flipped open to random pages are littered across the table, his fingers and sides of his palms covered in graphite and ink from his notetaking.

He’s been like this for the past few days, hunched over that creaky wooden desk that’s hidden away in a room he only leaves for meals. He’d slept in that stiff old chair too, face smushed against the wood with his arms curling around his head.

Levi had told him to navigate a route to the nearest town... which sounds easy enough until he realized that there was countless miles of forest in the way.

He was so handsome like this. He’s in his element, brain going a mile a minute, tongue between his teeth and hair falling into his eyes as he scribbles at the wrinkled pages. You could watch him like this forever... sadly, only at his suffering.

"Why don't you take a break, come on a walk with me or something?" You suggest, shifting around in the seat you had pulled up catty corner to him, elbows resting on the desk.

He raises is eyebrows slightly in acknowledgement before looking up to you, "I can't, this is really important. I'm sorry, y/n."

It's not that he doesn't want to, he wants to spend quality time with you more then anything in the world... he just can't. He knows if he doesn't finish this sometime soon that Levi will be on his ass and disappointed... then force Hange to do it and then Armin will feel bad. He looks up to Hange, he doesn't want to throw them under the gutter.

"It could help clear your mind... give you a new look at it..." Your arms fall flat, crossed against the table and you rest your chin on your forearms... pouting.

"Don't look at me like that, I already feel bad enough as it is." He runs his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face before returning to the pages in front of him. His hair falls back into his eyes.

"C'mon," You push yourself away from the desk and stand, making your way behind him, "Just talk with me for a minute about anything but the maps."

You gently place a hand atop his head and ruffle his pretty blonde hair before flattening it again. You continue this process: ruffling, petting, ruffling, petting.

He lets out a little huff, "I — y/n... you're distracting me."

Your nimble fingers take turns running through the strands, swooping his hair one way then the other... combing it flat against his head so his forehead is revealed then pushing it back over his eyes the way he likes it.

"Good, don't fight it." You smile, separating three strands carefully and intertwining them into a braid.

He attempts to continue work, picking up the graphite again and flipping the open pages around with his fingers. He circles or underlines something here and there, taking a moment to stare at it like it has some deeper meaning then flipping to the next page and doing the same thing. Maybe he'll rip out a page and set it in a pile or compare it to the map in front of him then analyze it like he's being graded... which he kind of is.

His hair was always oddly soft, no matter how much dirt or sweat got into it or how long he had to go without washing it, it was always soft. It always framed his face so beautifully.

You press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, then tilt your head to kiss his temple. He shivers at the feeling, his flushed skin hot beneath your lips.

“y/n, please. I can’t focus with you here.” His voice is quiet, as if he’s scared his words will offend you.

But then a silly little idea pops into your head and you thank god he cannot see your face because if he did he would see that stupid mischevious smile plastered across it.

“I’m sorry.” You pout, sliding a hand over his shoulder before removing yourself from him entirely to slink around the desk.

Your eyes flicker up to him to check where his own eyes are... and when you realize he’s completely back to focusing on the papers in from of him you crawl underneath the desk, kneeling in front of him and resting your backside on your ankles. Carefully, you place both hands on either knee before you.

Armin jumps, just now realizing that your knelt before him, “y/n — what are you doing.” His hands are balled into fists and forearms glued to the armrests beside him. He’d push himself away from you if he could, but out of fear and... arousal maybe? he’s stuck in his seat.

“Helping you relax.” You smile, rapping your fingers against his pants.

“I’ve — I don’t — we can’t.” Even through his babbling you can make out what he’s saying.

“Look at me,” You slide your hands slowly up his thighs, the muscle twitching beneath you, “I don’t have to do this if you don’t me to.”

A billion emotions flash through his eyes the second that sentence leaves your lips. His palms begin to sweat and stomach clenches at the feeling of him growing hard in his pants.

“No! I — I’ve just... never... done anything before. Not — not anything at all! I’ve kissed someone before! Shit — of course I have, I’ve kissed you. I’ve never done — just not anything... sexual... before.”

You realize then the amount of trust he’s put into you in that moment. All his walls have been broken down, his heart hammering against his ribcage. This is new territory for him. New territory that you, out of all people, are the one to explore. He could pass out.

“That’s okay. Armin, there’s nothing wrong with that, I promise.” You bring your hands back down over his thigh in an attempt to soothe his nerves, but what you don’t realize is that your actions are doing anything but that.

It’s hard for him to make eye contact, his own eyes shifting from your hands to his crotch to your face and then repeating a few times.

“Okay — just you — you don’t have to.” He stutters, clenching and unclenching his fists to take his mind of the growing hard on in his pants.

“I want to.” You scoot a little closer which sends another jolt of electricity to his heart, “Is this okay?”

‘Why would you want to do this?’ He thinks, ‘You gain nothing out of this’

“Y — yeah.” He answers, finally grasping onto the armrests.

Your eyes drop to your hands as they return to the apex of his thighs, pausing for a moment before reaching for the button of his pants. The metal is cold beneath your fingertips as you unclasp it, the same with the zipper.

Armin has officially stopped breathing.

You slowly pull, the zipper making a familiar rattling noise as it’s pulled to the bottom of its seam. With your right hand you take a fistful of his shirt and pull upwards to untuck it. Armin gasps.

“Can you take this between your teeth for me, please?” You ask, voice sweet and sanguine.

He can do nothing but obey, opening his mouth and biting down on the fabric as you bring the fistfull to his face. His pretty blue eyes peer over to watch you as you tuck your fingers under his waist band.

“Thank you, sweet boy... now lift your hips?” You smile.

He does as he’s told, bring his hips upwards so you can pull his pants down to his thighs. He can’t even think. He’s sitting before you in only his boxers and you about to put your mouth on his —

“Hey, you still there? You got that faraway look in your eyes...” You sit back on your ankles, removing your hands from him completely.

“Y — yeah shit, sorry — It’s just a little crazy to me. The girl I’m in love with is about to give me — give...” He speaks through his shirt.

“Suck your cock.”

His dick jumps at the lewdness of your words.

‘Yeah... that’

“Yeah.”

“Is it okay if I keep going?” You sit back up, hands resting on the bunched fabric over his knees.

He swallows hard before nodding, visibly nervous.

Your fingers reach for the waistband of the final layer, grazing over the taught skin of his stomach before delving beneath the fabric.

His breath gets caught in his throat and goosebumps scatter over his flesh, knuckles turning white around the armrest.

You pull, slowly, over his hips and down his legs until his cock springs up and slaps against his chest. He internally cringes at the sound. Armin was big... and thats not being generous. You’d say he has about 7 - 8 thick inches in his favor... your mouth practically watering at the sight.

You look at him, eyes wide and innocent in contrast to the actions you’re about to do. If he wasn’t so nervous he’d smile and tell you that you look so pretty on your knees for him.

Gently, you nod your head in questioning. He nods back.

With your right hand you take his cock at the base, weight heavy in your palm. You can feel him completely shudder underneath your touch, rising ever so slightly in his seat. Slowly, you run your hand up and down his length and twisting your wrist ever so slightly as you do so.

Your hand is so much smaller and so much softer than his. His mouth falls agape, more blood just rushing to his dick at the sight. He’s going to have this image burned into his brain forever. He bets if he focuses hard enough he could cum right now.

You can feel him pulsing underneath your fingers as you jerk him gently, his breathing already growing audible.

You’re hand is just so much different than his, but it’s the fact that it’s you attached to the hand... your hand... that has him trembling beneath you already.

“You okay?” You ask, voice so sweet and comforting as it pulls him out of his thoughts.

He nods frantically, shirt still pulled between his teeth as he watches you scoot even closer to him. You’re face is inches away from his dick.

You’re eyes look up to him when you lick the first stripe up from the base of his cock all the way to the head, swirling your tongue around him.

“Shit.” His eyes close and his head falls back. He didn’t know what he was expecting but this was not it... but my god was he not disappointed.

You give his length another tender lick, following along a vein on the underside of his cock, before you close your lips around the tip. His hips buck involuntarily into your mouth, sending another good inch or so into you.

“Oh god, y/n.” His voice, rather then lowering an octave, jumps one and strains in his throat.

You never take your eyes off him, watching his every movement to make sure he’s still feeling alright and that you’re not pushing your limit. His jaw is still clenched around his shirt, the hem of it now soaked with his spit, and his throat trembles as he swallows around it.

His cock is still in your hands as you take more of him in your mouth, the head of his cock finally hitting the back of your throat.

Your mouth is so warm and so wet that he can’t help but think that maybe this is what it would feel like to fuck you... actually truly fuck you.

You close your lips tightly around him before sliding back up with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva connecting from your bottom lip to the tip of his cock.

“You still alright?” You jerk him languidly in your hand, saliva coating his dick and your palm to provide enough slick to slide freely over him.

“Y — yeah... fuckk yeah.” He groans, head coming back up to watch you as you jerk him off.

He twitches in your hand when he sees that look on your face. Your tongue lolling out of your mouth, lips covered in spit and precum, tiny hand beating his dick for him. You’re eyes wide and looking up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He completely melts before you.

“What?” You giggle, teasing him slightly. His eyes are so full of lust and admiration.

“God, you just — shit — you look so pretty.” He whines, hips jerking up into your hand so your fists meets his pelvis.

“I think you look so pretty, so beautiful.” You smile.

Your mouth is back on him, taking him in over your tongue slowly and fitting him down your throat until your nose hits his stomach. Your eyes close as you gag slightly around him, throat constricting before you pull off of him, his dick now completely coated in spit.

Then he’s back on your tongue and you’re jerking around the base of him that you can’t comfortably fit in your mouth. The sight, the sound, the feeling is all just too much for him too quickly and he feels that heat pooling in his lower stomach and he knows this is going to be over soon.

“I — I’m gonna cum, y/n, don’t stop please.” He groans, his right hand releasing the arm rest to hover behind your head, not touching you, but shaking just behind you.

Then you pull off of him, jerking his cock a little faster in your hand to tip him over. You feel his hand meet the back of your head and then its sliding around to cup your cheek as you smile at him.

“Yeah? Cum for me, be so good and cum for me.”

You gather spit in your mouth then lean over his dick just enough so when you spit it dribbles off your bottom lip and onto him.

And that’s what sends him over the edge and cumming into your fist, hot and thick with broken moans passing his lips.

“Good job, baby, you’re so good for me.”

#armin arlert smut #armin arlert x reader smut

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kaaytea · 3 years ago

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Kuramochi Youichi x reader

Warnings: slight Sawamura slander

Summary: You are his muse, his love, his canvas.

A/n: once again pushing my art nerd Kuramochi agenda. You can't stop me, this hc will be apart of my characterization of him. Enjoy, fellow Kuramochi simps ♥️

He was being so very gentle with you.

Your hand laid in his, forearm exposed as he layered more and more color onto it's surface. His brush —old and caked with dried paint chipping off the ferrule and handle— languidly dragged over the delicate skin of your arm. The touch was feather-light, almost undetectable to your body as he continued spreading the cold paint onto you.

Art had always been Kuramochi's creative outlet; there was something so calming about sparking one’s imagination. It made him feel grounded, in control. Over time this hobby became a sort of escape; hiding in pages smudged with ink and graphite was much easier and quicker than anything else.

The acrylic smell embraced your senses in a familiar welcome as he swiped more green onto your skin, messily tapping the bright color into place. Kuramochi didn't usually work with paint much —he was far more familiar with pastels and markers than the liquidy, free form substance— but recently he'd started to branch out a bit to test his skills.

He started on scrap papers then quickly moved to more niche items like sneakers and baseballs. Painting on skin hadn't even crossed his mind until you picked up a dirty brush and drew a smiley face on the back of his hand. He was instantly intrigued with the idea and you, being your gracious self, offered to be his canvas.

You Had been watching him for about half an hour now. In that half-hour the shortstop hadn't spoken a word —apart from a few choice swears when he messed up. You watched his face scrunch up in concentration, his brows furrowed and tongue slightly poking out from the corner of his mouth.

He hated when you said it, but Kuramochi was absolutely adorable when this absorbed in something.

You unconsciously let out an amused huff while watching him, the noise prompted said boy to look up at you briefly before redirecting his attention to your arm.

"What's so funny?" He grumbled, a slight pout tugged at his lips.

"Oh nothing," you drawled. Your free hand reached up to run through his hair, which was still slightly damp from the shower he had taken after practice. You gently pushed his bangs back only to watch the strands flop down across his forehead again. "You just look really cute right now."

Kuramochi stiffened slightly at your words. He had his head down but you could tell he was blushing by how red his ears were turning. He looked up at you, but in his flustered state he stumbled over his words, "Y-you can't just say that to me while I'm trying to work!"

You laughed at him and leaned forward to press kisses onto his warm cheeks. The action made his face burn even more as he tried to wiggle away from your unprompted affections. Despite his resistance, he still pressed a firm kiss to your lips when you finished your assault on his face.

"Jokes on you because the cutest person in this room is sitting right in front of me," he huffed out as he returned to put the finishing highlights on your arm.

You hummed at his response. Should you mess with him? It would be so easy to poke fun at him right now. Maybe just a little, teasing never really hurt anyone anyways, right?

"I don't know, personally I think Sawamura has me beat in the cute category."

It felt like your body was imploding as you fought the urge to laugh, your lungs screamed for air and body shook as you held everything in. Youichi's face was absolutely priceless; a mixture of shock and mild disgust twisted his features.

"I'm sorry but did you just call Bakamura cute?" Kuramochi's brain was malfunctioning. You just called the boy that annoys half the team daily and who is currently passed out on his bunk snoring cute.

"C'mon Youichi," You laughed, finally letting everything bubble over with a hearty slap to his knee. "He's like a little puppy!"

"Yeah, a jumpy, un-house-trained puppy."

You blinked owlishly at his hunched form, no longer entranced by the graceful tracing of the brush against your arm.

"Mochi did you just imply that if Sawamura was a dog he wouldn't be house-trained?"

"Yes I fucking did," he said, looking up At you briefly, "are you opposed to that statement?"

"I mea-"

A loud snore cut off your response. The two of you looked up at the boy half falling out of his bunk with drool slipping from the corner of his mouth, before turning back to each other. It seemed as though Sawamura had answered Kuramochi's question for you.

"I take back what I previously said."

"Good," Mochi leaned back from your arm and placed his brushes into the dirty water cup on the floor next to him, the wood clinked sharply against the glass as the brushes swiveled into their resting place.

"Finished?" You asked.

The boy nodded before reaching his arms up into a full-body stretch, looking akin to a house cat after a long nap. A soft groan rumbled from him as he rid himself of his sore back and shoulders.

Your attention drifted from your boyfriend to his artwork splayed across your arm. Your eyes were met with an even blend of greens and brown as they trailed over the painting. It started at your palm, a bountiful and bright tree intricately traced over your skin, the plant’s trunk extended down and broke into roots at your wrist —roots that were following the same path you knew your veins happened to make.

"Trees are supposed to represent life and veins carry blood. Get it? Lifeblood?" Kuramochi watched you expectantly as he explained his inspiration. A short snort of amusement was what he got in return.

"Yes you're absolutely hilarious —and incredibly talented," you whispered the latter part as you pressed —what was supposed to be— a chaste kiss onto his lips. Kuramochi had other plans as he pulled you into his lap and deepened the kiss, but pulled away before it could get too heated.

"You know you'll always be prettier than anything I could ever paint," he whispered in between the small pecks he was placing across your cheeks. It wasn't a rare event for the shortstop to be so affectionate; you had him wrapped around your finger and he knew exactly that.

"If the team ever found out how sappy you actually are they would roast you alive," you quipped.

"It's a good thing they'll never find out then," he responded, bumping his nose against yours before sealing his response with a final kiss.

#kuramochi youichi #kuramochi youichi x reader #kuramochi x reader #kuramochi imagine #kuramochi youichi oneshot #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of the diamond x reader #ace of the diamond #diamond no ace x reader #daiya no ace oneshot #daiya no ace imagines #ace of the diamond oneshot #kuramochi yōichi #Kuramochi yōichi x reader

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coinsoup · 4 years ago

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Do You Believe The Magic 8 Ball? I do

the keefitz fic... finally

tw: minor injury and blood

Keefe glanced over at Fitz who was lying on his bed still attempting to complete the star map Keefe had finished ages ago. Keefe sighed heavily, pulling himself up from his spot at the foot of Fitz’s bed. He wandered over to a bookshelf in the corner of Fitz’s room. Gnomish culture and tradition was the first title Keefe saw. “Nerd,” Keef muttered, a fond smile creeping onto his lips.

There weren’t just informational books on the shelf though, Fitz seemed to keep most of his little knick-knacks on the shelf too. Keefe smiled softly when he noticed one of his drawings was framed. It was one of his first ones too, so it wasn’t exactly a masterpiece.

Keefe picked up a strange black sphere. He brought it closer to his eyes, shaking it slightly when red words appeared in a small circle. The letters were written in a language he couldn’t understand which was weird.

“Hey, Roy,” Fitz startled slightly, smearing the ink.

“Keefe, this better be important,” Fitz said, glaring at his ink-stained hand.

“What’s this?” Keefe managed to get out without bursting into a fit of laughter.

Fitz looked up then, letting out an indignant huff at Keefe’s slightly mocking smile. Fitz’s gaze finally landed on the weird ball in his hand. Fitz looked as if he was racking his brain for a way to explain it, which quite frankly Keefe didn’t like.

“It’s called a magic 8 ball,” Fitz decided on, “It’s basically a fortune teller” Keefe gave him an unimpressed look. “It’s supposed to predict the future, or tell you the truth about something.”

“Yeah, sure,” Keefe scoffed, “Where’d you get this from anyways?”

“Father brought it back from the forbidden cities for me” Keefe winced at the word father and made a mental note to rant about his dad later so Fitz could vent.

Keefe considered the object for a moment wondering if a human object could really do that, it wasn’t like the elves could so it’s not like the humans could either, right? Then Keefe had an idea, now let’s be clear most of Keefe’s ideas ended in disaster.

“Is Fitzy in love with me?” Keefe asked aloud, shaking the 8ball. Most definitely it read, Keefe gave Fitz a smirk who was watching him curiously. Keefe tossed the ball to Fitz who caught it easily.

“I mean you knew it wouldn’t work right?” Fitz asked. Huh, Keefe thought, he wasn’t even flustered. He had just denied it with no shadow of doubt in his voice.

Keefe was pretty damn sure that his feelings were mutual, but this, well, was unexpected, to say the least. There’s no way he could be that oblivious right?? And thus Keefe’s plan began.

Keefe needed help for the last stage, so logically he asked his best friend’s older brother. So here Keefe was standing at the edge of the Ravagog braiding long grass blades as he waited for Alvar. Just when he was finishing his second braid he heard footsteps behind him.

“Hey kiddo, it’s been a while.”

“Alvar?” He was standing a few feet away looking as cheerful as ever, albeit a little tired. Keefe sat up quickly, then stood a little awkwardly unsure if a hug would be too much. Alvar just laughed softly hooking his arm over Keefe’s shoulder as they walked down the path.

“It’s not that I don’t love seeing you, but what was so important it couldn’t wait till the end of the month?”

“Well, about that” Keefe began, “I need your help with something.”

“Okaaaay” Alvar drawled, “and could that something involve a little mischief,” playfully squeezing Keefe’s shoulder where his hand rested on it.

“I mean I guess you could call it that, I need help with your dumbass little brother,” Alvar was just looking at Keefe, so he took that as a sign to continue, “I need you to lock us in a closet.”

Alvar continued to stare for a second before he keeled over in a fit of laughter. Keefe felt heat rush to his cheeks as Alvar finally calmed down enough to look him in the eyes, doubling over once again

“So you finally got your shit together huh? Or wait let me guess he’s still hopelessly oblivious and it’s not funny anymore.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“I mean I guess it runs in the family,” Alvar said and his smile looked almost sad.

“Anyways,” Alvar said, clearing his throat, “basically you want me to be your wingman.”

“... well, when you put it that way-”

“What do I get in return?”

“Nothing,” Keefe said, putting on his best angelic smile, “You’re gonna do it ‘cause you love me.” Alvar smiled ruffling Keefe’s hair, “That I do, that I do.”

The two walked back to the front of Ravagog in companionable silence that was occasionally interrupted by a joke or two. Once they made it back at the entrance they stood there for a second before Alvar reached out to pat Keefe’s shoulder.

“I’ll see y-”

“I missed you” Keefe interrupted. Alvar blinked at Keefe, smile falling from his face, in that moment he looked so full of regret and sadness that Keefe couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. Alvar pulled Keefe into a strong hug squeezing him tightly right before he let go.

“I missed you too kiddo.”

Phase one out of three began a few days later. Keefe and Fitz were sitting outside by the lake to do their homework. They were sitting pretty close already but Keefe sighed and shifted his textbook leaning a little closer to Fitz.

Keefe watched from the corner of his eye as he purposely pressed his thigh into Fitz’s. Fitz’s eyes widened and his hand jerked subtly enough that Keefe wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying attention. Good thing he was.

Fitz tried to subtly shift away but Keefe was having none of it. Fitz gave up on subtly and crossed his legs so it would be painfully obvious Keefe was pressing their legs together on purpose if he tried again. Keefe waited a few minutes then flipped over on to stomach so that their arms brushed every time Keefe went to write something down.

Fitz let out a frustrated sigh next to him and Keefe looked over to where he was attempting to plan an essay for Elvin history. He could work with this.

“Need some help with that ‘Roy?”

“Please,” Fitz said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. Keefe hummed as he sat up leaning over Fitz’s shoulder to read over his work.

“Pen?” Fitz held out the pen. Keefe pretended to still be reading over Fitz’s work as he skimmed his fingertips along Fitz’s knuckles, who shivered at the light touch. Keefe then pressed his chest into Fitz’s back reveling in his sharp intake of breath.

Keefe continued to stay pressed firmly against Fitz who seemed intent on keeping his breathing regulated while Keefe corrected his work. Keefe finished slowly putting the pen down. You know what, fuck it Keefe thought.

“You’d think with all the books you’d read you would better, I guess it’s for the aesthetic, I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t suit you though,” Keefe said, lips hovering close to Fitz’s ear who was completely frozen in place.

Keefe laid back down on the ground facing upwards this time so he could look over at Fitz every so often, who was still distinctly flustered the rest of the afternoon.

Stage two had to wait until the night before Alvar would come visit. It was a Friday so the boys had decided to play basequest, they pestered Biana and Della into joining them so they could actually have a full team. By the time Keefe and Fitz finally gave up, it was dark. Going to plan so far.

The two boys trudged into Fitz’s room drenched in sweat. Fitz started rifling around in his dresser. It had been a few minutes when he let out a muffled curse.

“I think I lost my crest, I’m gonna go look around outside,” Improvising is never a bad idea, right? Keefe hummed in acknowledgment waiting for Fitz’s footsteps to fade down the hallway before he began.

Keefe peeled off his sweaty shirt and dug around Fitz’s shirt drawer. Keefe hesitated before putting it on, eventually throwing it back and walking into Fitz’s bathroom to shower. When Keefe came out of the bathroom Fitz wasn’t back yet.

Keefe then went back to the dresser pulling on a pair of Fitz’s more casual pants and throwing on a shirt that he knew was a little oversized on Fitz so it should fit him fine. When Keefe looked at his reflection in the mirror he felt his cheeks flush at the sight of him. If he was blushing, then Fitzy should have a fun time with this.

Just as he turned back around Fitz came through the door holding his Vacker crest triumphantly in his hand. His gaze lingered on Keefe’s shirt then realization seemed to set in. Fitz blinked and Keefe knew he’d be blushing hard if he could.

“I- Uh- my shirt,” Fitz managed after staring at Keefe slack-jawed for a couple seconds

“Very observant,” Keefe teased, taking a step closer then wrinkling his nose, “please shower you reek.”

Fitz was able to make it into the bathroom without much trouble. That was a lie, Fitz tripped over his feet seven times (Keefe counted), he didn’t tear his eyes away from Keefe’s frame longer than five seconds and stared at him for a solid thirty before shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Keefe chuckled going over to the desk to get a piece of paper so he could sketch. Keefe let his hand flow, graphite shading in hollows and lines. When Keefe looked at the rough sketch of what he had so far he wasn’t surprised it seemed to be Fitz of some sort, after all, that’s what most of his drawings ended up being. When Fitz stepped back into the room he seemed to be a little more, well, put together.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask but I can stay over tonight, right?” Keefe asked when he heard the bathroom door slide into place.

“Yeah sure, whatcha doing?” Fitz questioned as he randomly picked a book from the shelf.

“Sketching,”

They both laid there in silence for a while, Fitz engrossed in a book he had probably read several times and Keefe detailing his drawing. Keefe sighed in relief when he managed to get it to look somewhat like he wanted it. He leaned on the back two legs of his chair tilting it backward.

“Please don’t fall,” Fitz said, putting his book down on the nightstand. Keefe huffed, but complied standing up and walking over to Fitz’s bed.

“Move over,” Keefe said.

“Huh?”

“Scooch, I’m tired and clingy,”

“Clingy?” Fitz repeated, squeaking.

Keefe somehow managed to maintain his bored expression as he turned off the lights and got under the covers. Fitz was still tense beside him minutes later so Keefe decided he needed to do something about it.

“Fi?” Keefe whispered gently, “c’ mere.” Fitz seemed to stiffen even more and this was the first time Keefe truly felt like maybe he had been wrong after all. It’s not like it would have been surprising, Keefe wasn’t much of a catch, just a childhood best friend really.

Keefe’s breathing began to become rapid but was held off by Fitz’s warm hand on his forearm. When Keefe got himself back under control he took it as a sign that yes, you can touch me it’s fine.

Keefe scooted over to where Fitz was lying down and threw an arm over his torso burying his nose in Fitz’s neck. Fitz eventually melted into the touch fully relaxing and falling asleep to Keefe’s steady heartbeat and soft breathing.

Keefe woke up to Fitz whispering, well, that’s what Keefe assumed it was supposed to be but it was a little too loud to actually be considered whispering. He opened his eyes to see the blurry frame of Alvar glancing back over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. Fitz sighed heavily pushing his fingers through Keefe's hair.

Keefe tried not to give away the fact that he was awake but Fitz eventually felt Keefe shift. Fitz’s hand paused for a second then pulled away like he was burned.

“Morning, Fitzy,” Keefe said into Fitz’s chest.

“I- uh morning,” Fitz muttered, shifting in embarrassment.

Keefe refuses to let go of Fitz for several minutes despite Fitz’s, albeit weak protests. The two boys got out of bed a little awkwardly and shuffled over to the bathroom.

Keefe’s cheeks burned as they stood side by side brushing their teeth. Fitz was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed humming tunelessly. Keefe willed his cheeks to cool down before Fitz opened his eyes.

Fate wasn’t on Keefe’s side cause Fitz opened his eyes then cocked his head to the side wordlessly asking for an explanation.

“It’s too damn domestic,”

Fitz dropped his toothbrush back into the holder, and like the asshole he was, leaned back against the sink and let his head lull onto Keefe’s shoulder. Keefe finished quickly nudging Fitz so they could go down to the kitchen.

They entered to, well, quite a scene. Della was standing at the stove burning breakfast as Biana made coffee off to the side warily side-eying her mother. Alvar was seated on a barstool, chin propped up in his hand staring into a mug.

“Oh, hey boys,” Alvar looked up smirking at them. Keefe subtlety shook his head which Alvar frowned at but motioned for them to sit down.

“Fitzroy, be a dear and help me?” Della said a slight edge of panic to her voice. Fitz didn’t even have a chance to sit down before shuffling over to help.

“What happened?” Alvar said, leaning closer to Keefe.

“Nothing, and that’s the problem, he really is clueless,”

“If the closet idea doesn’t work I have a backup plan.” Keefe didn’t exactly like the look in Alvar’s eyes, but you do what you have to do.

Fitz managed to salvage enough food to hold them over until lunch. Alden came in and everyone started eating. The silence wasn’t tense per se but it sure as hell wasn’t comfortable. Alden excused himself after not too long, leaving a wake of awkward silence.

“We’re still making mallowmelt right?” Biana piped up.

“Oh right, Alvar, Fitz, Keefe can you grab the ingredients?” Della asked.

The pantry wasn’t exactly the ideal size for a locked in a closet situation, it was a little too roomy but Keefe could make do. Fitz turned towards the shelf looking for the flour. Keefe turned towards Alvar who mouthed five minutes. Keefe nodded, handing the bag of sugar to Alvar who grabbed the flour from Fitz.

“I’ll bring this out to mom, find the flavoring,” Alvar told the boys as he walked out of the pantry. Keefe heard the lock click behind him but Fitz was too busy reaching for the vanilla to notice.

“Fuck it,” Fitz muttered which was never a good sign. Keefe glanced Fitz’s way to see him shuffling over some containers so he could step on one of the lower shelves. dumbass

Fitz tested his weight, he must have thought it was sufficient because he pushed himself up on it reaching for the vanilla. Shit, Keefe thought a moment too late as the shelf started creaking.

“Fitz,” Keefe said lowly.

“Almost there…”

Fitz had no self-preservation apparently because he pushed his other foot off the floor putting all of his weight on a shelf as old as the house. The shelf, as expected, collapsed with a dull snap. Fitz released his hold on the bottle of vanilla as the ground rushed towards him.

To Keefe it all seemed to happen in slow motion as he stood there, useless. The bottle of vanilla shattered sending glass shards in all directions. Fitz meanwhile was attempting to soften his fall by catching himself with his hands.

“FuuUck,” Fitz screamed as glass impaled his right palm. That seemed to spur Keefe into action because he rushed to Fitz's side, hesitating before resting his hand comfortingly on Fitz’s bicep.

“Why is it locked?” Della’s voice could be heard through the pantry door as she tried the handle. When Della swung the door open she and Biana were gazing worriedly down at the pair.

“I told you guys,” Alvar said as he casually made his way to the door, “they’re fin-”

“I am fine,” Fitz said through gritted teeth, hiding his palm so his mom wouldn’t see it. Della muttered something about cleaning the mess up. Keefe’s eyes shifted to Fitz’s hand and he saw blood surfacing around the glass.

“I’m gonna go check to make sure Fitz doesn’t have any cuts,” Keefe announced, dragging Fitz through the door by his uninjured hand.

“Ah, good idea,” Biana said, grabbing an old rag from the cabinet.

Keefe pulled Fitz into the small bathroom at the end of the hallway shutting the door gently behind them. Fitz eased himself up onto the countertop wincing even though he only used the fingertips of his right hand.

Keefe wiggled his fingers, a nervous habit he has had since he was little and bent down to open the cabinet. He held Fitz calf as he propped open the cabinet door searching for antiseptic and a towel.

Keefe stood back up cradling Fitz's injured hand who winced at any movement. Keefe drummed his fingers nervously against the cabinet as he inspected the wound. Honestly, it was a nasty cut but not too deep, though the glass was still wedged in Fitz’s skin so that was gonna be a pain to remove.

“Fitzy,” Keefe said gently, reaching out for his hand once more, “we need to remove the glass okay?”

Fitz nodded in response, biting down on his lip when Keefe opened a drawer to get some tweezers. Keefe positioned the tweezers above the glass, attempting to gather up the nerve to pull it out.

It was a lot harder to care for someone else’s injuries than his own. It’s not like his parents hurt him, but they didn’t care for him either so he had to learn how to clean a scrape when he fell from a tree around 8 years ago, Keefe was well practiced at this point.

Fitz’s hand involuntarily flinched as Keefe gently started to pull the glass out. The tweezers dug deeper into Fitz’s wound drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. Keefe gritted his teeth and finished the job, pulling the glass out and placing it down onto a paper towel.

“Sorry, are you okay?” Keefe asked, placing his hand gently on Fitz’s knee.

“You’re overreacting it was just some glass Keefe,”

Keefe ignored that last comment grabbing a cloth and silently working at cleaning Fitz's hand. Keefe knew from personal experience alcohol stung but Fitz sat there stoically as Keefe used the alcohol wetted tip of a cloth to clean his wound.

“Keefe,” Keefe looked up from where he was tracing the lines of Fitz’s palm lightly. They were nose to nose and wow Fitz’s eyes were so much prettier up close. Keefe searched Fitz’s eyes for something, anything to indicate what he was feeling.

Fitz’s uninjured palm came up to cradle Keefe’s jaw before his thoughts could spiral too far. Fitz’s thumb ran against Keefe’s cheek and any coherent thought he had flew out the window.

“Can I kiss you?” Keefe managed. Fitz’s eyes widened in surprise but a shaky nod was enough confirmation. Keefe leaned in slowly, still unsure if this was happening. Their lips touched and Fitz was warm, so warm. The kiss was sweet and innocent but enough for them.

“Oh,” Fitz said a little breathlessly after Keefe pulled away. Keefe blinked at Fitz in shock then burst into a fit of laughter leaning his forehead against Fitz’s shoulder. Fitz’s arm wrapped around Keefe’s back comfortably remaining there even after his laughter dissolved.

Keefe finished wrapping up Fitz’s hand and tugged him down from his spot on the countertop. The two boys walked back into the kitchen which was, well chaos at best. Alvar was stirring a pot, nose crinkled, and brow furrowed as he attempted to change the temperature on the stove.

When Alvar met Keefe’s gaze he raised his eyebrows to which Keefe responded with a thumbs up.

@never-ever-too-many-fandoms @loverofallthingssmart @comas-are-for-sleeping @you-are-the-vacker-legacy @clearlykeefitz @theofficialkai517

#oh my god im so tired #im going to bed as soon as i post this #like actually #well i finally did it #keefitz #keefe x fitz #kotlc #kotlc fanfiction

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years ago

Text

chapter twenty-seven: three bad dreams

For the remainder of the summer break, Sam took to her journal and filled up a few pages with small sketches. Nothing fancy, and yet she wanted to make something more than what she had already had for herself there. Something more than those little rough sketches that reflected everything that came to mind. There was something more here, such that it itched away at her. That itch she couldn't seem to scratch.

She had taken a seat on the couch with her legs stretched out before her and the journal plunked open across her lap. The pencil in one hand and she sketched a few little fish across the thick grained paper before her. Three fish, as well as one that lingered right behind them. She gazed on at their filmy lacy fins with her hand rested upon the side of the page. Something more to those as well.

She ran the side of the graphite along the fish near the front. The black veins in the rudder fin made even thicker and blacker: she wished for a piece of white graphite to fill in the blanks there on the scales. A piece of white graphite for him, and something to emphasize something curly upon the rudder fin of the fish above him.

He was such an odd character for her, off in the distance with his jet black hair in junction with the little plume of silver over his brow. He walked along a quiet path that she never knew existed before, and he seemed so far away in the whole thing as well.

Sam rolled her head over the arm of the couch and she spotted that old vase on the table next to her. She finally had taken out those yellow tulips that Cliff had given her given they had wilted so much over the course of time. Those yellow tulips. They had sprouted themselves so deep into her mind that she knew she would always associate them with him.

There had to be something to associate Joey and Alex with.

Joey was the hockey player and also the drummer, but she had yet to witness him in action behind the drum kit. She closed her eyes and strove to picture him behind the high tom drums upon a small kit: she wondered if he was anything like Zelda or Louie, or even Charlie. She tried to picture it and yet she couldn't. There had to be a way in which she could see him for real at some point.

She rolled her head back onto the edge of the couch arm but she kept her eyes closed. Those black curls as they spread back from the back of his head like a full extent of tentacles, albeit ones that gave forth ink of its own. The octopus that emerged all the way from the bottom of the ocean and injected within her his venom. He did in fact hail from a whole other world altogether.

He had crawled forth onto the earth with those rich black curls, with that soft dark sunbathed skin, with those deep brown eyes as brown and rich as the earth and the very venom that he had warranted with his own darkness.

She could still taste him and feel him upon her tongue. She could still smell him even if it had been a little more than a week since she, Marla, and Belinda had left England.

And she wondered if the man whom her mother spoke about, the one who resembled to Joey, was anything like her as well. She needed to know about this man, what was his name and where did he run off to after her mother and Ruben got together in their own union at that point. She could feel him in her bones. She could feel him on the paper right before her. She could feel him in her finger tips.

Sam then opened her eyes and returned to the journal. She flipped to a clean page and wiped off the surface with the side of her hand. It wasn't that big of a page but it would have to do the trick for her at the moment, at least until she found another chance to feel Joey out some more for the stained glass window.

The graphite served as her magic wand, and the small page before her held that picture of him. Of Joey. Of the man she wondered was her father at all.

The side of his face first, and then she drew out the first tendrils of black curls upon the crown. Those small, slightly flipped bangs over his brow and the spot that would bear his dark eyes. The first curls up there at the crown. Down the back of his head and his shoulders.

A bit of his neck.

All she had done right there was the bare basics of a sketch of Joey. She tried to picture the man whom her mother had spent that time with while he was still in school. She wondered exactly how they were able to see each other without Ruben ever finding out.

She tried to picture as to how they ever snuck once together. But then again, Esmé had mentioned that she knew him when she got out of high school and he was still in his senior year. Perhaps she lived on her own at that point, but then again, Sam had no clue as to how things went on back then: for all she knew, her mother had it all at that point, back then in the late Fifties and the early Sixties. It just made sense to her, especially since her parents dropped a mere little bit of their home lives when she was growing up. Indeed, it made sense that she would make assumptions about her mother given Esmé never talked much about growing up in California all that often.

Sam did ask her questions, but she wondered if anything she had said to her in the past had an iota of truth to it whatsoever.

She bowed her head a bit as the very thought of her parents lying to her made her skin crawl: she also needed to focus upon the drawing of Joey in front of her. That dark graphite served as the shading on his hair as well as the darkness that riddled his brown eyes.

That would also explain why she was so connected to Joey as well. The ghost of the real father that she never got to know about, the father she never met once in her life. But then again, she swore Ruben was her father. If she was in fact the offspring of this strange man, this mysterious man, then she would have found out at some point while she was growing up in California and Carson City.

This mysterious man. This mysterious man for real. For real and out there somewhere in anticipation of her.

Ever so lightly, she put down a bit of graphite onto Joey's skin for a taste of that darkness. She thought back to what she had learned in Miss Estes' classes and her struggles with shading. The darkest tones come first, and thus she put down a little more graphite near the corners of his eyes and the far edge of his face, so it looked as though the light shone right onto the front of his face. His eyes stared back at her like a pair of pure white holes.

Careful not to get any graphite on the side of her hand, she brought the tip of the graphite to the middle of his eyes for those irises. Big and dark, and swallowed her whole like a pair of black holes, albeit black holes with a little twinkle right over the pupils for that nice little bout of depth. A little more graphite around his eyes to deepen them some more. Those dark eyes gazed back at her within time.

She moved onto his dark lips, those same dark lips that gave way to a crooked little smile.

Something about lips that gave way to a crooked little smile. They were kissable and yet untouchable at the same time. Joey's were rather raw in particular, given no one else had touched them before. She yearned to touch them for herself, to feel them up against her own.

It was official at that point after all. She needed to do more than touch and feel him for the mere sake of art itself, and she needed more than a feel of this length as well.

Dark and soft, and silken, like molten chocolate. She imagined a bit of blood near the bottom edge of his bottom lip: blood and chocolate. Something about that just made her stop for a second and tip her head back for a glance up at the ceiling overhead.

To kiss him and to taste him. But also to taste him after he bled out for her. To have him bleed out through the chest, for him to give out his heart to her as a gift to end all gifts. She let out a low whistle and then she returned to the drawing, especially right around his shoulders and his neck.

It wasn't until she began work on his collar bones when she realized she hadn't drawn a shirt on his body. But she shrugged at the thought when she realized that she wasn't going to share this journal with anyone.

Same story on his chest like on his face and his neck in terms of shading: she put down enough graphite for the darkest of shadows near his armpits and the far side of his neck, and right under his chin. She refrained from putting graphite down as an outline along the side of his face and his neck so he looked genuinely real right there on the paper.

She returned to his hair for some more depth and shading, curl after curl upon the crown there. Joey had that thick dense head of black curls that seemed to have less than it actually had there, that is if her lifelike drawings of him were anything at all to go by.

Curl after curl, ringlet on top of another ringlet, until it all resembled to something like the real thing: a full bouquet of curls that made its way down the back of his head and right behind his shoulders like a tight waterfall of darkness. As dark as night. As full as the holes in her dreams and her memory of the mysterious man.

She gazed on at the drawing of Joey for a second, and then she nodded her head. She signed her initials there at the bottom of the page, but then she had another thought cross her mind right then.

Ruben loved Cliff, and indeed, Esmé did as well. They were more than welcoming to him into the family, and they were both devastated when the news that he had gone ran throughout the world like a series of shock waves.

Cliff and his long shoulder length hair and that little sliver of a mustache upon his upper lip. There had to be something more to that one as well.

There was so much to him that she had never figured out before that day at the end of September.

The end of September. Alex's eighteenth birthday was in the two days that followed the accident. She hoped that his next birthday coming up here would serve much lighter than that dark day, especially since he had to attend a funeral for his birthday.

But she returned to Cliff for the time being. She had tasted Joey and she witnessed him in the buff more than once. She had put her lips onto him and she had the new memory of him on her skin and the surface of her tongue.

And yet, even with everything that she had done for herself, she still wished for the memory of Cliff once again. The smell on the inside of that black hat had finally faded away from her wearing it and the smells of her own hair upon the interior. She missed the way in which he held her as well.

The memory of Cliff had been relegated to nothing more than a dream, but she wished to feel him again. The smell from the side of his neck and the crown of his head. The taste of his skin. The feel of his hand on her body.

He was never coming back. The only one who knew her to a deeper, far more personal level than her own parents had gone away forever: he had returned to the very earth that they all walked upon. She hoped that she wouldn't make the same mistake with Joey, especially when she put the pencil down on the paper and she proceeded to draw out the memory of Cliff on the paper before her.

He, too, had become some sort of a mysterious man as well. He had vanished into thin air with nothing more than a mark on her heart and her mind, a phantom in the vast realm of things, a hole left in the fabric of the world around her. She was among the living herself even with the ghost of her boyfriend near her.

She recalled the way in which his hair had sprawled upon his shoulders like the ears of a dog. Unlike Joey's black curls, she ran the graphite along his curls with far less pressure and far few times. There were still reruns of the graphite on certain parts to give it depth, but she remembered that it required far less work to draw out Cliff. No dark eyes, either, just deep yet bright eyes that seemed to stare back at her from the nothing.

Lars' words on the night following the accident rang throughout her mind right then. She would have to go further with things in Cliff's honor. Even further. Even stronger than she could imagine. That grit was in there: much like the drawings of Cliff and Joey themselves, she needed to coax it out into the open and put it on display for the world to see. In this case, for herself to see.

Indeed, something was missing there on the page before her. Cliff needed something more. Something a lot more. More than just his face and the top part of his chest and his shoulders, complete without a shirt to cover him up like the one of Joey.

She turned her head back to the vase on the table next to her. She thought back to that first morning when he kissed her on the lips and he asked her to be his for an eternity. Those yellow tulips, now ghosts themselves, gone away forever and returned to the soil just like him. Just like how she would at some point.

The bright yellow as bright as the sun outside her window. The bright yellow that outlived him for so long. That bright yellow that would outlive her as well.

Indeed, she returned to the journal and she knew that, even if she never shared it with anyone, someone else would find the journal somewhere and have it on display for the world to see once she made her way back home to the earth and next to Cliff herself. Her private thoughts about to outlive the very vessel that was her body. For how long, she had no idea, but she knew that that was the truth.

She was giving her soul through these pages, and thus she needed to give some more of it right there. To tell the world that she loved Cliff and that she would always be with him even when the time came with her. He would always be with her even when the time came with her, especially when the time came with her.

Something more.

Without wasting another second, Sam closed the journal and stood to her feet, and she made her way over to the doorway of her bedroom. To think that she and Cliff were in her bed together, back home at her parents' house, but not once there in that new bed before her.

She opened the desk drawer and there was the set of pencils right there before her.

Some colored pencils, of course! Just to bring to life that same bright sunny yellow for the tulips. She took them out of their hiding place and she was met with that piece of rice paper there at the bottom. She gasped at the sight of it because that, too, was another phantom from when Cliff still walked the earth.

Sam thought about what Alex had said to her while in England, about the Wandering Jew, the man destined to walk the earth for an eternity.

She gazed on at his signed name in that neat penmanship.

In a strange way, she felt Cliff to be the Wandering Jew himself. Even when he returned to the earth, his spirit lived on with her. He still stayed with her, still a ghost, still the man meant to walk the earth until the earth disappeared itself.

She sighed through her nose as she closed the drawer part of the way; and then, she doubled back to the front room for her journal once again. Before she took her seat on the couch once more, she took out the yellow pencil for the tulips around Cliff's head and shoulders.

Before she drew out those tulips in question, she picked up the soft graphite once again and she sketched out the black hat upon the crown of his head. That same black hat that he gave her in his final days. The same shape of the brim: if only there was a way she could literally transfer his aroma on the paper, and have it there forever without it fading away into nothing. All she could do was think about how he smelled and the way he made her feel as well.

Something soft and sweet. Not like the yellow of the tulips, but something else.

A touch of bright pink! Right under the brim of the hat. But then again, if she was to do that, she would have to add some more things to this drawing of Cliff. Something that pertained to texture and to depth. The depth of his soul that she never got to feel out more for herself, much like the depths of space or the ocean. It made her think of the northern lights and their distant bright neon glow that seemed so alien against the darkness of the northern Atlantic Ocean in the middle of the night.

If Joey was deadly nightshade that rose from the nothing of the earth, then Cliff had gone off to the sky and hitched up a series of bright green curtains for her and the world to witness for themselves. Like a green veil that spread across his face as he made his way up the stairs to the darkness of space and nightshade itself. Using the dark blue colored pencil, Sam sketched out a little flower on the side of his face. She thought of those Day of the Dead skulls, those same sugar skulls that Marla had given them there at the Cherry Suicides show.

They had that song “Day of the Dead” after all. And she grieved him on Day of the Dead. It just made sense to give him that mask as well. A mask to help him out through the battle beyond the veil. He had gone up to Orion's Belt and became the warrior that the world wasn't ready to face yet. The bass was his bow and arrow. Orion had found his way onto his belt.

The country boy who rode upon his horse throughout the darkness under New York City and around the streets of the Bay Area.

Like a classical musician who had shed his armor in order to fight away all that had haunted him there on the earth. A little something to help him out as he turned classic once again.

Too powerful and strong for the world, and yet at the end of the day, he still found the end of the day there in the dark depths of Sweden. The place six feet under the earth's surface, almost as if he had found a place to pitch his tent and ready himself for battle.

The Wandering Jew would have to find his way there as well. When that would happen was another question altogether.

More markings on his face. It began to resemble less to a Day of the Dead skull and more of war paint. War paint for battle: the hat on his head only added to the whole feeling of it.

She then picked up the yellow pencil for those tulips decorated all around him.

She would have to pay him a visit at some point as she added some violet to give that yellow more depth. Violet with some deep orange and a kiss of red. She even drew a tulip on the back of his shoulder, its petals bright yellow with the cold sun that shone on him beyond the veil.

She looked on at that drawing of him, her dead boyfriend, the ghost in her heart, and yet another mysterious man who rode about inside of her dreams. Sam put the colored pencils back into their box and then she thought about that piece of paper in the drawer in the next room.

The Wandering Jew. That little boy who seemed to hail from another world himself. She yearned to feel him out some more. To run her hands through that lush dark hair, all through that sliver of gray upon his head.

Something inside of that head beckoned her. He was a new venture that she had yet to even so much as unlock for herself. He stood before her like the mysterious man in her dreams himself. For all she knew, Alex really was the mysterious man in her dreams. He haunted her wherever she went in her dreams, like the ghost of a time not yet happened yet, or another era she couldn't even imagine.

But he resembled to Cliff as well. Cliff and a deep dark void in time that she couldn't exactly explain or so much as put into words. She stood to her feet and returned the colored pencils to the desk drawer. That piece of rice paper once again stared back at her once she opened it for herself.

Another thing that would outlive her, and another thing that outlived Cliff. For all she knew it would outlive Alex and Joey themselves. She had to feel him out before the time came for him as well. Something to go out on.

Indeed, there was that one partial drawing she had made the first time she dreamed about the mysterious man and he lay out before her on a beach somewhere.

For all she knew, Alex was the mysterious man. It was just so obvious. But at the same time, he wasn't, especially once she recalled Marla's sentiments about him. She dreamed about him as well, and during those exact moments where it all seemed to saunter onto shaky ground for her.

She then thought about the few times Marla spoke of her family, in how she wished her parents were like Ruben and Esmé. Something there obscured from the rest of the world as well.

But the streak in his hair made her think of Alex, and it made the image of the mysterious man all the more obvious to her as well. She opened the other drawer for one of the harder of the graphite pencils. The harder of the bunch in junction with the softest of the graphite.

She returned to her journal there on the couch. Alex's image in the vein of the mysterious man, the ghost of her dreams that came from the depths of the earth.

It felt as though she had made love to two men, and she was about to make love to all three of them altogether right there.

Cliff, the ghost. Joey, the spawn of the earth. Alex, the strange one.

She turned to a clean page and she proceeded to sketch him out as well. Where Joey had that narrow face and Cliff resembled to a near perfect square, Alex was full and round like the moon at night. Pale and round, albeit serious. The young man who stared back at her from the shadows and never said a word.

The Wandering Jew. The Flying Dutchman.

She hesitated once and then twice when she saw that the fullness in his face seemed a little more than in reality. Those deep eyes that gazed back at her harder than the venom from Joey or the cold earth underneath Cliff. He was something else, something more, something far more enigmatic and something that kept her guessing whenever she saw him in person.

For all she knew, he had stumbled out from her own dream land and onto the very earth she walked on. For all she knew, he had come forth in order to be among the living as well, right by her side.

“What should I do,” she wound up muttering to herself as she filled in the heavy blackness of his hair. “What do you think I should do.”

She sat upright with the journal still spread wide open across her lap so she could fill in more of that drawing. She closed her eyes again so she could picture him some more. That aquiline nose and the way in which it curved up a little bit at the tip. Those sensual lips that, too, gave way to a lopsided little smile.

And of course there was that voice. That voice that seemed to come out from the depths of the earth and caught everyone's attention. That voice that beckoned everyone's attention despite his youth; that voice that went hand in hand with the little tuft of gray at the crown of his head.

The gray stripe. A bit of negative space. The lightness of the hair there at the crown. A few little markings there was all she needed to emphasize it for her own eyes. The hard graphite had enough to do of its own that she could move about in a matter of small strokes for shading.

She held back for a better look at him.

She had had a memory of both Cliff and Joey but Alex was far more elusive. Just a young boy that she only got to witness from afar rather than with her body pressed against his. Something far more to figure out for herself.

Exactly like Cliff and Joey, Sam left him without a shirt on, but she was hesitant to go any further with him. She had known him as nothing more than the young boy with the guitar pressed before his body, and she never saw him without anything on his body, either. She never saw him naked like Joey, and she never felt him naked like she did with Cliff, and it was hard to imagine him as both, either.

She thought about what her mother had said to her over the phone, in that when innocence is involved its bound to get ugly and incredibly personal as well. Even though he was still a hatchling, she couldn't really feel the innocence with him, especially with that gray sliver on the crown of his head.

Of course.

Nudity was innocence. And there in her journal, she was nude, even if she planned on keeping it for herself. Someone else would have to see it for themselves.

Someone else would have to see her naked.

She would have to see Alex naked at some point, that is if she needed this drawing of him to come to full fruition.

His face was full like the moon. A boy born in late September, the month of the harvest moon. The harvest moon, like full fruition. It made sense.

She moved the pencil down from his head and shoulders. All she could think about was his chest and a little bit of his stomach, but it was something to help her out.

By the mere magic of the graphite, she managed to draw out Alex naked from the waist up. She couldn't imagine him between the legs, but she could imagine his legs.

She thought about when Cliff was over that one time, when he posed for her with the vase of tulips right in between his legs.

Alex's naked slender legs bent before her. His feet flat on the floor beneath him. His little belly poked out ever so slightly. The vase of tulips nestled between his thighs as he took his seat right upon the stool.

He covered up, but he was in the buff. It also helped matters that she made his lips pout a little bit back at her. She needn't go back to her room for those yellow colored pencils but she could make them resemble to tulips by the mere magic of that hard graphite. They sprouted up from that little vase in between his cupped hands, and his deep eyes gazed back at her as if he beckoned her to the safety of the moon. The Wandering Jew and the man on the moon.

“What should I do,” she whispered to him again. Maybe he wasn't really the mysterious man as she added a little more shading around his slim knees and his narrow ankles.

She made love to three men while she sat there all alone in her apartment. Three men: one had deceased, one was overseas with his band, and one was on shaky ground with her.

For all she knew, Alex didn't even know that those drawings she made for Charlie were even done by her. She hoped that Charlie had told him at some point.

Three men. Three dreams. Three dreams that coalesced together into one mysterious man like a dream that was both bad and good at the same time.

She thought about the book Siddhartha, the book that she and Cliff had bonded over. Something about approaching nirvana and the continuum of everything altogether.

Maybe that was it here. She had no idea.

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soranihimawari · 4 years ago

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West Coast kind of Love

Summary: There were certain things you know off the top of your head. One, the fact that popcorn and M&Ms should not be sold separately at the local movies is a crime; two, every other Monday of the month, the neighborhood film club would host dollar monster movies (where one of your neighbors in your apartment complex would frequently attend); and three, you might have to pinch yourself when he asks you to take a photo with you as a proof of “how things are going abroad” to his friend in Argentina...

Word count: 4.685K

Taglist: @m0nstergeneration20xx 📷 (google docs proof reader), @oitoorus, @tkags & her ⛅ (anon fam) , @oikawalovely [open still]

“Do what you love and the rest will follow”-proverb

--September XX--Thursday, 23:13 (11:23pm)

“Oh come on Yukihira,” you knocked on the closed bathroom door of your apartment.”You know I called dibs to the bathroom after we ditched those jerks at the dancehall.”

Every month you and your roommate took turns in choosing public places to go out for a night on the town. With midterms coming up for what would be the junior year of your undergrad studies, your roommate decided giving a double date a try. Unfortunately for her, those jerks were thinking of doing the deed way too early for either of your liking. You decide that spilling your peach Bellini on your friend’s outfit during the middle of the date was the perfect excuse to end the night early. More often than not, you mostly came along these dates with her as an enforcer. You two might be as different as night and day (yukihira studies medicine all hours of the day whereas your focus was the visual arts). Tonight was just one of those nights where you being there was beneficial.

“Ugh, fine,” she said opening the door revealing her freshly brushed grin. “I can’t believe you had the gall to ruin that outfit y/n.”

“Hey, whatever helps you throw it out like you did your ex then I was doing the Lord’s work for you, Yuks.” You rolled your eyes at her when she stuck out her tongue when you slithered into the ivory tiled washroom. This earned a laugh from the other member of your household.

“But because this was a bad date and I didn’t think things through this time again, that means I get to set you up on a blind date.” Her singsong voice reached your ears as you turned on the faucet to drown out her mocking tone. You paused for a brief moment while waiting for the make up remover serium to bubble up on your face before wiping it off effectively.

“With who?” you asked after you patted your skin dry post-makeup removal ritual complete. Your hair was undone from the hair elastic you pulled out of your inherited islander curls.

“I don’t know. Hmm...Maybe the guy in unit 23C? He’s awfully cute,” Yukihira mused as you leaned in her doorway. Her brows wiggled in delight when she noticed how you stared at your neighbor on move in day during your freshman move in day three years prior.

“Iwazumi? You can’t be serious,” you said. Your voice betrayed you because your eyes shined like the gods of furtune finally found their way to you.

“Do you want to or not? He’s focused, witty, determined; I have my physiology study group with him tomorrow. Why don’t you come with, best friend of mine?”

You really hated when she pulled the puppy eyes on you, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to refuse (not by a long shot).

“Ask him if he prefers coffee or tea.”

A few days later, you came home from your department’s masters class with your portfolio sling over your shoulder. Your hands were covered in literal ink stains from your latest mural macro-micro project.

“Hey, Yukihira! Have you seen where I kept my lacquer thinner?” You raise your voice slightly as you kick off your shoes by the entrance hallway. It was only then you realize there were a couple of other pairs of shoes that did not belong to either of you. That’s when you remembered your friend’s warning about her study group coming over. All color drained from your face when you rounded the corner to your living room area converted into a mini lecture hall. You clear your throat to announce your presence which went unnoticed (with the exception of your roommate). Without even looking at the board, you chose to mess with the med students’ practice case.

“And I’m telling you this is a bilateral cut to the optic nerve, Josefina.”

“The microabraisons on the left thoracic cavity allowed the victim to bleed out on the table due to the elevated use of blood thinners, ” your voice quiets the pre-med students and you smile in a nonchalant manner. You have read this problem with Yukihira so many times prior at the start of the semester that you were able to recall the prognosis off the top of you head. Being friends with a pre-med major does have its redeeming qualities although you were seen mostly honing your crafts in the art department and this was just the prime time of their study week.

“Oh! You’re back early,” Yukihira says in a warm tone. She stands at the end of the table in between you Her eyes glazed over as if to communicate that you were about to be formally introduced. You bite your tongue prior to allowing your roommate to clap her hands together as she went naming every member starting with the person on her left who was the aforementioned Josefina. When she had come full circle, her voice trailed off with a small apologetic smile.

“Aaaand this here is my roommate, y/n. To answer your question about the lacquer thinner, I put the bottle on your desk when it arrived last time,” Yukihira made sure to watch everyone’s response. She was more interested in seeing how the third member of her study group (the aforementioned neighbor in 23C) would react. His minuscule smirk was doubly noted, prompting you to fill the few seconds of silence with your own voice. After a brief trip down memory lane, spear headed by your best friend as they took a break from studying for a moment, Yukihira explained after years of being friends you learned about the medical cases for exams via osmosis. You were an unofficial member of the study group since the medical arts building was located near the visual arts department offices on campus. You chose to not let them be pushed back any further especially since their content exam was coming up later that month, so you bid them good luck.

“Don’t mind me,” your brass tone conveyed an even temper at the time. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to head to my room. You guys aren’t the only ones with an exam this week.” You raised your portfolio canister so they could see the poster sized dyed cylinder. Reams of paper filled with sketches made from ink and graphite poked through under the flourescent lights of the kitchen dining room table. The med students along with Yukihira waved and said it was lovely to meet your acquaintance.

With that you made a beeline route to your room, opened the door, and promptly shut the door. You dropped your portfolio canister next to your desk, turned up the volume of the lo-fi radio station playlist on your sound system, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a muffled shriek to expel the remaining bits of embarrassment your friend threw you in. You were good at smaller group studies, but to be fair, given the fact that your friend was a social butterfly, you mostly seemed to rub off the “talented-artsy, yet focused,” type of woman. That night you cleaned up your outline for your stencil art piece of a fox and a hound for your take on minimalism class which had its peer critique at the end of the week.

You didn’t physically speak to Yukihira for the rest of the week. With both of you burning the midnight oil within the last few days before the exam, you noticed that the number of study group being held in your apartment had become the norm every other day (causing you focus more on a certain individual). Funny thing was he was also doing the same thing...

『from Yukihira: how many times do i have to apologize? You know I didn’t plan on having an emergency study session with iwazumi. He just showed up & wanted to chat. Besides the TA & professor chose to move up the exam date...』

『from y/n: you should of told me earlier before I came home. You know I forgive you... only if you buy me the latest ice cream along with the new Jun Ito novel. I’ll be out there in a minute till make some coffee for us.』

『from Yukihira: Mmkay & thanks. Coffee sounds good right about now anyways.』

--October XX-- Friday, 15:55 (3:55p.m.)

The weekend came through soon enough and on a Friday afternoon with no where to go, you were chilling at the comfort of your own living room. You were quick to thank the test gods for the exam being moved up once you had a proper conversation with Yukihira that morning. She mentioned she was going be out all day making sure she was able to finesse her study guide with her fellow medical study group. Since it was the end of the week, Josefina opted to have a free for all study day at the book store for those who wanted to go over last minute things according to the note yukihira left on your door that morning.

At the time of the day, you were expecting to be alone, curled up with your favorite cup of English Earl Grey Tea and a Lovecraft radio program you downloaded via the student Spotify network. Your phone vibrated and pinged with a notification from the bookstore where Yukihira placed the order for your horror novel to arrive sooner than the estimated timeframe. Because life finds it funny to pull another prank on your clown assery with your little cynical attitude, you were startled when the formal knocker was used.

“Shit!” you said when you clutched your heart as you placed your cup of tea down on the coffee table. As your put two fingers on your neck’s pulse point, you waited a few minutes for your heart rate to calm back down; you stood up and began to make your way down the hallway. Lo and behold, you were greeted by a casually dressed man who was clutching your new novel in his sunkissed hands.

It takes your brain a few synapses to register that it was Iwazumi who has been taking a liking to coming over for extra study hours with your roommate, but if anyone asked him to reply honestly, he wanted to know more about you. The human body has more than 240 bones, yet the more frequent his visits become, the more he felt himself become accustomed to befriending you both. There were instances where you joined them at the kitchen table glancing at their open notebooks and case studies; you often made tea or coffee depending on the hour of the day. On the days you had come home from the art department, Yukihira was quick to notice how Iwazumi’s usually tense face seemed to visibly relax when you came to prepare your favorite snack (m&ms and buttered popcorn). Your friend was quick to relay a text to his phone, which caused her study partner at the table to become more flustered than he already was.

Regardless of the various near misses over the next couple of weeks between you and Iwazumi (sometimes it was Yukihira’s fault other times, it was coincidental juxtopostional humour: it has happened twice on Iwazumi’s side when his friends back home noticed he was not at his usual place. [Yukihira called for a mini-study break] However, that didn’t stop you from asking him if he preferred sugar or honey for his tea & all hell broke loose (Hanamaki & Mattsun were cheering him on while Oikawa.exe has dropped the call).

All this back and forth for the past five weeks caused this moment to occur:

“I-Iwa-chan?” your voice went up several octaves before clearing your throat with a cough. “If you’re looking for Yukihira, she’s actually not here at the moment...”

“To the scientist there is the joy in pursuing truth which nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth.”

The audio from your radio program was keeping you company. The disembodied voice coming from the main sound system you helped set up when you first moved into the building with Yukihira quoted Lovecraft as the program continued to serve in the role of filling the silence between you and Iwazumi. The gods really did that, didn’t they? your thoughts were running away with you again, chasing a reality that would be yours--or so you think.

During that thought hurricane you conjured up, you decided to pause the train of thought for a few minutes. You released your hold on your front door knob as you pulled the door a little wider in order for you to lean against the frame of the front door. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun (on your days off, you were typically clad in tapered mint green pants and a spare white button down blouse due to laundry day), but it was enough to see the usual semi-talkative and stoic demi-god of a neighbor wear such an embarrassed expression. You pretended to not hear the barely audible, “woah,” that escaped his mouth prior to him holding up the book to you.

“Did the mail carrier drop it off to your box again?” you ask taking the book in your hands. “Sorry about that. You can come in if you want.”

You were quick to notice that something caught your arm in an attempt to stop you from walking. When you chose to not try to pry yourself away from Iwazumi’s hold, he took it as a sign to bend himself to your ear and say the following in a powerfully low tone: “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t looking for her?”

“Yes,” you say in a timid manner, yet it was paired with a curt nod. You both had the tenacity to swat away any lingering negative thoughts.

Iwazumi took this moment to turn you around to face him by the arm he held you with. His smile disappeared when he let your arm go and instead moved his hand to hold yours with his opposite hand, he pulled the door shut behind him. You were probably too proud to admit this aloud, nonetheless, you liked the way Iwazumi’s firm grip felt in your hand; his were rough and calloused as much as yours were from years of honing your independent crafts. You gave him a kind smile before your neighbor decided to take advantage of the fact that the other person in your apartment wasn’t home; you squeezed his hand slightly and he let your hand go.

You placed the Jun Ito novel on the kitchen counter motioning for Iwazumi to meet you there. Your kettle was still warm, however you made a cheeky joke to your newly acquired friend. (Perhaps this was Yukihira’s plan, you think). You reached into the dishwasher and was about to pour him a cup of tea, yet you couldn’t help but make a small joke at his expense for holding your hand so intently.

“For the record, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could have done so earlier,” you mention stifling a laugh, pouring the steaming water into the mug. Iwazumi mumbled something about how he liked the way your hand fit, yet you chose to throw caution to the wind and quickly planted short kiss on his cheek when you extended the cup toward him after placing the tea strainer in it.

With one hand on yours and the other was wrapped around the ceramic mug,. Your kindness was always something Iwazumi found alluring. You might not have been in the same course of study as him or Yukinira, yet you were good finding the beauty in the mundane. A few of your pieces of work were hung around the apartment and from his line of sight, your dedication to your craft was something to be admired.With every sip he took a sip to deflect from the way his thoughts were heading into uncharted territories; OIkawa, Mattsun, and even Makki were the ones more verbose on love & conquest during the days of their you:

“You’re always over at your neighbors’ place, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased.

“I wonder what his reason is,” Makki muses. “Mattsun thinks it’s a girl. Typical.”

Makki also noticed one of your sophomore symposium art pieces hanging behind the place where Iwazumi was sitting at the time of their weekly video call. Your avant-garde view of viewing the world was enough to set the sky amethyst hues. California does have it’s moments of striking beauty and somehow Iwazumi found it hard to keep to a straight face around his friends. His expression was usually hardened or bold, but today you sat across from him at the beginning of the call, reading up on the use of gold leaf detail work for your art restoration classes. Across the myriad of scattered medical books and various notes that were pertaining to another medical case were a tell that their friend was clearly not alone. You glance up at him quietly, a minute smile formed between you two; you write on a spare piece of paper the word, “friends” to which he nodded.

“Aww, is our little ace growing soft on us?” Oikawa’s whining was something you often heard Yukihira describe after nights like these.(She usually hung out in your room as you were placing the final touches of your latest art assignment. This month was dedicated to historic downtown with a twist of horror: modern mania & the ruiner of man. Right now, you didn’t mind the shared space of the dining room while Yukihira was out on a grocery run at the time the call was initiated.)

“Shut your mouth Shittykawa,” Iwazumi barks. His dark eyes hardened like stone and that was when Makki let out a wicked grin.

“I owe Mattsun 500 yen,” Makki chuckled.

“Holy shit,” Oikawa’s eyes bounced between his best friends and let out a low whistle. “if this woman is capable of such an amazing feat, ask her if she has a friend [for me].”

Iwazumi ended the call right then and there. He didn’t expect his heart to be beating so irratically when you walked room in your house attire for a moment to make yourself a cup of the same Earl Grey Tea. The hazy lights emitting from your room blended effortlessly with the flourescent ones in the kitchen; each beam clung to your body in such away Iwazumi was glad neither of his friends witnessed the moment he fell in love with California and all that came with it.

This afternoon was a different story as you liked the way Iwazumi allowed his natural blush to bubble to the surface of his cheeks and you could swear you saw a fraction of the high school volleyball ace shine through. The sunlight danced around the stainless steel details of the kitchen where you shared secrets, recipes, and drinks with your best friend. His free hand chose to move away from the counter finding its resting place under your chin. The cup of tea Iwazumi held earlier was placed next to the stove on the coaster by the sink.

You steady your breathing right before you felt Iwazumi’s breath on your cupid’s bow; his lips pressed against yours gingerly as though he felt his brain light up and catch a fire he needed to not run away from; everything he wanted to know about you was answered as soon as your hands cup his face. I think I like this, your conscience is egging you on to pursue his touch for a while longer. It was a silent acknowledgement of the other’s presence in the present moment.

“Hm,” you hear him hum in mutual amusement when you return his kiss. The pads of his fingers trace the highest points of your face teasingly. He wanted answers to the questions your lips asked. When you two separate for a moment, you realize you might have been too forward, but when you move your hands away from his face only to hug him in a loose embrace, you couldn’t help the next words from posing a question.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” your coquettish tone made Iwazumi’s answer very apparent as you suddenly took into account the last couple of weeks and the way both of you came to enjoy each other’s company during study group hours at either your place as the primary location or the cafe down the road from the apartment complex. (Iwazumi’s frequent visits weren’t for tutoring necessarily, about a majority of the time it was to see you as an added bonus).

Iwazumi did not have to be told twice; he enveloped you in his strong arms, he hoisted you up from under your knees and placed you a top the counter with gentle assertive force. Your legs wrapped around his fit waist as you gripped his biceps for leverage prior to letting the old ace prove his strength by placing you on top of the graphite counter like a doll.

“Comfortable?” Iwazumi’s expression was more seductive than profound.

“Very,” you reply as you unwind your legs from his body. “Where were we?”

Your hands wrapped around his neck before pulling him close to you again. A smug smile cut across both of your faces for a brief moment until your lips hovered over his for the second time. This time, you let him kiss you the way you knew he had been meaning to since he showed up at your door less than fifteen minutes prior book in hand. When Iwazumi kissed you at the current moment, the world crumbled and fell away; it was somehow comforting in a way that words would not compare to. His actions listened to the way you were setting the pace with the same tenacity as he showed you. The scent of his sandalwood conditioner mixed well with your ocean scented dry shampoo.

Your eyes were still closed when you felt your hands card through his ever-present spiky hair. His right hand rested below your ear, using the pad of his thumb and forefinger to caress your cheek and jawline again. You feel him smile against your own lips when you nipped the corner of his mouth playfully. You break apart long enough for your partner in the kitchen to began to sneakily undoing your top two buttons of your blouse to press his lips against your exposed skin. You let out a whimper in the heat of the moment the second his lips began to leave a trail of reverberating echoes in the simplest of ways securing his hold on your soul that very day.

“Beautiful girl,” Iwazumi murmurs as his eyes met yours when he was done having his fun. His voice was cautious, but when his arms began to hover over your own, you felt your heart rate speed up right as he told you this: “Tell me, what other sounds can you make for me?”

“Is that a challenge?” you retort, your hands disappearing under his hoodie to feel the fabric of his undershirt. Your hand stopped roaming atop of his chest; he was liking this. You could tell by the way he was taunting you with his smirk. “Because I was wondering the same thing. Do you want me to remove my hand?”

“No.”

Your hands could have been made of branding tools and Iwazumi wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. He chuckled at your question before you brought him down to your level and your lips met again. The sound he made upon impact was as though you broke him yet healed him at the same time; time was on your side for this one and you proved he wasn’t the only monster in the kitchen. There was a hunger there behind every kiss you let him have; you were smiling in the between long enough to feel his heart beat faster through the fabric of his undershirt.

Your hands automatically removed themselves from his shirt and were found holding on to the aglet of the drawstrings from the hoodie he was wearing. Iwazumi kissed your fingers before proceeding with posing a question to you.

“Just so we’re clear,” your voice was bold and daring. It was one of the many things he liked about you both in and out of campus grounds. The small details was what Iwazumi liked the most and the subtle tells of how you, Yukihira, and even the other members of the study group didn’t make him feel so alone like when he first arrived to California to study.

“Whatever this is between you and I, does it mean we’re...together?”

You make a sign in the air with your palms up and point between you and him. Iwazumi clears his throat as he taps his lips to tease you and that was when he saw it: a younger version of you covered in sidewalk chalk in your neighborhood (much the same as you saw reflections of the former ace/vice captain).

“If you’ll let me take you to the Monster Movie marathon on Monday,” he answered when he linked his right hand digits with your left and you capture his lips again on your own volition. Your ears perked up at this, you drop the string you played with and patted his chest with a light rapt.

“Eager to make me your girlfriend aren’t you?” You laugh and Iwazumi furrowed his brows, but you silence his worries in one swift and simple move: you kiss him with the intent of either being his salvation or his torment, either way Iwazumi was not complaining. The girl who loves to read about Lovecraftian monsters and the boy who was a monster chaser shared a love as unique as themselves: like a secret they each wanted to keep behind closed doors.

His only vice was the fact that his social call was coming to an end and every ounce of his well being was fighting to stay here with you. You back down for a moment only to showcase your best attempt at a flattering smile to match his own. Iwazumi would never let you know this at the time, but seeing that smile on your face made his list of top three things he found most precious in the world. This wasn’t a crush anymore was the proper conclusion you both concluded.

“Meet at your place at 7:30,” you suggest. Iwazumi released your hand from his to step back as you hopped down from the kitchen counter you made a seat of.

“I’ll see you then ‘Ms. Lovecraft’.” The nickname he bestowed upon you was one that made the butterflies come back in a flurry; this was the start of something special, but you didn’t know it at this point in time that the name will be used to describe your affinity for Iwazumi’s unyielding devotion to you (the seeds were planted in both of your hearts and the two of you waited for them to bloom).

Iwazumi made his way back toward the hallway and faced your apartment’s front door again. You refastened both buttons he undid prior to reaching for the door knob.

“For what it’s worth,” your not-so-innocent tone in your voice begins to come through. His darkened eyes observe you undo your top knot and shook your shoulder-length hair to reveal the fullness of your wavy locks. You place your hand on his wrist and the other was on the door knob. He stopped you from opening the door with a softened glance; pressing his lips lightly on your brow bone.

“I really like it when you come over Iwazumi. Thank you for dropping off the book.” You tap your fingers thoughtfully on your lips as a silent form of thanking him for the other part outside of the tangible order.

“Hajime, y/n,” he whispers his given name in your ear in order to get one last rile out of you before kissing your temple, and you could swear you could hear your heart beat in your ears. “Call me that from now on, ok?”

“Ok,” you swiftly reply. “Only if you continue to call me Lovecraft, haha.”

Iwazumi takes his leave when he thinksof how the next time he sees you, it’ll be filled with magic, mayhem, and the movie playing in his heart was one he would like to share with you for as long as it takes.

You rush to your room to retrieve your cell phone and immediately text Yukihira who was in the middle of her break between classes:

『from y/n: i have a date on monday night. the book came btw. thanks yukihira』

『from Yukihira: iwazumi asked you to go out with him, didn’t he? have fun and remember to not do anything i wouldn’t do. ;) 』

『from y/n: of course. and even if we did, i wouldn’t even hear the end of it from you. you’d might have an easier time talking to iwazumi than me, let’s be honest.』

『from Yukihira: (n˘v˘•)¬ oh you know me so well. see you later tonight.』

—November XX, 14:43 (2:43pm):

First dates & a glimpse into their social medias (ft. Iwazumi, Babs (y/n), & Yukihira)

Iwazumi credit

Suffice to say that Mondays became your favorite day after this kiss...😌

Bonus:

Instagram posts from our UCIrvine trio ft. Iwazumi, Yukihira, & Y/N-san

#iwazumi x reader #timeskip!iwazumi x reader #collegiate au #first kisses and monster movies #neighbor to lover #⏱queued post #iwa-chan wore glasses one day #west coast kind of love completed #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #🌻.txt

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calumrose · 4 years ago

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Trigger [Police/Gang!AU] Chapter 7 || C.H

A//N: I feel like I haven’t updated in so long when in reality it’s only been 3 days. I’ve got so many WIPs right now, and I am so excited to post more! So keep an eye out for those! But yes, here is chapter 7 for all you lovely people! Thank you to everyone who has been reading this so far, I really appreciate it!

Word Count: 11.6k

Summary: Eloise Gray and Calum Hood, not two people you would ever think to put together. What started as a ploy for power turned into a romance, resulting in the realisation that loving your enemy may not be such a bad thing after all.

Previous Chapters: Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

12 Days Left

The constant honking of traffic, the incoherent chatter of bystanders, and the smell of excess petrol had become comforting to Eloise over the years. It was the natural scent of the city she resided in; the smell always so unbearably strong that it practically embedded itself in the noses of the visitors the city welcomed every day. And as much as Eloise wanted to escape and explore new places, she knew it would be a smell she would miss, even if only a little.

Central Park had only ever been a place she visited with friends, typically because the likes of Paige and Jackson lived in that side of New York, it being quite literally on their doorstep, unlike the rest of them who had to travel in order to visit the well-known location.

“Fancy a trip to the zoo?” Calum’s question caused her eyes to break from the sight of the busker to her left as they entered the park. She looked in the direction of where his eyes fell, looking towards the zoo entrance in all its glory along with the crowded queue that was almost painful to think about.

“Maybe another time,” She chuckled, not really in the mood to stand in a queue for god knows how long and pay a ridiculous price just to look at animals for a few hours, “Why don’t we just find a place to sit and have a conversation like normal people?”

“Normal people?” Calum’s tone held fake surprise, “You mean to tell me that you, Eloise, want to have an actual conversation with me?”

“Shocking stuff I know, now c’mon,” She responded with the same joking attitude, nudging the back of his arm as they continued to walk through the park. It was a sight that never failed to relax her, the greenery and gentle atmosphere being enough to temporarily transport her to a state of believing she had no worries, like she had nothing to be afraid of.

The past week with Calum had been nothing like she had experienced before. It felt good to know she had a safe space other than her own apartment although she had begun to feel unsafe in her own home, fearing that an unwelcome individual would burst through her door at any given moment after discovering her little secret. But in Calum’s home, she felt like she could live, breathe, and embrace every moment that she felt her heartbeat in her chest.

Seven days felt like seven months when they would lay together in his bed, fingers interlaced as she would trace his tattoos that were painted on his brown skin. She’d ask a million questions about them, wanting to know every story behind each individual piece of art that littered his body. She had learnt the story of how the initials on each hand were for his parents, the name on his left forearm was his sister, how the thistle on his bicep was a homage to his Scottish heritage, and how the Roman numerals on his collarbone represented a year that his life changed. There were so many stories he had shared that she felt as though she wouldn’t remember them, but she found herself being able to recall every single one each time her eyes caught sight of the ink.

Late night conversations were full of questions about their pasts, asking about their childhoods and about stupid things they could recall from simpler times. Calum was a lot more open about his own memories than Eloise was, many of her own recollections being forgotten with purpose. She didn’t know if she was ready to dig them all back up just yet, and Calum respected that.

Early morning rises would be filled with the smell of coffee and fruity essences from the yoghurt Calum had added to his shopping list after learning of Eloise’s love for the strawberry flavour. He learnt of her tendencies of waking up in the unsociable hours of the morning, her body clock naturally seeming to have shifted since she started staying at his place on a more regular occasion. Before, she was lucky if she could sleep past 10am, now it was 7am. Calum often woke up and found her in the kitchen, legs crossed as she sat up on the countertop by the window, staring out into the city as the sun rose up, a bowl of yoghurt and chopped fruit in her lap as she enjoyed the peaceful silence of the morning. He never disturbed her when she was in that state, his body just standing in opening of the hallway, dark eyes on her that were filled with nothing but admiration.

He had come to learn that she was very appreciative of the small moments that she got to experience, figuring that a lot of that was due to the great deal of loss she had suffered over the years; wanting to absorb everything she felt as though she took for granted, like the sunrise; a beautiful sight that only a lucky few got a chance to see in all its glory.

An open patch of grass caught Eloise’s attention, her fingers gripping onto the fabric of the sleeve of his empathy hoodie, subtly dragging him along so she could claim the empty space before any other civilian who was found at the park.

“El, babe, slow down,” The nickname fell from Calum’s lips like butter, as if it were always supposed to. He had dropped pet names like those a few times throughout their time together, and she wondered if he truly noticed how often he let them slip. They were natural to him, feeling as though there was no other name that he knew for her other than what he felt suited her so perfectly. Eloise could swear her stomach flipped every time a simple nickname fell from his soft lips, assuring her that she wanted nothing else than to hear them a thousand times over.

“You’re the one who dragged me outside, so we’ll do things at my pace, that’s the deal,” She smirked to herself as she adjusted her jeans slightly before sitting down at the dry grass.

“Since when did I agree to that?” He raised a questioning brow, the slight upturn of his lip’s inkling on a borderline smirk. That smirk would get him in trouble one day, Eloise could sense it.

The sun beat down on the city of New York, speckles of gold seeping through the gaps in the tree branches as it painted the park with strips of yellow. It created a sight that Eloise could only wish she could see every day; the sight of Calum sat there with the sun beating down, the bright rays only bringing out how golden he truly was, as if gold met gold in the moment the sun connected with him.

Brown eyes cascaded over the park around them, Eloise’s gaze settling on a young girl who sat a few metres from them. She watched as the young blonde’s hand worked against the sketchpad in her lap, eyes flickering up to glance at the grand building that towered over the park. Eloise felt her back straighten almost inquisitively, her head tilting slightly to side as if to try and get a better view of the pad.

“What’s she drawing?” Calum asked, leaning back against his hands to keep himself up, eyes watching Eloise’s curiosity get the better of her. He had noted that she was a curious person, always watching what people were doing, always noticing people who were so submerged in their own world, especially those of the artistic mind. She seemed to have an eye for it.

Eloise watched as the pencil in her hand glided along the paper, imagining she could hear the soft strokes of graphite against the white paper as if she were sitting right next to her. She had a lot of respect for art, it always blowing her mind how someone could create something so beautiful with their own hands. She let her brown eyes look back to Calum, noticing how his eyes were sat on her own, admiring the interest she had shown in the stranger’s talent, before she responded with a smile, “I think she’s drawing the top of The Plaza, because if you look just over there,” She pointed in the direction of where the girl had been looking, “You can see the top of the hotel over the trees.”

“You seem to notice a lot of artistic people in the city for someone who doesn’t hold an artistic bone in her body,” Calum chuckled, remembering how they had discussed previously Eloise’s admiration for art but never having the ability to create any herself. He pulled his arm close to his chest in attempt to avoid her hand as it tried to smack him, his nose scrunching just a little as the smile on his face grew. “Did you ever have any hobbies when you were a teenager? Or anything that stuck and grew into a passion?”

Eloise shook her head, wrapping an arm around her right knee as it bent so she could keep it close to her chest as she responded, “I was that kid who always tried to find a hobby but gave up within a few minutes because it wasn’t as straight forward as I wanted it to be, and I also had zero patience.” Her free hand reached up to pull down the sunglasses that were resting on her head, setting them against the bridge of her nose so they shielded her eyes from the sun as the bright glare shifted direction in the sky.

“Ah, so you were one of those kids,” Calum spoke as if it all suddenly made sense, resulting in another playful smack against his arm from Eloise. She had definitely met her match when it came to teasing people, “And yet there’s still so much for me to learn,”

“About?” Eloise quirked a brow, reaching around her back to pull down the back of her shirt, the cool breeze against her spine signalling that the shirt had begun to ride up.

“You,” Calum sat upright, reaching down between his legs as he plucked a few blades of grass from the ground, eyes watching his hands before he reconnected them with Eloise’s own dark ones, “I’ve got an idea; quick-fire quiz with random questions about you, you have one pass and you’ve got to answer everything, got it?”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret agreeing to this stupid game?” A playful roll of her eyes were given as she shifted her body weight, turning to her left so she could face him head on, “Right, go ahead then if you must.”

Calum parted his lips slightly as he looked up in thought. He hadn’t even considered making up any questions to ask, not quite expecting her to give in that easily. Who was he kidding? She gave into almost anything he asked, he knew that, so he should have been more prepared. The hamster wheel in his brain seemed to run for a few seconds before a thought came into his head. Thank god for that.

“First question, your favourite subject in school?” He raised an eyebrow, throwing a finger in her direction as he pointed at her, awaiting her answer.

Eloise pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. Come on El, this whole point of quick-fire questions is that it’s supposed to be quick. She tapped her fingers against her thigh for a few seconds before giving an unsure answer of, “I’d probably say English even though I was awful at it, Maths was more of my strong suit but I wouldn’t say I loved it,” She threw a shrug of her shoulders at Calum, “Next question.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Easy, it’s probably red.”

“I have never seen you wear the colour red,” Calum commented, his teeth brushing against his bottom lip as he highlighted the third word, “You barely wear anything other than black or grey, babe. So, for that reason I am calling bullshit.”

“And how would you know? What if I’m wearing red underwear?” Eloise couldn’t stop teasing smirk, a coy pout playing on her lips as she saw his eyebrows raise at her remark. She knew that he was fully aware of what colour her underwear was, as he was the one who had enjoyed the task of removing it from her hands before she had the chance to get dressed this morning, before pulling her into the bathroom for a morning of strenuous activities.

She swore she could see the events of their morning playing in his mind, watching as his jaw worked while her comment echoed in his ears. She loved watching how flustered he got in moments like that; moments where a certain tone, or a sudden string of words had him silenced.

“Favourite artist?” His voice sounded raspy; he hadn’t cleared his throat before he spoke. Eloise’s tongue poked the inside of her cheek, noting how he tried to brush over what she had said, fighting the urge to poke fun at the avoidance, knowing full well that what she had said had taken its effect on him.

“Oh that’s a tough choice,” She pursed her lips, a little smug due to knowing what he focusing on right then, she swore she could hear the little voice in his head as it shouted at him to think of something else, “It’s got to be either Mayday Parade or The Maine.”

“Good choice,” He nodded, coughing into his fist as a way of attempting to rid the scratch in his throat. Calum could barely hold himself together and Eloise knew what hold she had over him.

Both knees were pulled to Eloise’s chest, her arms resting on top before she placed her chin down to settle against her forearms, brown eyes looking up at the handsome man she found herself with. She always thought about what they were, if they had a specific title for what they had going on. Did she even want to put a label on what they had? Was there a point in labelling it? It was still something she was trying to figure out; how quickly she felt so normal with Calum, how suddenly everything just seemed like it fit into place as if it had always been that way.

Calum and Eloise had talked briefly about what they were. Calum never rushed her into deciding what she wanted, assuring that he would go with what she felt comfortable with and what she felt ready for. Calum knew he wanted no one else, only having eyes for the girl who had his heart in her hands. He felt vulnerable around her, as if she could shatter his heart within seconds. And unfortunately, there was truth in that concern, as was there with Eloise’s matching one in regard to him. They both held such a strong connection that could be turned and used against them in the press of a button.

The only thing Eloise was sure of was that Calum was everything she had been looking for without even knowing it. He was all she could have wanted in someone; gentle, caring, understanding, forgiving, and so much more that she couldn’t put into words. She had admitted that to him a few mornings ago when they were lying in his bed together, limbs tangled within the sheets, her fingers combing through his hair as they stared at one another. Calum voiced his understanding over her concern for how she felt, suggesting they just say that they’re exclusive with one another, keeping it private, but known to each other that there was no one else in the picture, only the two of them who had eyes for the other.

The little pet names seemed to fall into habit rather quickly after that conversation, the next morning being the first time Calum dropped one in the moment, yawning before he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek before climbing out of the entangled sheets to make his way into the bathroom to get himself ready for work. Eloise had let it slide at first, assuming it was just a slip of the tongue, but then they grew to be more regular, and she couldn’t deny that they didn’t not get her heart going.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Calum spoke up after a few minutes, “My ass is getting numb sitting here.” Eloise looked up to find him standing already, hand reached out for her to grab onto.

“We’ve been sitting for barely twenty minutes and you’re already complaining,” She scoffed, a gently chuckle being sounded as she reached up and grabbed onto his hand. She couldn’t hold back the soft grunt she let out as she let him pull her to her feet, focusing on the warmth of his hand that held onto hers. She noted how he didn’t let go, adjusting his fingers so they slipped in between her own, his hand practically enveloping hers in warmth as they moved back onto the path that led through Central Park.

Calum’s hand was so much larger than hers, she couldn’t help but notice the difference every time he held her hand, the size almost laughable. Eloise cursed at herself at the way butterflies erupted in her stomach at his touch, the smooth skin of his palm against hers being enough to make her feel like she was walking on sunshine. It was almost sickening how much she had grown to love the feeling of his skin on hers in more ways than one.

“What time’s your shift tomorrow?” Eloise spoke softly as they walked, eyes glancing down at their hands swinging gently between their bodies meanwhile their feet walked at different times, her long legs surprisingly unable to keep up with his timely long strides. For a taller girl, she could never walk quickly, not with Calum anyway.

“I start at eight tomorrow,” He responded, eyes catching the small family picnic that was going on just to their right, the corners of his mouth turning up at the thought of that possibility in his future. He had always been a family man, it only setting him up to be ready to eventually have one of his own with someone he loved, someone he could settle down and have a life with. “So, I was thinking, I’d give you a lift home tomorrow morning before I go to work if you need to grab some clean clothes and stuff, and then I could pick you up once I’m finished, take you back to my place and we could do something,”

Eloise’s eyes followed in the direction of where he had turned his head briefly, eyes falling on the young couple who sat with a child, he looked to be around four, as they laughed and smiled together. The open picnic basket was self-explanatory to Eloise, causing a cold shiver to run up her spine at the inkling of a memory she didn’t even know existed. She pulled her attention back up to Calum, hoping he didn’t notice her subtle shudder. “I was thinking I might stay at my place tonight for a change, my neighbours are gonna start being suspicious if they don’t hear me stumbling up my stairs at the crack of dawn soon,” She chuckled, squeezing his hand reassuringly, “It also means Duke can actually get some space in the bed for first time in a while, but I’ll come and see you tomorrow after your shift,”

“Duke’s gonna be upset that you’re leaving him in the house alone,” Calum pointed out, “I think he’s gotten quite fond of you sticking around during the day while I’m workin’, means he’s not on his own all day.” Eloise knew what he was doing; trying to subtly use Duke as a way of persuading – guilt tripping – her into staying at his place for another night. But Eloise knew she had to play this right, she had to go home at some point, she would have to submit herself to the clutches of the Gypsy Kings once again soon enough.

“And you can tell him that I’m very sorry but I have to,” She pouted her lips, leaning into Calum a little as they walked, “Or to make it up to him, I’ll make sure I bring a treat with me when I come back.”

“So, you’re going to bribe my dog?” He furrowed his brows down at her, glaring playfully at the brunette. Eloise puffed her cheeks briefly, eyes shifting out of Calum’s gaze as she focused on the floor for a second.

“Well, it’s the only way I can make sure that he’ll forgive me when I come back,”

“And what about me?” Calum tugged on her hand and pulled her to a stop, moving them out of the way on the path so they weren’t in anyone’s way. His eyebrows raised questioningly, a knowing smirk on his face as his spare hand found her waist, slipping beneath her jacket so he could feel the fabric of her oversized t-shirt beneath his fingers, voice barely above a gravelled whisper when he spoke, “How’re you gonna make sure that I forgive you for leaving me?”

“I’m sure a grown man like yourself can work out a few ways I can ask for your forgiveness,” She winked, giggling softly at the expression that sank onto Calum’s face, his head falling onto her shoulder as he let out a barely audible groan, although it was loud and clear in Eloise’s ears.

“I swear for the love of god,” Calum groaned out, grip tightening around Eloise’s waist as the hand that held hers awkwardly bent as he attempted to raise it. Eloise’s giggle echoed in his ears, the sound highlighting her awareness of how her words had affected him in public yet again. He was weak when it came to that girl, and it was as if she knew exactly how to play to his weakness, using it against him in a poorly timed place. “You’re cruel, and the fact that you’re not even coming back to my place tonight only proves my point,”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to amuse yourself without me,” She whispered, leaning her head so it rested against his on her shoulder, a soft smile creasing her lips as she stood like that for a minute. She wished she could pause time right there and take a picture from someone else’s point of view, to see them together. She tilted her head slightly, pressing a feather like kiss to the side of his head before she softly spoke, “Now c’mon, I’ll buy you a- Scott?”

Calum’s head shot up at her words, forehead creased as his brows furrowed, “You’ll buy me a Scott?”

Eloise didn’t even register his response, eyes looking over in the distance to where a scattering of people walked through the park. Her dark eyes spotted the familiar man in the distance, able to pick out his soft curls from anywhere as well as his particular walk.

“Wait here,” She told Calum, softly releasing his hand from hers and before she could even hear him respond she was running down the path towards the familiar body who had his back to her.

Calum stood there in place, watching as Eloise’s figure shrunk as she ran further into the distance, arms crossing against his chest as he moved along the path a little bit and found a tree to lean against. He pulled out his phone, trying to occupy himself as he waited for Eloise to come back, eyes shifting every few seconds between the screen in his hand to the pretty brunette as she attempted to catch up to her friend. He couldn’t help but feel protective, wanting to make sure she was alright at all times.

Eloise felt her chest get heavy as she ran down the path, a few eyes watching her as she ran past numerous runners; their eyes obviously judging her choice of attire for what they most likely assumed to be an afternoon run. Her eyes closed in on the familiar golden locks of her best friend, his leather jacket shining against the sun.

She reached her hand out as she caught up with him, panting lightly as she called out, “Oi Erikson, do I not even get a hello anymore?” Scott’s expression seemed almost dumbfounded when he turned around, his face relaxing when he registered her voice and saw the one and only Eloise stood behind him, hands resting on the caps of her knees as she caught her breath, bending slightly as she felt her heart hammer faintly against her chest before she could bring herself to stand upright, breath returning to normal after a few seconds passed.

“You’re seriously out of shape,” Scott scoffed, laughing at his best friend’s poor attempt at hiding her heavy breaths as she stood up. Eloise reached out and shoved his shoulder lightly, sending him a warning glare as she straightened up, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, and stood comfortably.

“Shut up, I’m in better shape than most of that lot,” She laughed, jutting her chin out in the direction of the park, directing her comment towards the others within the gang. Both of them knew which members she was silently talking about, a joint laugh escaping them both at the inside knowledge. “What’re you doing here anyway, last time I checked Central Park is a bit far out of Brooklyn, especially for the likes of you, Scott?”

Scott chuckled at her comment, almost nervously, as he raised his shoulders in a half-shrug, “Suppose I could say the same for you, you’re a bit far out of Brooklyn yourself,” Eloise couldn’t help but notice how his eyes were shifting, as if he were searching for someone or keeping an eye out. He seemed antsy, not an unusual occurrence when it came to Scott being this far out Brooklyn. “How’ve you been anyway? How’re things comin’ along with your cop friend?”

Eloise let out a quiet sigh, shifting her weight to her other foot as she answered, “I should be asking you how you are, you’ve hardly answered your phone and you seem to be ignoring my texts. Am I too lame to talk to now?” She scoffs jokingly at him, chewing the inside of her cheek as she continues, “I’m working on him, I’ve got some information that’ll be useful for Jay to know. I’ve also set up a few decoy details for him to take back to his precinct, so give me a few more days and we’ll be ready to go,”

Scott nods, taking in the words that Eloise had practically spoon fed him. She prayed he couldn’t see through it, praying that for a man she believed to know her so well, that he couldn’t see right through the lies she had just fed to him. She knew he would take her words back to Jay, informing him of the ‘work’ she had done. Scott’s eyes travelled behind Eloise, she had noticed he had done that a few times already, wondering what he was looking at.

“Take it, that’s him?” He jutted out his chin in the direction of the park behind her, eyes finding the dark ones of Calum who kept his gaze firmly planted on Eloise’s back, “Either that’s your copper or some big creepy dude has been staring at your ass for the past five minutes, and my money is the former.”

Eloise rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she glanced behind her, brown eyes finding Calum’s. She smiled softly at him, offering him a small wave as a silent act of reassurance that she was alright. She noted how his shoulders seemed to relax a little at her action, the muscles sinking as his eyes never left her, “Yeah, that’s Calum.”

“So, you gonna let me meet the guy who you’ve been spending all of your time with or are you going to keep me in suspense?” Scott raised an eyebrow, lips parting briefly as he glanced in Calum’s direction. Eloise thanked the sun for her helping her hide her flushed cheeks, making her cheeks and nose almost rosy at the thought of Calum and Scott meeting, the thought making her feel like someone had just dropped a lead weight in her stomach. Eloise couldn’t help but feel as though she was in a catch 22; stuck between her best friend who believed she was acting one way, and Calum who knew her to be acting in the opposite.

But that didn’t stop her from nodding, feeling Scott’s arm slip around her shoulders as they began to make their way to where Calum stood. “Be nice,” Eloise warned through gritted teeth as they closed in on the tree that Calum stood under. The air felt as though it thickened with the closer that they got, Eloise’s chest tightening as she tried to fight the feeling of anxiety that she could feel bubbling up inside of her.

Calum straightened up, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and walked over and met them halfway, a friendly smile on his face as he met Eloise’s uneasy eyes, noting how uncomfortable she must have been at the thought of Calum meeting her brother by association.

Eloise forced the discomfort in her stomach down, trying to ignore it as she stood with Scott by her side, arm still around her shoulders as he looked towards Calum, a rather unimpressed look on his face. She let out a small cough, clearing her throat, as she introduced them, “Scott, this is Calum, Calum, this is my best friend Scott,” She felt as though she wanted the world to swallow her whole as she felt Scott’s grip tighten ever so slightly around her, a natural tension he had around those he didn’t know and didn’t trust.

“It’s nice to meet you, mate,” Calum sent him a gentle singular nod of his head, a warm smile on his face as he reached out his hand for Scott to shake, “El’s told me a lot about you, you sound like a very important man.”

Eloise sent him a glance, silently thanking him for trying to play it cool, for being nice towards Scott even though the reaction he was receiving from the blond was anything but. Her eyes fell to Scott, sending a subtle kick to the back of his ankle as if to silently say, ‘Just shake his hand.’

Scott sighed as he reached out his hand, grasping Calum’s in his grip as they shook, a dry laugh coming from his throat as he tried not to roll his eyes. “That’s quite a strong grip you’ve got there,” Eloise couldn’t help it as she rolled her eyes at Scott’s remark, silently praying he would drop the act and just be like the Scott she knew, that he would act like her best friend.

“Comes with the territory.” The response was quick to come from Calum, it being instant much like the forced smile on his lips. Eloise knew he would be silently making his job known to Scott, even though he wasn’t trying to rupture Scott, she couldn’t help but want to move things along, trying to cut the interaction as short as possible to spare any unnecessary tension.

It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of it already.

“I was gonna suggest to Calum that we go and grab a hot dog if you wanted to join us?” Eloise offered, head nodding towards the exit of the park, the memory of the brightly coloured food cart outside the gates making her mouth water at the thought. “It’ll be my treat.”

Scott shook his head practically as soon as Eloise let the words slip from her mouth, hand coming up and shaking alongside his head, “I can’t stay long, I’ve got somewhere to be. I just wanted to come by and say hi,”

The awkward silence is almost painful. Cursing herself, Eloise wished she never agreed to letting Scott come over. She wished she had just said something along of the lines of how she’d rather keep them separate to save questions but of course she didn’t think this through. Nice one, Eloise.

She was about to open her mouth to speak, her brain scrambling as it attempted to create a sentence for her to use in order to break the silence before Calum beat her to it.

“So, how long have you known Eloise?” Calum asked, adjusting his stance as an attempt to be perceived as more friendly, trying to cut the clear tension that clouded them, hand resting over the outline of his phone in his pocket.

Eloise didn’t need to see the shift in Scott’s eyes as they fell to her, she could feel the burn in the side of her head along with the way his arm moved, it dropping from around her and returning back to his side, hand sliding back into its home inside his pocket. Eloise wanted to curse herself, knowing she should’ve warned Calum about one thing, but of course she didn’t think. She could only hope this helped her out, that Scott took it as a sign that things were working, that she was invested in the way she needed them to believe, that she was capturing Calum’s attention like they had intended. She just hoped that it wasn’t seen for what it really was.

She needed to slow down; she knew that she was getting too far ahead of herself. Scott was smart, but he wasn’t that smart.

“Too long,” Her voice muttered, a gentle smirk playing her lips as she glanced at Scott, playfully nudging him with her hip to try and go along with the friendly interaction.

“Uh yeah, we’ve been best mates since we were kids. The both of us went through some rough stuff growing up and we’ve stuck together ever since,” Scott nodded, throwing a casual shrug of shoulders into the mix with his response, “I just can’t seem to shake her off.”

“Fuck off,” Eloise laughed, raising a knowing brow, “You’d be lost with me or dead even. I have saved your life more times than you can count.”

It was true. There was more truth in that statement than what Scott wanted to admit. Eloise had helped him out a lot throughout their time together; throughout school, starting off in the gang, and just about every other occasion where things didn’t go to plan for the blond boy.

Eloise had been the one to help him talk his way out of situations he found himself in when he thought he was clever. She had also been the one to cover for him when he would get himself into messes and need a friend to pull him out. Eloise had always been there for him over the years and he couldn’t deny that.

Scott shot her a warning glance before letting a small laugh laced with nostalgia leave him, unable to hide the truth in the statement, “I was a bit of a klutz back in the day, and this one here helped me out a lot. I guess you could say I never quite understood what public embarrassment truly meant,”

“A klutz with a big mouth and shocking taste in women,” Eloise couldn’t stop the mutter before it was too late, eyes watching as Scott scoffed at her and he amusingly jabbed her with his elbow.

“On that note, I’m gonna take my leave,” Scott excused himself, taking a step back as he attempted to extract himself from the gathering rather quickly, “It was nice to meet you, Calum. Suppose I might see you ‘round if she keeps you for longer than usual,” A dry laugh escaped him as he made the remark, eyes catching Eloise’s glaring ones.

Eloise shook her head, the nod barely noticeable as she clenched her jaw and grit her teeth, a warning glare being shot at Scott, “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come by my place tonight and we could hang out, but just for that you can fuck off,” She sighed, raising her hand as she threw a middle finger in his direction.

Scott hummed, knowing she would still want him to come by her apartment. She never didn’t want him to come over when she had offered. “I’ve got plans tonight, some business I need to take care of for work. How about tomorrow night instead? I’ll call you when I’m on my way,”

Eloise sent Scott a nod, “Sure, see you tomorrow then,”

Eventually they bid Scott a goodbye, watching as his silhouette disappeared into the distance, vanishing out of the park as it merged into the crowds that were usually thought of when it came to New York. Eloise released a relieved sigh, the departure of her best friend making her feel as though she could breathe again, feeling the tension deplete with the great distance between them that grew as he was out of sight.

She turned in place, catching Calum’s eyes watching as she seemed to relax. God, she felt horrible for making him suffer through that. Scott wasn’t usually so… not Scott. She swore he was a nice guy but this just highlighted the arrogance that she tried to ignore every day, almost if she forced herself to be blinded to it, not wanting to believe he had it in him to act like that.

“I’m really sorry about him, he’s not usually like that,” Eloise apologised, figuring she owed Calum some form of an explanation as to why she shot off earlier without a second thought, “Scott’s been giving me the silent treatment for the past few days and I didn’t know why; he was avoiding my calls and ignoring my texts and it was bugging me because we used to never go a single day without talking to one another,” She was rambling now, “So when I saw him, I guessed it was a perfect opportunity to ask him about it and then he spotted you staring, asked if he could come and say hi, then he- “

“Eloise, it’s alright,” Calum cut her off with a laugh, stopping her in the middle of a ramble that not even she knew how long it would continue for, his hands placing themselves on her shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly, “He’s your friend, you’re allowed to go and speak to him,”

“Something’s not right with him though,” She sighed, feeling rather defeated, “He’s not himself and I can’t tell what it is. It’s almost like he’s changing, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You can’t do anything,” Calum told her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulder as they turned and began to make their way through the park, heading towards the exit, walking the opposite direction to where Scott had departed, “It’s probably whatever Jay’s planning just getting to his head. It’s a big scheme and a lot is on the line for them,”

“Thanks for reminding me,” She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily as they walked.

The colours of the food cart soon came into sight, Eloise’s stomach practically growling at the thought of some food. The two of them made their way over to the queue, standing in line and began to wait.

“Scott’ll be meeting with some the guys tonight,” She spoke out, “That’s what he meant by ‘work’, so he’ll be filling them in on our little run-in today,”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Calum sent a questioning look.

“I think so, it’ll make them think that their plan is working,” She nodded, silently trying to convince herself of her uncertain response, “The fact that you called me Eloise will go a long way in convincing them, it’ll make them see that I’ve ‘wormed’ my way in,” She raised her fingers to use as quotation marks at the word wormed.

The confusion is Calum’s face couldn’t be missed, the crease in his forehead and furrow of his brows only solidifying the questioning look he continued to give her, “How is me calling you by your name helping?”

Eloise sighed, knowing she would need to explain. She cleared her throat as she looked ahead of the line, making a note of the few people in front of them that were still waiting to be served.

“Back when I lost my dad, it was quite hard to hear my name. People had been calling me ‘El’ for a while since I was a kid, but my parents almost always called me Eloise, and when I didn’t have them around anymore, my name just reminded me of them and how much I was hurting,” She explained, sighing as she threw a hand in her pocket, feeling Calum’s arm drop from her shoulder as it found her free one, his fingers lightly grasping hers as an attempt to comfort her, “So I started telling people to just call me ‘El’ so it felt like I wasn’t me, so I could pretend like it didn’t happen,”

Calum just nodded, brushing her knuckles with his thumb as he listened. Every time she mentioned her parents, he couldn’t stop his heart from hurting, almost as if he was feeling her own pain when she spoke of them.

“But certain people still call me by my full name, but it became sort of public knowledge with those I associated myself with that only certain people got to call me Eloise; like Scott, Han, my friends: Paige, Roman, and the rest of that group. And now you,” She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand as they took a step forward in the queue, “So, since Scott heard you use my full name, it’s gonna intentionally take this whole thing a lot further, almost securing their perception of what it is that they think I’m doing,”

The mention of Paige and Roman reminded Eloise that she still needed to introduce Calum to them, thinking of the endless stream of text messages she had received from Paige with requests of organising a double date ever since she found out about Eloise and Calum’s mutual agreement of being ‘secretly exclusive’.

She had tried to fight with the idea of Calum meeting her friends, trying to convince herself that it was a bad idea as it just made what they had feel even more real; like it was going last and they were going to be going places after the deal was done. Eloise wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to ignore the harsh reality and let herself fall into the self-made trap of pretending that she lived in a world where she and Calum would walk away from this with no repercussions, where they would be able to live as a normal couple.

Calum was about to speak, a voice laced with a thick accent stopping him as it called out, “Next! ‘iya sweetheart, what can I get ya?”

Eloise’s eyes turned to meet the rather large man in front of them, face a little red and shining an almighty mole in the right side of his chin. He smelled like hot dogs; Eloise noted. Although she wasn’t sure if it were him or the fact that they were at a hot dog stand, but she could be sure that the smell was rather overpowering.

They gave him their orders, standing next to one another as they waited for him to prepare the carb loaded items. Calum’s hand never dropped hers, his fingers finding the spaces between hers before slipping into them, her hand fitting in his like a glove. He felt the need to always be touching her, feeling an uneasy sensation settle in his gut if he was around her and didn’t have his skin touching hers in some way. It wasn’t like Eloise minded; she embraced any physical connection she could get with Calum when she could, silently reminding herself that it most likely wasn’t going to last forever.

Hotdogs in hand, they made their way down the streets of New York, the steam from the slabs of meat in their breaded buns travelling up into the air as they walked together.

“So, you don’t mind that I call you Eloise?” Calum’s question could only just be heard over the sound of a yellow taxi honking it’s horn next to where they waited to cross the street, “I can call you El if that- “

Eloise slapped his shoulder gently, holding her finger up as she silently asked him to wait while she chewed the bite of her hotdog she had just taken. Once swallowed, she smiled at him, wiping the slaver of grease she swore she felt just below her lip with edge of her palm, before she said, “I actually prefer it when you call me Eloise, it sounds better coming from you unlike some people.”

“Good,” Calum speaks through a mouthful of hotdog, hand coming up to cover the sight of half-chewed food, “I like saying your name; it’s pretty, much like the girl it belongs to.”

Eloise couldn’t stop herself from faking a gag, laughing at Calum as she rolled her eyes, amused, “Do you have an off switch, or do you just permanently ruin moments with cheesy lines?”

Calum playfully nudged her as they turned a corner, careful not to knock her into anyone as he leaned over and pressed a quick chaste kiss to her cheek once he had freed his mouth of the remnants of his snack, “Only speaking the truth, doll,”

“Security!” Eloise jokingly calls out, “Can someone please come and remove Mr Smooth from my presence?” She’s unable to stop her laugh as Calum’s hand reaches out, attempting to nip at her sides, “Get off!” She squealed, trying to push his hand away, quickly apologising to the bystander who she accidently bumped into in her attempt to move out Calum’s reach.

Let’s just say that Calum got a friendly smack on the back of the head for that one.

They eventually discovered a bin to discard of their wrappers, tossing them away before they continued their walk back to where Calum had parked his car just a few blocks south of Central Park. The sun continued to shine down on New York, a gentle cooling breeze warranting through the city, adding a refreshing chill to contrast against the heat. They walked down the streets side by side, Calum’s arm draped over her shoulders, meanwhile Eloise’s wound its way around his waist, hips lightly brushing against one another, her small fingers gently gripping onto the fabric of his hoodie as an attempt to keep close to him, head resting on his shoulder as they walked through the city.

“You want me to drop you off at your place?” Calum asked, arm around her shoulders, fingers lightly brushing against the cool material of her jacket, “Or can I convince you to stay at my place for another night?”

Eloise shook her head, her stomach vibrating with her silent closed-mouthed laugh, “I need to go back to my place like I told you. I need time to think about what I’m gonna say to Scott tomorrow,”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to talk to him about some stuff; nothing about the plan or the shipment, nothing to do with the gang whatsoever,” She sighed as they stopped in front of Calum’s car, her arm dropping from around his waist as her back rested against the hood of the black vehicle, Calum’s arm being removed her shoulder as he moved to stand in front of her, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand in his for what felt like the hundredth time that day, “I want to talk to him as friends, as the best friends that we’re supposed to be. I’m worried about him because he used to talk to me about everything and I did the same with him when my life fell apart, but now it feels like we’re more strangers than best friends,”

Calum sent her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand gently as he reached into his pocket to find his car keys, sending her an assured, “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Eloise.”

“He’s going to hate me when this is over.” Eloise couldn’t stop the tears brimming in her eyes, her throat quivering at the thought of how this was going to affect Scott; the guilt of it seeming as though it would eat her alive.

Calum shook his head, more to himself than to her, raising his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks, his thumbs gently gliding across the apples of her sweet skin as he said, “Let him. Eloise, if he’s really your best friend then he’ll realise why you’ve done this and he’ll forgive you,”

“And what if he never does?” She asked painfully, her voice sounding almost as defeated as she felt.

“Then he clearly isn’t the kind of man you want to believe he is,” Calum spoke truthfully, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, holding his lips there for a few seconds before he took a small step back, opening the car for them to get in, “C’mon, we’ll get ice cream on our way back to your place, my treat,”

“Thank you, Calum,” She smiled, wiping away the packed tears before they had a chance to fall, taking in a deep shaky breath as she attempted to pull herself together, “For everything,”

“Anything for you, Eloise,” He whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder she would float away with the light breeze, gently reaching down and reconnecting their hands, lifting hers to his lips as he placed a soft kiss to her knuckles, “Absolutely anything.”

*****

11 Days Left

Eloise felt as though she was suffocating, the air around her thick with tension as she watched Scott from the corner of her eye. He had arrived just less than an hour ago, walking in with a pizza in his hand, claiming to be splashing the cash as an early celebration for her hard work.

Every time she looked at Scott, she was reminded of the lies she was living, the lies she was trapping him with, and the guilt was eating her alive, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. As much as her natural instinct would be to warn him of an upcoming ambush, she knew this time it had gone too far, and she couldn’t save him like she so desperately wanted to.

“I had a dream last night,” Eloise spoke quietly, almost sounding as if she was talking to herself, head leaning back as her eyes met with the ceiling briefly, “We were kids again, we must have been six or seven, and we were sitting in a field, just the two of us,” The corners of her mouth upturned, her teeth gently nipping on the inside of her lip, her voice continuing, “I was freaking out, panicking about what we were doing and you kept telling me to calm down, assuring me that we would be alright, you said that you’d make sure they would take care of us,”

Scott’s eyes caught Eloise’s as she looked in his direction, her back resting against the armrest of the couch, “Who were ‘they’?” Scott queried; eyebrows furrowed in question.

“I’ve got no idea,” She said with a breathy chuckle, shaking her head lightly as she reached forward to close over the empty pizza box that lay spread out on the coffee table, the cold stench of tomato and cheese making Eloise feel slightly queasy, before she added, “A monster? Or maybe someone we knew?”

“There’s plenty of monsters around this city,” Scott’s voice almost went unheard, the comment barely audible over the low volume of the TV. But fortunately for Eloise, she heard it loud and clear.

Scott’s words held a lot of truth in them; more truth than most would like to admit, the truth that fell deaf at many people’s ears. They had always been told as kids that monsters weren’t real, that they were figments of their own imaginations, a simple phase they would grow out of. But Eloise never grew out of it, her eyes finding them everywhere she turned. And now, to her own terror, she waited for her best friend to take that final form.

“Can I ask you something?” Eloise rolled her lips into her mouth, taking Scott’s hum as a response, taking a small breath before she continued, hoping he wouldn’t mind her bringing up past events, “Have you spoken to Seth recently? It’s just that you’ve been quiet the past few days, and I know what yesterday was, and I also know he usually crawls out of his hole around this time of year, so I just wanted to- “

“He’s not reached out to me if that’s what you’re wondering,” Scott pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly as he stared straight ahead at the scene playing on the TV screen. It wasn’t until earlier that day that Eloise had pieced together why Scott had been so distant lately, cursing herself for nearly forgetting what had happened all those years ago.

How could she nearly forget? She had a reminder of what happened on that day nearly four years ago permanently etched on her leg; the scar on her thigh never having properly healed, the textured skin serving as a reminder to not only her, but to Scott about what happened that day. And it was all down to a stupid idea made by him and someone he thought to be his friend.

They were 17; young, juvenile, and eager.

They all wanted to be recognised as key members of the Gypsy Kings; fed up and tired of being treated like the kids they didn’t believe themselves to be. They wanted to establish to the older men of the gang that they were ready to take their places in their society.

Eloise, Scott, Ben, Seth, and Gabriel had all piled themselves in Seth’s car one night, driving into the southside of Brooklyn, heading for Wiley’s mattress factory after hearing rumours of illegal liquor being stored in the basement. Scott and Seth had been talking to snitches across the city, pretending to be working for the higher members of the gang to retrieve information on any activity they could attempt to ransack. And boy, when they heard about the Moonshine, it was like they had just woken up on Christmas Day.

They had planned to sneak into the factory, having worked out their entry route as well as their exact strategy: fill a few bags with some bottles of the Moonshine, sell it off to clients that Ben had sniffed out with Eloise’s help, and prove themselves to those who doubted them.

But they had one flaw in their plan; they didn’t take into consideration that there would be any security. Their inexperienced minds had assumed that the factory would be empty, as if they could walk straight in and straight out with bags full of the strong liquor without any struggle. As genius as they thought their plan was, it was only proven to be the complete opposite from the minute they got inside that factory.

Their venture into the factory had gone smoothly, remaining undetected as they snuck into the basement, discovering the underground distillery along with the crates packed with bottles and jars of the spirit. They thought had hit the jackpot, obnoxiously throwing high-fives around as they crammed as much Moonshine into their bags as they could fit and still be able to carry.

Seth was smugger than any of them, claiming that he knew they’d win big with his idea to break into the factory, although they all knew it was him and Scott combined who discovered the rumours of the illegal distillery. Seth was the reason why it all went wrong, getting too ahead of himself and getting too excited, his voice was too loud in the quiet building, and no matter how many times they all told him to be quiet, he didn’t listen.

They had managed to sneak back up into the main foyer of the factory, spotting the door they had entered through, the heavy panel still open ajar so the glint of orange from the streetlamp outside could be seen in the distance. Ben had sent everyone out in front of him, his natural polite nature being what got him killed.

No – them being there is what got Ben killed.

They were nearly out of the factory, Scott’s hands just centimetres from the door before a shout broke their attention, eyes darting across the room to see a tall, thin, wrinkly man pacing towards them, gun in hand with their young bodies as targets. Ben had pushed Eloise forward, telling them to run, but it was too late for him.

Scott thrust the door open and practically threw himself out of it, feet moving out of the doorway as Seth followed hot on his tail, but Eloise had remained frozen in place as she watched Ben’s body fall to the ground as the sound of a gunshot echoed within the factory. Her eyes burned into the hole that branded itself into his back, the dark crimson colour painting his back almost unnoticeable due to the lack of light in the room.

Eloise could still make out Wiley’s eyes in the darkness, she swore she could see red in his irises as nothing, but rage and pure animalistic tendencies coursed through them. Scott had shouted for Eloise to run but she couldn’t hear him, the murderous gunshot echoing in her ears as her eyes became scarred with the sight of the body of the young boy who she had grown fond of.

She hadn’t realised she was moving until Scott grabbed her hand, almost ripping her arm out of the socket as he hauled her out of the building, a second gunshot being heard before a piercing yell from Eloise as her hand reached down for her leg as she tried to run. The pain of the piercing bullet in her thigh was nothing like she had ever felt before, it momentarily distracting her from the death she had just witnessed.

Scott had ended up carrying her back to Seth’s car, her mind not even registering Gabriel who had taken Scott’s place in the front seat as Seth started the car and raced back to their hideout, breaking every red light and stop sign that he came across in the early hours of the morning.

“What about Ben?” Her voice was quiet, throat dry as she blinked rapidly, trying to keep her eyes open although the urge to sleep was becoming too strong.

Scott had removed his belt from his jeans, tying it around her leg as an attempt to the try and stop the bleeding, using his hoodie as a gauze to keep pressure on the world, panicked and with a shake of his head, he said, “It’s too late, El. He’s gone,”

The last thing she remembered before she passed out was the heartache in Scott’s voice; at his words in regard to Ben but also to Eloise as he tried to call out to her, telling her to keep her eyes open and stay awake for him.

She woke up a while later, unsure of how long she had been out for, the tapestry pinned the ceiling above her head capturing her attention when she first opened her eyes, silently telling her who’s home she was in. Of course, she had been brought there.

“She’s awake,” A voice called out; older, yet familiar.

Brown eyes looked to her right, to which she found Han stood by her side, his eyes looking towards the doorway of the bedroom she was laying in. Faint footsteps got louder before two familiar bodies were stood in the doorway; faces etched with guilt and grief as they prepared themselves for the verbal abuse they would receive because of their actions, as if they hadn’t suffered enough.

“I agreed I wouldn’t ask what happened until she was awake,” Han’s voice spoke, arms crossing against his chest as he stood firmly, shoulders tense as he frowned at the two boys, “So, now you better start talkin’,”

Eloise’s eyes met with Scott’s golden ones, a gentle smile spreading across her face at the sight of her best friend, unable to ignore the way her heart hurt at the emotional turmoil he appeared to be in. She remembered almost instantly what had happened, the memories of the factory unfolding in her mind like a movie scene; the sight of Ben’s body collapsing and the gunshot prominent in her vision. She noted of Gabriel seemed to share a similar expression, except he looked to be more uncomfortable rather than upset. It’s not like it was his idea to go and hit that factory, Seth had pressured him into it. Speaking of Seth, where was he?

Gabriel looked as if he was about to speak, about to tell Han what had happened before Scott cut in, “It was all my idea; I thought it would be really cool if we were to try and prove ourselves to you guys by cashing in. I wanted to prove that we weren’t just kids and that we were ready for the big stuff like you guys were at our age,” Scott looked to be embarrassed, almost irritated actually as he claimed the blame for why they were in their current position, “So, we snuck into Wiley’s, tried to steal a couple of bottles of the Moonshine I heard he had been cooking up in his basement. I figured we could sell it on and bring the profits to the hideout… But all I managed to do was get two of my friends shot,”

Han’s sigh was nothing but full of disappointment, his exhale was heavy as he rubbed a hand over his face and looked at Scott, who’s eyes were planted firmly on his feet, unable to keep eye contact with anyone within the room.

It wasn’t the first time Han had been woken up at four in the morning, being asked if he can help someone who was injured. He just never expected for the victim of his next bullet extraction to be the girl who he had promised her dad he would look out for if anything were to happen.

Han’s throat worked, slowly swallowing a frustrated lump as he shook his head, pointing to Scott with an accusing finger, “Just be thankful it was only one life you lost last night. The bullet was only in her leg, and thankfully for your own sake, it didn’t hit anything critical, so she’s gonna be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected,” Han practically cursed himself at the thought of this being any worse than what it was, unsure of what he would do if it had been a wound to her chest or worse, “It’s just gonna take her a few days to be up and walking again, it’s gonna be a bitch of a recovery to get through,”

“I’ll stay with her until she’s ready to move,” Scott stepped forward, nodding his head at Han.

“She’ll be staying here until then, I’ll be keeping an eye on her and making sure it stays clean,” Han packed away the bloody rags that were on the floor, tossing them into his slow burner that sat in the corner of his living room, his eyes watching the sight of the rags beginning to catch the flames as they burned vigorously.

“That’s fine, but like I said, I’m staying with her. It’s my fault this happened, so it’s my responsibility.”

“You never left my side the entire time I was stuck at Han’s place,” She scoffed with a smile at the memory, “It doesn’t surprise me that Han stopped calling in sick for us with the school,”

And it was true, Scott never once went home the entire time that Eloise’s leg was healing. He practically lived at Han’s with her during that time. He felt guilty for what had happened, and he nominated himself to take full responsibility for the factory incident since Seth ran off the minute that he dropped them outside Han’s front door, driving off down the road to never been seen again.

They still didn’t know where he had gone or if he was even alive. Seth had chosen to run away from the gang after Ben died, walking away from any sole responsibility for the death of a teenager and the injury that left Eloise physically scarred. Scott had taken the blame for what happened because at the time he still felt like Seth was his friend, and he didn’t realise that when Seth drove away that night it would be the last time they saw or spoke to each other.

Eventually the truth had come out about how the plan to raid Wiley’s was a joint effort, but it didn’t make things any easier for Scott to cope with.

They never got a chance to bury Ben’s body, nor did his own parents have a chance to say their goodbyes. They received the news of their son’s death via the Gypsy Kings, something that Scott will never be able to erase; never forgetting the sight of his mother breaking down as she heard the news that her son wouldn’t be coming home.

Scott had decided from that day on to pay homage to Ben, wanting to show that he was being remembered by those who cared about him. So, every year on the day of Ben’s death, Scott would travel to Manhattan, to Ben’s parents’ house where he would lay a single red rose on their doorstep and walk away, paying a silent tribute to the boy who had a secret love for flowers and everything nature related; a small secret that only those close to him knew.

It was the death of Ben that sparked Scott’s ignorance when it came to people’s feelings, why he never let himself get attached to anyone new. After he experienced the pain of when Ben left him, only being accompanied by the abandonment his parents left him with – though they thought they were protecting him – once his mother got caught up in her own scandals, Scott decided to distance himself from people, allowing himself to use them for his piece of fun and nothing more.

Throughout everything, Scott and Eloise only ever had each other for long enough. They both had no real family to take care of them; both having left them although in different circumstances. It was from day Eloise had started walking again, leg slowly healing, that they decided they were in it together for the long haul. They had sworn to be brother and sister to each other until they died, always being there for one another when needed.

The memories of how they were before hurt Eloise to think about; looking back and seeing how quickly he was willing to sell himself out to protect someone who he thought was a friend, and how determined he was to sleep by her side while her leg healed, never hesitating or complaining when she woke up in the middle of the night and needed help getting to the bathroom or if she needed something as small as a drink of water.

But when she looked at Scott as she sat opposite him, his floppy curls pointed in all directions, face solemn as he stared out of the window, dark bags beneath his eyes, she couldn’t help but feel as though that something had changed. As much as she did genuinely enjoy his company; she could see their connection had a crack in it. Typical nights in where they would be clutching their stomachs in laughter or racing through the apartment as they play-fought like they were kids again were nothing but a distant memory being replaced with the latest reality of less smiles between them and added tension as Scott’s focus seemed to be elsewhere, as if he had better things to do other than spend time with the girl who had he practically grown up with.

The promise they made to each other is one she’d never be able to forget, no matter how hard she tried. It was a stupid pinkie promise they made on that day that had unintentionally become the glue between them and sadly she felt as though it was drying out and they were breaking off. It pained her to know what was silently happening between them, knowing it would only become clearer when she broke that promise, betraying one of the most important men in her life – or at least that’s what he used to be. It was painful, immensely, but she knew she had to follow through with it. It was for the sake of the city they called home, as well as his own good, and like Calum said, if he were truly her best friend then he would come to forgive her, surely not?

It was a risk she had to take. She had to break everything she had grown to know, unable to stand aside and watch as those around her destroyed themselves as well as innocent people.

“Brother and sister until we die. Bullets, friends, and relationships will never separate us. We’ll always have each other, we’ll always fight for each other, we’ll always love each other no matter what.”

---

Tag List: @steviemae @elsysoza @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23

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skookworks · 4 years ago

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Gallery: Delta Green

Most of my RPG illustration work has been for Call of Cthulhu related projects. That’s the result of intention and good luck and accident.

The Intention part happened in the year 2000. I submitted some illustrations to the Delta Green website. Delta Green was a Call of Cthulhu RPG set in modern times – the late 199os. Most CoC games are set in the 1920s/1930s, the time the original stories were written and set. I discovered Delta Green in 1999 when I working at Half Price Books. I was the buyer when a customer sold us his collection of RPG manuals. In the buy was Delta Green and its sequel Delta Green: Countdown. I bought those books for myself. I loved the ideas behind the setting. It updated the Cthulhu Mythos for the late Twentieth Century in ways that surprised and delighted me. It created a means and a reason for investigators to, well, investigate the horrors from beyond.

I’d wanted to illustrate RPGs but didn’t have much of a portfolio of examples to show. I found the Delta Green site early the next year. I don’t think it had a way to send submissions and I don’t think they were asking for any. What it did have was a way to submit fan art and writing. So I worked up three illustrations (see the follow gallery) and submitted them. They got posted. No one from Delta Green contacted me.

Oh well.

Two years later those illustrations got me work at The Black Seal. But that’s another post.

#gallery-0-6 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-6 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

The original photoshop files of these illustrations are, possibly, residing on an old back up drive. It’s formated for Mac and I currently use a PC so I haven’t tried plugging it in. A lot of the work I did in the first ten years of this century was done on a Mac. The art always started as graphite and ink on paper and then had photoshop magic applied to it. I’ve got the original drawings in big metal flat files but the art that got published looks different.

Earlier this year I realized that I’d sent most of those illustrations to the editors and publishers via email and I’ve never deleted any personal emails. So I’ve tracked down a lot of that older art and will be showing it in future galleries. I found the two black and white illustrations in the above gallery in my emails.

The first three images, however, I couldn’t locate in my gmail archive. AOL has long since deleted all my old emals. At first they didn’t appear to be on the current Delta Green site but, after doing some obsessive google searching and some sort of back door poking around on DG I found them in an archive. Huzzah!

Story Seed #54 The Time Line AntiDefense League

There are a lot of stories that feature some sort of organization whose mission is to defend the “correct” timeline, to make sure that history works itself out the way that it is “supposed to”. Bleah. How about an organization whose mission is to create timelines where history works itself out in the best ways for the most people?

Recommendation

Beeple. This person’s art started showing up in my tumblr feed, shared by other folks I followed. It was weird and creepy so I subscribed to his feed. He posts an image a day, every day.

Also, the Growing Up / Overnight Kickstarter concludes on the 30th. If you’ve been putting off backing it. please jump in.

Local News

Last week, in one of our stand up meetings at USPS, we were reminded that we, the letter carriers were not supposed to talk to the press. That if a member of the press attempted to engage us in conversation we were to refer him/her to management. Also, while we were in uniform, we were not to engage in political discussions with anyone lest they assume that our views represented those of the USPS. We were also to be careful not to express politcal opinions on social media in such a way as to lead people to believe that our views represented those of the USPS.

Sigh.

To be clear, anything I write here about my job at USPS is just my experience and my opinion. I like to assume that those of you who read these newsletters recognize this but, on the off chance you don’t, I AM NOT A REPRESENTATIVE OF THE POST OFFICE. I’m just a guy who works there. In my opinion, the USPS can’t actually have an opinion since it’s an organization. Organizations are not people. The people in charge of organizations may claim that their opinion represents the opinion of the organization but that’s just a fiction.

Anyway.

The most interesting part about the day job right now is that I have a new T6. USPS delivers mail six days a week. Regular carriers work and deliver theri route five days a week. A T6 is the person who delivers the route on the regular carrier’s day off. My last T6 had medical issues that prevented them from delivering my route on a regular basis. My new T6 is healthy and detail oriented. More detail oriented than I am, actually. And that’s good. It means I’m updating labels in mailboxes and doing maintenance on my route that I’d let slide. I keep most of my customer changes in my head. Having another person who has to regularly work my route reminds me that I should communicate customer changes in clear, written methods. It’s only polite.

We’ve also moved our start time from 7 am to 7:30 am. I’m not a fan but I’m adjusting.

I’ve left my alarm at 4 am. I get up. Drink coffee Write. Do computer art or make products in either my Zazzle or my Redbubble stores. I’ve updated my various websites to include a “store” page with links to each. This week I spent most of my store time working on an Oz Squad collection for Zazzle. Oz Squad is Steve Ahlquist’s creature but, as a fan and sometime collaborator, I try to find ways to keep the brand active.

Oz Squad Land of Oz

by Skookworks

In the evenings, once we’ve finished dinner and our spot of television, I work on physical art. Right now I’m doing pirate sketches. More about that when the project can be talked about publically.

Thank you for dropping by. Remember that life has always been insane. Look out for yourself and your friends. That’s where sanity and security dwells.

See you next week!

Tuesday Night Party Club #34 Gallery: Delta Green Most of my RPG illustration work has been for Call of Cthulhu related projects.

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setaripendragon · 6 years ago

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The Light of a Pole Star - Part 3

Okay, this part was a lot of fun. The whole birthday scene came out of nowhere as I was writing, it was a complete aside that turned into an actually important plot point XD Also, Maes’s voice will always and forever sound like Opalsong’s reading of The Demon Alchemist series in my head.

“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”

“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s fourteen.”

“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”

“He really is.”

“Don’t be so literal, Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”

“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”

“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a child! I would never-!”

“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”

“You did.”

“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”

“…I know.”

“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”

“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”

“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”

“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”

“Speaking of, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”

“Mother…!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”

“How, exactly?”

“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”

“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say; don’t.”

“Heheh. Only a little salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”

“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”

“Call it a hunch.”

The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking fantastic triple chocolate cake.

Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc and Roy, which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.

It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.

“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”

“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.

“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she always does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s hilarious, and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.

Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she must have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re sick? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.

Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a fascinating obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a swear-jar. Which sends Ed into hysterics.

Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris insisted. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories so much more interesting.”

“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.

Roy looks mortified, though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and approves.

“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.

He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands it to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.

Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.

“The purpose of presents is to unwrap them, FullMetal.” Roy drawls.

“The purpose of giving presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he does tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head spinning, because that- that’s him. Or well, technically, it’s her, when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.

It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.

Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of Stern Disapproval; “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, sir?”

Which, no. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s not. The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they had just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- Lucia had had an idea, and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of science, and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even noticed Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.

At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten more ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.

It’s not inappropriate at all, except for the fact that Roy has no idea what he’s saying with this picture because he doesn’t know. Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who gets it, and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. ‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.

Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination tasteless joke and attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.

“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.

“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.

Teacher snorts.

“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.

“No. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”

Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find his grins a little unnerving.

“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.

“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a social call.”

Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it looks kind of like stalking.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.

“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.

Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.

Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.

“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he laughs. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.

“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.

Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any more ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that fucker.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “That’s how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking told him, didn’t she? Oh my fucking-!”

“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.

Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.

“She’s Roy’s mum?”

“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.

Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”

“I had a long chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually had with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.

Ed narrows his eyes. “We did too talk about renaissance painters.”

“Yes, but not Vittori.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”

“Well, I was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not my fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s that much like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you actually made.”

Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”

Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a pit of vipers. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s totally a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those interesting things you wanted to interrogate me about?”

“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”

Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”

“No, Ed. This is me asking how the hell you even knew there was a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, worried, and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t meant to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from lifetimes of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.

Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.

Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m dying to know what a border scuffle and a mullah from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”

“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”

“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.

Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”

Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.

Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my beautiful daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.

This goes on until Ed’s almost finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”

“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.

Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from you that you’re older than you look.”

Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, I think you should jump him now’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his other arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering matchmaker, and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.

Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable looks of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.

When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, staring. “FullMetal?”

“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”

“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”

Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”

“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.

“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.

Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”

“FullMetal…”

“Food, Bastard.” Ed insists.

Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.

“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.

Another sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”

“Most of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.

Shit, but Ed loves him.

And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.

“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.

“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You’re half my age.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”

Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This isn’t you making a move?” He asks dryly.

Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”

“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”

Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.

“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”

“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”

“Idiot.” Ed huffs.

“I’m serious, Edward-”

“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.

“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.

“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.

“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.

“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his life – their lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look good to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”

“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and clever. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”

“Oh, is that where this is set?”

“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a valuable contribution to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”

“Savants?” Roy questions.

“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking revolutionised knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda have to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite parallel, but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”

“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.

“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”

“Today’s standards?”

“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, on average.” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. Anyway-” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”

“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a distracting question.

“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”

“Edward…” Roy says slowly.

“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he had when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking revolutionising alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”

“Is it really?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had no idea.”

Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about them but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that is the point.

“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s so much cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.

“I take it the boy’s cousin did recover, too?” Roy asks gently.

“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And eventually, these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”

Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”

“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching those kids. They were hellraisers, don’t get me wrong, but they were so good, too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, now I’m done.”

They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My point is… it’ll be better with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing together.”

He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.

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jarry-land · 6 years ago

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Bluma Barker and the Treacherous Toy Taker

(This was a short story I did for my creative writing class. I revised it a while ago so may as well post the final draft. If you have any feedback I would love to hear it!)

Tap-tap-tap. A tapping that echoes as far and wide as the room’s walls allow it to. A Tapping from the tip of a fountain pen as it firmly strikes the wooden top of a table. A tapping that remains constant and consistent, like the pulsating urge of a heart. A tapping that prevents the suffocation of silence. And above all, a tapping of impatience and frustration, as if the tapper is unable to do anything else but their namesake.

Officer Bluma Barker taps her pen as she reads her papers. Her table is littered with private documents, elaborate diagrams, and a map of the city. Her eyes dart between them as she scrutinizes the printed words and rudely inked drawings. It appears she is trying to piece all her evidence together to form one simple solution. But she’s having as much success with it as she does with a horseshoe puzzle, both leaving her with a tangled mess.

Barker puts down her pen and sighs. It is 10:30 am at the time she is working in her office. Despite being the head sergeant, her room is rather small and unadorned. She prefers it that way; no embellishes and no distractions. Her walls are painted sky blue, appearing monochrome from the lack of light. She has one narrow window behind her, with shades hanging over it. For reading purposes, she has a small desk lamp with a curvy neck.

Very suddenly, the door creaks open. “Did you forget something?” Barker spoke up sharply. The door closes very swiftly, followed by a soft knock. “You can come in now,” she said. The door opens entirely, revealing officer Tom, dressed in the standard police uniform. His badge gleams faintly on his chest. He looks a little intimidated by her response. “My apologies ma'am...just dropping off some more papers…” He walks up slowly and pulls out a bulky, black binder. She takes it and briefly skims through the binder’s contents. Appearing hesitant to speak, he chimes in quietly, “You’ve been rummaging through those papers all morning... I and the guys think that you should take a break...at least for a little while.”

Barker was about to open her mouth and shred this man a new one. Take a break? There is a city infested with criminals threatening the lives of millions of civilians. It is her and her squadron’s jobs to work day and night to squash any threats to peace. The mere suggestion of a break offends her.

But instead, Barker spun her chair around and faced her window. She opened the shades with her fingers and peered outside. Her office was on the ground level, and the streets were void of anyone. She closed them and turned back to Tom. “Sure, why not. I could use some fresh air. Make sure the others are keeping busy,” she said in a low voice as she got up. Tom let her pass by and followed her on the way out. Outside her door was the main hub, where the other officers work. They were typing on their computers, addressing phone calls, and examining their own paperwork. As if they all had the same thought, they all glanced up at Barker but quickly resumed to their work. Barker neither noticed nor paid mind to them, as she knows they can operate without her supervision. She’s trained them well.

Barker stepped out the police department and into the daylight. Not that there was much of it anyways. The buildings jumble so high up from the ground that the sun never gets to shine downwards. Everything looks pale and washed-out, with the skyscrapers appearing dark at the bottom and light at their tips. Barker strolled along, wearing her mulberry-colored trench coat and pitch-black fedora. She much prefers a shaded attire over the shinier clothing of the police, as hers draw much less attention. Doesn’t really matter right now, as there are very few souls outside. People would rather hide inside than linger in the open and be vulnerable. Anyone that did pass her usually kept their distance, likely out of both fear and awe. Who wouldn’t be impressed by Officer Bluma Barker? The toughest and most tenacious investigator in all of Downtown Dilemma? The one who stopped such heinous criminals like the Shoe Slipper, the Joule Jumper, and the Clockwork Cranker?

She supposes that they look at her like a lion. Intimidating, revered, and steadfast. But they would not want to get too close to a lion, now would they?

Barker turned around the corner and sees her favorite coffee house: Sumptuous Sinkers. She enters the familiar doors and walks toward the front counter. The cashier, dressed in a stained apron and flimsy visor, instantly recognizes Barker and straightens his posture. “A-Afternoon Chief! I assume you want your usual?” he stutters. He appears to be around 19 and just starting the job. Barker gestures with a finger gun, prompting him to clumsily rush to the back. She stands there and takes in the comfy surroundings. Her eyes land on the display of freshly baked donuts, protected by a hard, plastic display glass. This is her and her squadron’s go-to place, whether for a few minutes or an hour.

The cashier came back and, in a soft plastic wrapping, brought her the prized delicacy. A soft, plump, blueberry-filled donut. A very thin coating of sugar sprinkles swaddles it, making it look exceptionally shiny. Its roundness and powderiness rival that of the moon. This isn’t just any standard, factory-produced pastry; this is baking at its finest.

Barker was about to pay when the cashier hands it to her. “Oh please, it’s on the house.” He says with an awkward smile.

“How generous. I assume you just started here?” She replies softly as she takes it.

“Oh well, you know how it goes. Just a temporary job to save up for college and such,” he says, trying to keep his cool. Perhaps he’s a fan. She drops a couple of dollars into the tip mug and sits down by the window. Barker gets comfortable and starts taking small bites into the donut, starting with the outer crust and getting into the pleasurable blue goop. She enjoys savoring it.

As she eats, Barker gazes out the window reflectively. The streets and buildings look sketched with graphite out of a notebook. She’s worked in this city for several years now, knows every nook and cranny, and went toe-to-toe with dozens of baddies. She wonders how much longer will it remain this way. Perhaps forever. She grew up in this city and was completely oblivious to the issues and threats as a child. Until...

As she continued enjoying her donut, Barker notices she’s aligned nearly perfectly with the alleyway across the street. It cuts into the buildings like a deep ravine in the ocean. A common occurrence in the city...though, something looked off. Barker squints her eyes and focuses. The alleyway is nearly pitch-black, but she can make out someone creeping, their clothes flowing ominously. It could be just a drifter...but she’s not really sure. She would rather trust her gut instinct than let it slide. She finished her donut and made her leave.

Conspicuously, she crosses the street and enters the alleyway. The place is devoid of any light. Barker takes out her flashlight and looks around. Just a couple of dumpsters and some rats curiously reading the sprawled newspapers.

“So the mouse has fallen for the bait,” a voice comes from behind her. Barker turns around to face a dimmed figure. The tattered edges of the jacket, the unshaved fuzz on his chin, the bowler hiding his eyes. It was Defunct Detective Daler, once a renowned investigator in Downtown Dilemma now a washout who backstabs both law enforcers and criminals.

“Ha...ha...did I pull you away from your indulgence?” he said amusingly. Barker crosses her arms and sighs annoyingly. She rebuttals, “And are you enjoying your time loitering the streets with nothing to do?” Daler is notorious for being a double-crosser, but Barker finds him to be a waste of time and waste of space. She’s rather unimpressed with his word folly.

“Aw come on, don’t you want some juicy tidbits from your good friend Detective Daler?” He snickers quietly. Barker starts to leave when he adds, “tidbits about the...Toy Taker?” He emphasizes the name. She stops. Is Daler in cahoots with the Toy Taker?

It could be a bluff. She turns her head slightly to see him. “And what would you know about him, you lowlife?”

He wears a smug grin. “More than probably you’ll ever find ou-” Barker swiftly pins him against the wall.

“You better quit wasting my time or I’ll make sure you won’t be able to speak again.” She asserted, agitated with his antics. He didn’t let up his amused expression.

“Oh but Barker...I think you would love to know...that the Toy Taker has his eyes on...a valuable relic being displayed at the Museum of Trifling Trinkets.”

She stared at him for a moment then released him. “It would be too obvious of a heist,” she scoffed.

After collecting himself, Daler turned away and shrugged. “Well, he could already have plans to go tonight. Or maybe he’s going to scour the shop halfway across the city. Or maybe he’s sneaking into an unsuspecting apartment.” He turns away and starts walking slowly to the other side. “Whatever you wish to believe. If you do see him, maybe you can retrieve your precious axolotl…,” he follows that last part with a laugh.

“And maybe you can shut your mout-” Barker turned around steaming when Daler was already gone. How did he get this information? She rubbed her hand on her chin and thought for a moment. This could be another ruse...but Daler has never mentioned the Toy Taker before. She’s had no luck tracking him down, so at this point, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. Or it could be a waste of time. What a quandary.

It is now nearly 11 pm in Downtown Dilemma. Barker finds herself in the Museum of Trifling Trinkets. After speaking with the city’s mayor, she got permission to set up a stakeout in the Museum of Trifling Trinkets. She brought some of her squadrons with her and scattered the rest of them in other potential locations. As of now, she waits.

It’s difficult to make out the inside of the museum. The only source of light that breaks the darkness is the moon. Numerous pedestals erect from the ground, holding the namesake of the museum: beloved and antique toys of all sorts and all generations. This museum specializes in toys from given out at restaurants, particularly those from fast food joints. This would seem like an odd choice for an exhibition, but they’re quite valuable due to their rarity and uniqueness in the market. These are the Toy Taker’s favorite choice of theft, making his crimes especially expensive.

Ah yes, the Toy Taker. Insane and absurd, cunning and slippery. He’s only got one thing on his mind: to snatch up as many toys as he can. Doesn’t matter where and doesn’t matter who, if he fancies it, he’ll steal it. His motives are quite muddled; perhaps he never grew out of his youth and desires to preserve it? Or he is an avid, albeit extreme, collector? Maybe he’s a sadist who enjoys watching little kids cry?

What started as a trivial problem became enormous losses for everyone involved. People in Downtown Dilemma like giving their children toys for comfort, or still have their own from days of youth. It’s tough growing up in a city like Downtown Dilemma, and the kids need all they can get. Barker has seen many tearful and devastated young ones, heartbroken over the toy-shaped holes in their hands. All the Toy Taker’s doing.

In her daydreaming from the strain of watching in the dark, Barker nearly lost focus. The museum recently imported a new item: “Robo-Busters Clash n’ Smash Rugged Rover ©.” It’s a little mechanical buggy with a useless claw hanging from its back, perfect condition and all. A perfect target for the Toy Taker’s dirty hands.

...If it was still there at the moment. Barker rubbed her eyes and looked again. The buggy was gone. She was scoping the toy behind a few displays back, but neither heard nor saw any unusual activity. She gestured to one of her officers adjacent to her and he promptly turned on the lights. The entire room lit up, revealing a figure scurrying up the wall and trying to exit through the opened window. One of the officers yelled “Stay where you are!” and all the officers pointed their shotguns at him. It only made the crook squirm faster. One of them fired a bullet; it missed and ricochet off the window, but it was enough to startle the man and knock him onto the floor. Very swiftly, he got onto his feet and dashed into the room behind him. In his fall he dropped a pair “Super Spies’ Guaranteed Sticker Suckers ©.”

Barker ran in pursuit, with the other officers following. She was a jiffy too late, as the crook hopped up on one of the pedestals and smashed the window using his “Beefy Boy Builders’ Real Hammer ©.” Without the need for a command, two officers formed a base for Barker. She hopped on their arms and they hoisted her up. She got through and nearly fell off the paper thin ledge outside. She started scaling the building and faintly heard one of her men cry “Be careful!”

After climbing two stories, Barker gripped onto the roof. She got her footing but nearly slipped on the smooth, limestone-encrusted dome. She could hear someone laughing at her. She has her sights on the culprit: the Toy Taker himself. Looks like Daler wasn’t fibbing.

Compared to Barker, the Taker is twice her height with very lanky limbs. He dons a purple jester outfit, with black spandex pants and long, black-and-white striped socks. His hat has bells sticking out and doubled as a hoodie. His eyes, a dark violet, have dark circles under them. Unshaven and tired, yet diabolical and slimy.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the Taker paces, “Too late Officer Barker. Your ignorance has allowed me to procure my latest prize.” He holds up the buggy in one hand, with a wicked smirk on his face.

“Well there’s nothing stopping me now from pummeling you all the way down to the sewers,” she rolls up one of her sleeves and makes her way to him, trying not to slip. He dances around her teasingly and chuckles. He’s sporting his “Bumble Ballerina’s Buzzing Ballad Shoes ©.”

“Why bother trying? It seems like Barker can’t get her holding.” He comes close and sticks out his foot. She didn’t fall for it but wobbled regardless. “You may think you are helping this city. People may praise you for your heroism. But all you are is a clown who can’t stop a fellow clown like me! Ahahaha!” He sounds pleased with his monologue. “I have way too many gizmos for you to keep up! You can’t do anything! You couldn’t even save your precious axolotl!”

Closed wounds have been ripped once more. Barker’s childhood comes to her mind, whether she wanted to think about it or not. The memories are centered around her favorite plushie: a soft, pink axolotl name Kippy. Her parents gave it to her when she was six. Since she had very few friends as a kid, Kippy became her best one. Since then, she was inseparable from it. They did everything together. Kippy was one thing keeping Barker naive to the chaos of Downtown Dilemma. With him at her side, life was perfect.

And he ripped him away from her.

Like. He Just. Ran past her. And grabbed him. That’s it. Really. Really?? He didn’t use any special tricks?? Was he really that self-assured with stealing a toy from a child in broad daylight?? Disrespectful.

“Ahahaha! That must bring up unpleasant memories. Poor Officer Barker, sad and lonesome without her best friend in the whole wide wor-”

BAM. The Taker was so consumed with his babbling, he did not notice Barker get up and wind up a punch straight to his face. He twisted back and fell over, still gripping firmly onto the buggy. He looks up, his left eye blackened and bleeding.

Barker stands over the Toy Taker, cracking her knuckles. “Well, we wouldn’t be here now if you stole it huh?” Ready to kick your ass?” she spoke fiercely.

Without the Taker’s nab, Barker wouldn’t have made it her goal to beat crime to a bloody pulp, or train day and night to become the strongest officer, or rise in the ranks to become head of the police department. Ironic.

The Taker looked on with distraught under the wrath of the officer, a streak of blood rolling down his cheek. But his smirk came back. “Not quite…,” he busted out his “Angst Kids Gotta-Get-Away Grappling Shot ©” and aimed it at the building behind him. He fired the hook, which seemed modified given its incredibly long rope. He slipped away from her and while in midair, he opened his “Fly High Beginner’s Hang Glider ©” and began soaring. Quite the devious pair of tools.

She wasn’t going to let the Taker steal another t. She couldn’t. Right As he slipped away, Barker took off her hat and aimed carefully. After a moment, she launched it with full force. Her last resort - a reinforced fedora known to knockout if it hits. Witnesses have dubbed this her “New Moon.”

The hat curved like a sharply hit the Taker’s side. It didn't knock him from the grapple, but it did knock off the buggy. The Toy Taker managed to escape, profusely yelling faintly in the distance.

The buggy plummets down to the surface, surely doomed once it hits the unforgiving concrete. Suddenly, a passerby rushes under it and barely catches it in their hands. Right before it went splat.

Some time passes, and the museum owner and more officers are inspecting the crime scene. There was damage to the window, but the buggy’s safety is all that matters right now. The Toy Taker was able to escape, but his heist ultimately failed. After this experience, perhaps Barker can better track the Taker’s shifty movements.

And the person that caught the buggy? The cashier from Sumptuous Sinkers, who happened to be at the right place and right time. After returning the buggy and the commotion died down, Barker privately met the adolescent.

“That was a nice catch earlier, donut boy. What were you doing out so late?”

“Oh heh, thanks...my closing shifts end pretty late. It was nothin’ special, anyone could’ve saved it...,” he folds his arms behind his back.

“Don’t push your merits aside. You did a great job for both the museum and my department,” she told him sincerely.

“G-Gee Officer Barker...it’s an honor for you to say that,” he says flustered yet excited. Yep, definitely a fan.

“Say, it’s a little dangerous out for anyone to be walking out alone. How about an escort?”

“That would be sweet! T-Thanks officer…”

So the two began strolling into the dead of the night, not another person or creature to disturb the moment. The fog envelopes them as they become silhouettes, vanishing like a couple of specters.

“My apologies, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“It’s Mikey.”

#short story #writing #my writing #Jard's writing #creative writing

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