#The markers were already dead when I painted Sun- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

electrasev5nwrites · 1 year ago

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Ninja Daily: Vapors 81

“Nice facial tats.”

Aiko cracked her eyes partially open laboriously and somehow managed to dig deep within herself for the strength to lift a hand and flip Kakashi off. “The marker doesn’t want to come off.” She yawned and gave an enormous, back-cracking stretch that lifted most of her torso off the grass where she’d fallen asleep several hours ago. Granted, she hadn’t tried that hard to get the writing off. Scrubbing at her face hurt, damnit. At least her friends’ signatures had largely faded into dark blurs. Barely visible, really.

When she opened her eyes again, she had to frown. “Is something wrong?”

Kakashi, who was studiously looking up, shook his head. “No, of course not.”

Aiko eyed him warily. ‘I think he gets stranger every time I see him.’ Just in case, she checked the skyline to see if there were hawks circling or storm-clouds gathering or something else that might draw attention upwards. Nope. Nothing.

Well, whatever.

She rolled over to push herself onto her hands and knees and climbed to her feet, quickly acclimating to consciousness again. She’d decided to be nearly useless for the next couple of days whenever possible, so the time waiting for Kakashi that might normally have been spent on physical conditioning had instead been a sun nap.

“Ugh, my grape juice is warm…” Aiko shook the bottle lightly with a grimace, and then painted on a smile. “Hey, want some juice, ‘Kashiii?”

He looked repulsed, though whether it was the cutesy nickname or the offer of warm juice was hard to tell.

‘On the subject of horrifying nicknames…’

“That reminds me,” she added reluctantly. A shudder wracked her body. “The Mizukage said to say hi.”

“And that’s why you look like you just saw a kitten get picked up by a hawk,” Kakashi said skeptically. “When did you see her, anyway?”

‘Well, he’s asking for it.’

“I was returning a couple of her toys. And, um.” She cleared her throat and pronounced the next words gingerly, as if slurring them would mean she would have to endure repeating them. “She called you ‘sweetcheeks,’ Aiko relayed distastefully.

There was an awkward silence. A hawk flew overhead.

“So, you wanted to learn the shuriken shadow clone jutsu, right?” he asked, voice half a pitch higher than usual and shoulders hunched inwards slightly defensively.

“Yes!” Aiko leapt up to attention, leaning into his personal space slightly and maintaining eye contact to convey that she was highly alert. “Yes, please.” When he didn’t move, she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head endearingly. “Kakashi?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets almost violently.

“Okay…” Aiko drawled unsurely. “You’re not acting weird or anything. Do I need to know the original jutsu to learn a variation?”

“Shadow clones, you mean?” Kakashi seemed much more comfortable when given a solid goal. “That would probably be a good idea. I’m sure you’ve seen Naruto do that a hundred times, but just in case.” He held his hands up and into neat version of the cross she was intimately familiar with from Naruto’s spars. “He performs the forbidden variation: the Multiple Shadow clone jutsu, but you won’t need that and it isn’t entirely advisable. As you probably know, he has a ludicrous amount of chakra,” Kakashi said a bit dryly, letting his hands fall down.

No contesting that.

“If you tried the same thing, you would probably end up dead. Unlike other techniques, where you infuse an existing material with your chakra to form a clone, the entire material of a shadow clone is from your chakra stores. It has to be dense, and requires a good deal of finesse. A shadow clone is nearly impossible to tell from the original, in large part because you have to build a chakra system identical to yours for every single clone. It becomes exponentially easier with time, of course, but at first…”

He paused for emphasis, but it wasn’t necessary. Aiko was already paying attention.

“It splits your chakra evenly between all the clones, right?”

“Exactly.” Kakashi rolled his neck, looking bored and sleepy. “So, the more you make, the weaker they are. In any case, back to my original point. Constructing the chakra system quickly and accurately, with tenketsu and all the gates, takes a large amount of finesse, practice, and anatomical knowledge.”

The statement might have been just a little too casual, as if he were mulling over his own expertise, so she had to ruin it.

“Is that what Naruto does?” she asked innocently, blinking up at him.

He scowled. “It takes either finesse or sheer bull-headedness,” Kakashi admitted a little sullenly.

‘I probably shouldn’t tease him when I’m trying to get him to teach me two new techniques.’ That in mind, she flashed him a smile. “I’m dutifully impressed by your expertise in yet another field. What else do I need to know?”

“Not much,” he admitted easily. “The difficult part is tying a chakra shell over the circulatory system and letting it start powering itself.”

She took that as a cue to give it a try. In future, she would have to be able to do this without closing her eyes, but for the first try Aiko took a deep breath and gauged her own system. Replicating it was a royal pain, not least because the chakra redistributed and wavered as she began constructing the copy. It made her a little nauseous, actually. In contrast, the chakra shell (very similar to what was used for a henge, which made her realize how Naruto had come to the trail of thought he had when anyone else would have made a clone and had it perform henge itself instead of making it be part of the clone’s construction) was child’s play.

Feeling triumphant, Aiko gave a violent little pulse of chakra that filled the construct… and instantly felt like someone had sucker-punched her in the gut when the technique vacuumed out half of her chakra. Knowing that it would evenly split her chakra wasn’t the same as feeling it happen.

A shadow clone stood by her left, perfect as far as she could tell. It was hard to feel enthused.

“Yes, that’s the face everyone makes,” the jackass who had definitely not mentioned that problem observed drolly. “I suppose I could have warned you about that, hmm?”

“I think I’m going to be ill,” Aiko stated blandly. “C’mere, so I can yack on you.”

Kakashi took a smooth step backwards, somehow looking amused. “Perhaps later.”

“Really?” she pretended to think he was serious. “That’s awfully kinky. Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.”

‘There, he did it again.’ Aiko frowned at her captain in faint confusion when he turned his face straight up again instead of answering. ‘Is he just pining for the fjords or what?’ She cleared her throat and considered stepping in to check his temperature. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He looked back at her, suddenly perfectly normal. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Before she could point out what a colossal weirdo he was being today, he had continued on. “In any case, now that I’ve gone through the rigorous task of teaching the first step of that jutsu, even though you are painfully slow at it,”

“It wasn’t that rigorous for you,” she muttered under her breath.

“I think it’s only fair that I get my answer now.” A mildly pained look crossed his visible eye. “Before I say anything that sounds completely insane, did anything unusual happen on your last mission?”

“Like, say, traveling to the past and ending up in some shithole called Rouran?” Aiko asked dryly, suddenly understanding some of his oddness. He was probably wondering if he’d had a minor stroke or particularly vivid dream or something and worried about bringing it up.

The way he relaxed fed her theory. “Something slightly exactly like that, yes.” He gave a slow exhalation. “What kind of explosives were you using against those puppets?”

The Cheshire cat couldn’t have given a better grin. “Are you saying I figured out something you’ve never seeeen?” she crooned smugly, clasping her hands and wiggling her shoulders a little bit. She’d known that, yes, but forcing him to admit it was sweet. He must have been agonizing about this for a while: there wasn’t really anything wrong with asking, but he had too much pride for it to be easy.

“Yes,” Kakashi said grumpily.

‘I was hoping he would let me drag that out,’ she pouted silently. ‘I guess he’s not in the mood for a little embarrassment.’

She sucked in air through her teeth. “You’re no fun,” Aiko informed him, before shaking her head briskly. “It was just my Hiraishin seals.”

He gave her a ‘yeah, right’ look.

“They may be slightly modified and trapped,” she admitted, putting her palms up in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “and by ‘they’, I mean that all my seals are explosive.”

Kakashi turned faintly green.

“Jiraiya approved it,” Aiko added a little defensively.

He didn’t look very reassured by that for some reason. It only took a moment for his eye to widen and for him to posit a slightly frantic question.

“Does that mean you have an explosive device on two foreign Kage?”

“You don’t have to sound so stressed about it, I have the situation under control,” she muttered, a little irritated by the lack of trust. Aiko crossed her arms across her chest and shrugged one shoulder as she added, “And to be fair, it’s more like Gaara and Mei are explosive devices than that they have explosives on them.” She may as well be honest now that she’d told him a little. He wasn’t about to tattle.

Kakashi covered his face with both hands and bent over slightly. And then he stopped moving.

‘I think I broke him,’ Aiko realized with a small amount of surprise. He always seemed rather unshakable.

After a few seconds of that, she was starting to feel thoroughly creeped out and uncomfortable. “Um… ‘Kashi?” Aiko stepped in and peeled one hand off his face, curling her hand around the tips of his fingers and staring worriedly into the bit of face she could see. He looked distinctly pained.

“Oh, nothing,” he mumbled, words muffled by his mask much more than usual as if he couldn’t be bothered to enunciate. “I’m just estimating how far the Hokage is going to punt me when she realizes what you’ve done. I think her previous record was set with Jiraiya, but I’m lighter than he is, so I think she might easily break that one.”

Oh, boo hoo.

Aiko rolled her eyes and dropped his hand abruptly, freeing hers up to whap at his hair, nearly getting her hand caught in a tangle. “Don’t be such a drama queen. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He actually whimpered.

“Come on,” she prodded unsympathetically, puffing her cheeks out before she continued. “You still owe me a jutsu. You can angst about things that are unlikely to ever happen later. I have important things scheduled for today. If you make me late for frozen yogurt, I will be seriously disappointed with you.”

The dirty look she got in return indicated that she’d gone a little too far, and she jerked backwards. The strangest desire to bare her neck and cower rose up.

‘I’m not actually a dog,’ she reminded herself, a little unnerved by the inhuman impulse. ‘I don’t show my vulnerable spots to the alpha. That’s not human behavior.’ Was that a new side-effect of her ninken bond? Or was it just bothering her now because she wouldn’t have challenged him before?

“You should be able to make about the same mass of shuriken as what goes into your clone,” Kakashi educated briskly, seeming to deflate with a sigh now that he’d reminded her he was in charge/gotten over his fit of depression. “It won’t be anywhere near as impressive as what you saw demonstrated until you can manage more clones. You have the raw capacity to make as many as four, I believe, but that would be a pointless endeavor and leave you all but drained. Once you are accustomed to compensating for having only half of your reserves, you can begin practicing making a second clone.”

She’d personally seen Naruto make as many as forty at a time, in a casual spar. Something of her aghast realization at just how much raw power he had must have showed in her face.

‘I mean, I knew he had more than everyone else. But I have big Uzumaki chakra reserves too, and my limit is four? I’d be almost completely vulnerable splitting my chakra five ways, and Naruto doesn’t break a sweat at making by eight times my limit.’

“Yes, I know,” he sympathized, faintly amused. “When you really think about it, it’s a bit disturbing.”

“So…” Aiko said faintly, trying to regain her bearings. She hadn’t been lying about having plans, so she really should hurry. “How do I go about making a non-human shape? I know I’ve seen Naruto do that, but I never asked where he learned.”

“I think he figured it out on his own,” Kakashi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He collapsed lazily into a cross-legged position on the grass, not seeming to care that she was still standing. A bit awkwardly, she copied him. “Naruto… Well, normally, there’s a bit of a mental barrier between the theoretically simple distinction between creating human, nonhuman, and non-living clones. I would suggest using an intermediary by practicing living beings that do not resemble you and gradually working your way to less complicated organisms. In theory at least, it should be much simpler to make an object with one material and no complex internal structure, but most users actually find it incredibly counterintuitive.”

She had to take that in for a moment.

‘This is going to suck, isn’t it?’

“Have fun. I would suggest re-using that clone as many times as possible instead of dispelling it, because you won’t get all your chakra back and each time you make the clone, it will be slightly weaker.” He raised one hand in a silent farewell. “Find me when you’ve managed to create a pile of shuriken, I suppose. The next step will be animation and force.”

“Turns out that splitting my chakra in half and then splitting the other half by various dividends again blows,” Aiko informed blandly, staring into her cherry yogurt as if it held the key to figuring that damn jutsu out. She’d worked her way from monkeys to dogs to lizards to snakes, but had completely failed to manage the step to the noble worm.

Karin was markedly unsympathetic. “I find it hard to want to comfort you for having a little bit of difficulty while learning an A class technique.” She tapped her own plastic spoon against her vanilla treat. “You know, this sounded good, but my stomach is a little unsettled.” With a sigh, she pushed it away and propped herself up on her elbows. “I’ve gotten stuck going through regular hospital work.” She rolled her ruby red eyes. “Majorly annoying. All I want to think about is what sample 626 is doing in my precious lab, but I’m stuck making sure everyone and their great-aunt is up to date on their medical records and shots.”

“Tsunade is getting all her ducks in a row, then?” Mildly interested, she resorted to squishing her treat with a spoon and glanced back up at her cousin. She’d already picked out all the bits of actual fruit, so the yogurt was quickly losing appeal.

Her cousin looked tired. If this was the kind of strain they were putting their medics under to hopefully ameliorate potential problems later if war did break out, it was a shame that only the escalation in threat level had allowed a change in attitude that made it easy for Tsunade to push through the last of her major reforms. At least they would have a truly intimidating amount of certified field medics in the next graduating class to free up more experienced units. In times of war, medics were often hit the hardest. They ran double duty as primary support troops and a necessity on the front lines, where they were often the first target. Not that having a corps promised mainly of inexperienced genin was a good thing, either, but it was better than nothing.

“Yeah.” Karin stuck her spoon in her treat and pushed out her chair, running her free hand through her loose, messy ponytail and heaving a sigh. “My break is over, I need to go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“That makes eighteen…” Aiko mumbled under her breath, pulling out the continental map she’d gotten after graduation and pulling the pen from behind her ear to make the corresponding mark. No matter how good her mental map was, this wasn’t the kind of situation where she could rely on her memory. Missing just one check-point location would leave a gap for someone to slip through. She had already had the unpleasant realization that her original estimate of how many seals she would need had been off by two and was grateful that she’d taken the time to actually measure out the space. Apparently, she was a better sensor than she was a cartographer. (Is that the person who makes maps or the person who uses them? Aiko scrunched her nose and decided it didn’t matter, because she wouldn’t be great at either).

Really, the most time-consuming part of this was checking off the exact location after she had set it up, making a tiny blue circle around the red dots she had placed in her proposed locations.

Twenty-one. Thirty. Forty-five. Seventy seemed like a nice, round number to stop on, and she had no intention of burning through a significant chunk of her chakra reserves while they were still refilling from experimentation with shadow clones. So Aiko called it a day and went back home, carelessly dropping her map and pen on her bed and showered until all the hot water was gone. Hair secured in a messy bun on her head with chopsticks, she wandered out into the front room in her pajamas and pulled out a book. She was re-reading Icha Icha Hot Springs Fun when she fell asleep, curled up on the couch.

The rest of the seals went up the next day, and she began running a quick check at regular times every 8 hours, just to be precise in her paranoid even if it did mean she had to break up her sleep patterns. She had started to hammer out a pattern after her second time running the route.

For something that only took a few minutes, it was bizarrely tiring. Using Hiraishin took no chakra or physical effort, but she started to feel mentally weary and less alert when she kept using it in short succession. Even stopping for a few seconds helped her seem to get back to a better reaction and perception time, which helped the one time that she appeared a little too close to a Konoha patrol and flickered away before they noticed her. It would be a bit awkward to run into someone else out here and have to explain just how paranoid she really was.

‘Come to think of it, I should probably get Tsunade’s permission to do this,’ Aiko realized belatedly. ‘Wow. I am really terrible at this whole ‘chain of command’ thing.’

It wasn’t so much that she minded following orders in the field as it was that she forgot that she was technically obligated to respond to Tsunade’s commands at all times. The situation seemed authoritarian and stupid sometimes, but if a little visit with the Hokage would keep her from getting accused of insubordination… Well, she wasn’t particularly fond of risking things for no real benefit.

An hour later, she was wondering why she even bothered.

“No, no, I completely understand,” Tsunade snarked, clearly enjoying the break from paperwork to mock her. “You’re great at making decisions. In fact, why don’t you take care of this stack of papers?”

Said stack connected with the desk with an unpleasant thud when dropped from a few inches.

It wasn’t really a question, though Aiko wasn’t entirely certain the Hokage was serious. She’d moved on from educating her about the exact Hiraishin route she should be using instead of what she’d been doing—the same seals, but in a different order—to mercilessly mocking her for trying in the first place. Hadn’t said she should stop, though.

“I mean, since you clearly can make decisions about national security with more certainty than I can, I would really appreciate you showing me how other parts of my job are done.” Smugly, the Hokage cracked her back and strolled casually over to sprawl out on the couch on the other end of her office. “Wake me when you’re done, would you?”

Bewildered, Aiko looked down at the stack she had been given and (uncertain but willing to give this a shot) pulled a pen from the desk. A quick glance conveyed the impression that Tsunade genuinely intended to take a nap…

‘So she is probably just using this as an excuse to slack and given me something unimportant.’

Thus reassured, Aiko sat in one of the more comfortable chairs along the edge of the office and tucked her knees up, using her lap as a desktop while she read.

‘So… Ebisu submitted a progress report on his genin team?’ Mildly interested, she parsed through it. It was a little anal, but very responsible of him.

She was something like one-hundred percent certain that Kakashi had never bothered to do anything like this.

Aiko rummaged through the stack for the blank papers that would hold comments—what should be done about the report, whether that meant to file it or submit it to another office—and carefully recommended that he be given a raise and asked if he would be willing to conduct a workshop for members of the genin corps similar to the training exercise detailed on page four. Ending up in the genin corps instead of under an elite Jounin sensei was generally a career-ender, as the lack of guidance made it a herculean effort to reach Chuunin, and they really couldn’t afford to waste so many of their resources if they were heading to war. A little guidance from someone who actually knew how to teach could make a difference. Guiltily, she stole a look at Tsunade. If she hadn’t seen the older woman standing a few minutes prior, she might have thought she was dead.

‘I wonder if she’ll review these before they get sent to the desk downstairs to be enacted?’

Aiko shrugged the thought away and stapled her comments to the report before setting it aside. If not, it wasn’t her problem, was it?

Tsunade wasn’t blind, after all. She’d served under an enormous troll for pretty much all her shinobi career. The woman should know better than to ask Aiko’s opinion if she didn’t want to get it.

The next report made her blink and check the names on the rest. ‘Does everyone but Kakashi do these?’ Apparently so. Asuma, Gai, Kurenai, and a number of other familiar names had submitted bi-weekly reports detailing training and any troubling behaviors from their various underlings. It seemed that this was a convention that wasn’t solely reserved for genin—anyone who passed on anything but family techniques seemed to have to summarize it.

It made sense that being familiar with her future elite’s abilities would allow Tsunade to most intelligently assign missions.

‘The very conspicuous lack of information about myself and Naruto might be slightly troubling, in that line of thinking. You know, if Tsunade wasn’t personally acquainted with us.’

Kakashi probably just thought it would be morally wrong to be more helpful than he was legally required to be, because there was definitely nothing here about teaching her shadow clones and the shadow shuriken thingy that made pretty colors.

(Aiko did a rather poor job of stifling a grin).

Gai’s request for access to training ground 44 on Sunday from noon to eight pm was approved (and she silently apologized to Tenten – just Tenten, because Lee would love it and she was petty enough to want Neji to suffer a little bit even six years since the last time he’d stomped her in a spar— as she stamped it with the Hokage’s seal), Asuma was issued a reprimand for attempting to write-off BBQ as a team training expense, and several other mundanities were taken care of before Tsunade seemed to get bored with pretending to sleep and snatched the work she’d done out of her hands.

“I had a thought,” she began without preamble, kicking out her chair hastily.

‘Just one?’

Tsunade sat behind her desk and steepled her fingers, looking responsible and stern a bare instant before Shizune pushed the door open and stepped inside holding a pile of papers stacked on top of a cardboard box.

“Why are you interrupting important business?” Tsunade snapped, as if she hadn't just been blatantly slacking off.

Aiko just about choked.

The brunette looked a bit flustered, but continued inwards anyways, clutching the mid-sized box to her torso. “Please forgive my impertinence, Tsunade-shishou, but these are the finished reports you wanted for the Kazekage and the Mizukage.” She set them on the edge of Tsunade’s desk with a little bow, backing away almost instantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a problem in the intelligence office.”

“That they don’t have any intelligence?” Tsunade asked dryly, not even bothering to pretend to be interested in what Shizune had brought over.

Shizune sighed tiredly and agreed, “Something like that, yes.” The door closed behind her with a slight click.

As soon as they were alone again, the Hokage slumped in her chair and closed her eyes smugly. “Nailed it,” Tsunade muttered, before deigning to give Aiko any of her attention again. “Well, since you’re already here, you may as well get going.”

“Get going?” she repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow in a not-entirely-respectful request for elaboration.

Tsunade’s hand moved in a blur she couldn’t entirely follow.

The box Shizune had brought in was heavier than it looked when Tsunade tossed it directly into her gut. Her arms curled up underneath the cardboard to support the weight, but that was about all she could manage for a moment while she wheezed weakly, feeling like an asthmatic kitten.

“The box goes to the Kazekage, and the loose papers are for the Mizukage. When you’re done with that, I don’t really care what you do. Just don’t get stomped by the actual patrols, you insufferable little weirdo.”

Aiko heaved a deep sigh and readjusted the load in her arms. “Chirp chirp, off goes the delivery bird,” she monotoned with a notable lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll come back for Mei’s stuff.” Without waiting for a reply, she tapped a Hiraishin seal onto Tsunade’s desk and set the pile of papers on top of it.

Tsunade made a rude face just as the Hokage’s Office blurred and became—oh, how awkward. “Yo,” she greeted, giving Gaara, Kankuro, and Temari an apologetic smile over her burden. “Is that udon? It smells wonderful.”

“Um, yes.” Kankuro gave her an uncertain look, letting his noodles slip back into the bowl. “You know, it’s rude to come by at meal times.” He yelped when his sister hit him, belatedly covering his head in defense (inadvertently flattening his silly kitty ears.) “What was that for?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Temari condescended, before plastering on an eye-crinkling smile. “Aiko-san, may I assume those are from Lady Tsunade?”

“You’re good at guessing games.” A bit awkwardly, she shifted the weight in her arms and wished she’d showed up when Gaara was working. At least then it would have been easier to excuse herself. Suddenly appearing in someone else’s house sort of undermined all the rules of household etiquette and left her not knowing where she stood.

Apparently, Temari sensed a similar awkwardness. Unlike Aiko, she took the initiative to solve the problem by tossing a grape at Gaara’s head. His head didn’t turn when his hand shot up to catch up, but she had his attention when she regally commanded, “You should take care of what Aiko-san has brought, they’re probably for you.”

The unblinking gaze directed at her was expectant, so she made the few steps to meet him at the edge of the table—and bemusedly followed him silently to what appeared to be a parlor.

‘Is it considered rude to do business at the table?’ she wondered. Was it etiquette that she had missed because she was a barbarian raised by wolves, or was it just a Suna thing?

“Is there a message?”

She had to think on that one for a moment. “Nope, or if there was, she forgot to give it to me,” Aiko shrugged, fingers going a bit numb from curling around the corners of her burden. A moment later, he took it from her grasp and immediately set it on a table, gesturing for her to sit. Hands freed, she self-consciously tucked a bit of hair behind her ear for lack of anything else to do with herself. His sharp eyes caught the motion, but thankfully he didn’t comment that she seemed strangely uncomfortable in his presence.

Hopefully, he couldn’t tell. It was a bit of a toss-up. She had quickly recovered, but being almost alone with him in a domestic setting was putting her a bit off balance, especially as the interaction was overshadowed by that idiotic mission from Danzo.

“I see.”

‘He’s so talkative I think I’ll be sick.’

Against her conscious will, she gave a genuine smile. Well, she could hardly be blamed for making little progress if she spent little time around him, could she? Then again, she didn’t want him to think she was running away from him either. Gaara was definitely the type of man who could sense fear (much like toddlers, those creepy sugar-covered little shits), and such a drastic change in the way she treated him was bound to rouse suspicions even if it didn’t hurt his feelings.

“Well, for future reference, should I be telling Tsunade-sama not to send lower priority messages at this time?” His expression didn’t change, but she felt compelled to continue, “I mean that you’d probably prefer not to find me wandering your house at lunch time, if this is when you usually eat.”

“It matters not,” Gaara slowly said, but his eyes narrowed slightly. She tilted her head in silent request for clarification, but when he next spoke it was to change the topic. “I believe I owe you both my gratitude and an apology.”

It took her a moment to put that into context. “Oh, the whole explosives weirdo and creepy puppet man episode? Don’t worry about it, that’s all behind me now.” Aiko crinkled her eyes up and gave a smile to deflect the tension, but her nervousness was probably visible in the slightly too enthusiastic way she waved her hand to metaphorically dismiss the apology (and hopefully dismiss the stressful topic entirely). “I will be happy, as long as I never see another puppet again.”

Kankuro made a wounded noise from the other room, promptly cut off by something that sounded suspiciously like Temari hitting him upside the head.

“Never again,” she stressed a little louder, not entirely joking before giving up the pretense she was still talking to the mildly amused Kazekage. “If you ever do the creepy puppet prosthetics thing, it’s going to negatively affect our friendship because I’m going to have to cry and hide under a table every time I see you.”

“It’s not that bad!” Kankuro protested, leaning around the doorway.

“It’s supergross,” Aiko rejected flatly, hands flying to her hips reflexively as if she expected an argument. “Nightmarish. Things man was not meant to experiment with.”

“He sleeps with puppets hanging above his bed,” Temari called out helpfully.

Her shudder wasn’t feigned. ‘I think I really will have nightmares of opening my eyes to see one of the dead-eyed fucks staring down at me.’

Possibly the best thing that could be said for Konoha was that they had no puppet masters. Not a damn one. She was willing to thank everyone from Zeus to the Spaghetti monster that Suna was the only place that had figured out the spectacularly creeptastic discipline.

“I don’t think that was necessary, Temari,” Gaara cut in, clearly having sensed that the light-hearted teasing wasn’t quite as funny for her as it was for the Sabaku siblings. Yepp, he’d definitely been practicing socialization.

‘To be fair, he was probably never bad at reading cues. I think he just didn’t care about what anyone else felt.’

Aiko heaved a sigh, mildly depressed at the reminder of how sad Gaara’s life had been for so long. “How have you been?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Gaara,” she added, helpfully and belatedly when it became clear he didn’t realize she was talking to him. There was a quiet clatter of dishes in the other room and Temari trailed in, plopping down on the couch opposite Aiko’s seat and dragging Gaara down with her so she could put her legs over his lap. The blonde tangled her fingers in his hair to pet him in what was probably the least dignified thing ever done to a Kage in foreign company, but it made Aiko smile.

‘They’re adorable.’

Kankuro tumbled in, but he stretched on one of the other chairs, legs hanging over the side instead of going to sit with his siblings.

The other redhead seemed about as pleased with the quiet declaration of affection as Aiko was enchanted. She could tell, because he bared a few teeth in what was slightly more of a grin and less of a gesture of aggression than the last smile he’d given in her presence.

‘Improvement. There is definite improvement. Still a bit scary, but I can tell he’s been working on it.’

“I have been well”. He paused, and slowly added, “Though I admit to some trepidation about the situation developing with Cloud.”

“There’s no need to be a bummer,” Kankuro muttered under his breath. Luckily for him, Temari pretended not to notice. Or perhaps her hearing was poor.

“There is some malcontent among my shinobi about the increasing possibility that we will follow Konoha to war.” His teal gaze was slightly distant, raising to a point above her shoulder. “But there are others who feel a strong loyalty to your home.”

‘It’s not really a home so much as the place I happened to get stuck,’ she thought but definitely did not share. Gaara had found a personal mission centered around protecting the place of his birth and the asshats who happened to spawn there. He would not understand her lack of sentimental attachment to Konoha. Aloud, she uncertainly demurred, “I don’t know quite what to say.”

“They don’t know what to say about you either,” Kankuro huffed with a sideways little smirk, eyes amused and looking for some sort of reaction. “Especially since it got out that you weren’t listed as having entered the village, there are all sorts of stupid theories about what happened. After Gaara claimed that you saved him -”

“What,” Aiko said at the same time that Gaara assured, “She did,” and they traded an odd look.

“-to convince the council to let him go after you, half the paranoid old coots who still hate the Fire Country from the last war think Konoha is trying to control Gaara, a fair few of the younger shinobi think everything is just swell and don’t understand why anyone cares, some are freakishly enthusiastic about the implication that Konoha shinobi are just hanging around to fight S class criminals within city limits, and some think you’re secretly married to Gaara and that’s why you ‘just happened’ to be around to help.”

She had no idea what the look on her face was, but it made Temari start laughing. “People are so weird,” Aiko said weakly before burying her face in her hands. The giggling was joined by male snickering, so she just gave the hell up and didn’t even bother to find a lie as she stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to escape now.”

Gaara blinked twice, looking at the place where Aiko had been.

“That girl is weird as shit,” Temari muttered, before sighing and adjusting her legs on her brother. “I swear that girl would Hiraishin away from her own wedding if it took too long.”

Granted, there weren’t exactly established etiquette rules about situations like that one, but that was only because no one else had yet been odd enough to utilize a legendary technique for mundane things like avoiding mildly awkward social gatherings.

“I’ll be right back,” Kankuro mocked in a terrible imitation of a girly voice, fluttering his eyelashes. One got stuck in his greasy facepaint, but he continued. “I gotta go hit some people, maybe get some ice cream, do a little shopping.” He wiggled his fingers ominously at his siblings. Temari choked with laughter and turned a truly hideous shade of purply-red.

Unfortunately, Gaara still had yet to develop a sense of humor. At least, not one that allowed for mocking one of his two friends. “I do not think that is an accurate assessment,” he countered, brow furrowing slightly.

Kankuro scoffed pityingly. “You wouldn’t.”

Tsunade lifted her head from her desk and yawned at Aiko. “S’you again? Took longer than I expected.”

“Yes, I apologize.” Ready to just get this over with so she could leave, Aiko picked up the stack of papers for the Mizukage and gave her Hokage a loose salute. “See you.”

Thankfully, Mei was in her office this time.

Not so thankfully, so was Chojuro, and he was a jumpy bastard.

Accordingly, Aiko shrieked and hit the floor, narrowly avoiding ending up a head (and half a neck) shorter. His massive sword cut into the wall behind her with an ominous ‘shlunk’ sound that rather unpleasantly underlined just how much force had been involved in the blow. The only sound was plaster falling and a man cursing on the other side of the wall before the bodyguard turned his nose down, flushed pink, and went to tug his weapon out. “Sorry about that…”

‘Note to self: even if they can’t see me move, elite ninja can still see me suddenly appear. And that alarms them.’

Something to keep in mind.

“It’s just not my day,” Aiko grumbled, giving him a dirty glare when she had regained her feet. The missives she had been sent with were a bit wrinkled now, but she passed them off to Mei without even pretending to care.

“Thank you,” Mei said absently, tossing the pile aside and shuffling for a quill. “That does cut down on waiting for a response. Could you take something back for me, please?”

There was hardly the option to say no, so she killed time by glowering at Chojuro. She wasn’t really that fussed, but the way he quailed back from her was mildly entertaining and there was nothing else to do.

“Here you are.” Mindlessly, she broke off her attempt to assert her dominance over Chojuro to take the single letter from Mei’s hand, the ink still drying. “It has occurred to me that now might be an excellent time to take care of the fact that we haven’t recovered our original jinchuuriki, now that it’s been proven that Akatsuki really is after them and has the strength to overcome a jinchuuriki on their own.”

That got her attention. “I didn’t know…”

“That we had another one?” Mei’s smile wasn’t particularly amused. Or friendly. “Well, we haven’t for a while. The host for the six-tails defected during Yagura’s reign.”

There wasn’t really anything to say to that, so Aiko just nodded. “Are you hoping this person will return willingly if fetched?”

‘The host for the six tails, huh? I have no idea who that is.’

She was curious, but not curious enough to ask the Mizukage for an explanation she could get on her own.

Mei blew a bit of bang out of her face and leaned back. “It’s a long shot, but that would be preferable,” she shared with little enthusiasm. “He’s rather good at hiding, though, and it hasn’t been high priority to find him. But now…” she trailed off unpleasantly, unconsciously lifting her mouth into a sneer.

“But now that Cloud’s jinchuuriki, the man who was probably the strongest of the jinchuuriki ,got beat like he was the redheaded stepchild, things are a bit different,” Aiko deadpanned, lifting one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, as if to say, ‘what can you do?’

“Exactly.” The Mizukage nodded decisively.

‘Isn’t the Akatsuki’s evil idiocy foiled if they can’t get a hold of even one bijuu?’ Aiko wondered, taking the letter and giving a distracted goodbye. ‘Would they just give up if there was no chance of achieving that goal?’ A moment later, she passed the information off to Tsunade and waited until it had been read.

“Hokage-sama? Would you consider including me on the joint team for this mission?”

Didn’t the bijuu take a century to reform if their container was killed before they could be extracted or force their way out of the seal? This would be the first jinchuuriki she’d encountered who could be considered expendable. Who cared about a missing nin, really? They were generally considered the scum of the earth.

It was worth thinking about, at least.

“This is the part that everyone wants to hear about first, so pay attention. I’m not going over this twice.”

Uzuki Yugao gave Aiko a thoroughly unnecessary stern look. She had already planned on focusing on the lecture to get it over with as quickly as possible.

After a long moment, the older woman seemed to decide she had been sufficiently cowed and went on. “Safe sex.”

Aiko choked. “What, like wrapping the package?” She wasn’t that naïve. Of course she knew about STIs.

“Shinobi safe sex,” Yugao clarified, with a faint hint of amusement that indicated the abrupt shift in conversation had been intentional. “Policy is that we don’t care who or what you’re fucking, but we’d prefer if you didn’t end up getting killed in stupid ways. Technically speaking, you shouldn’t trust anyone, but that’s no way to live.” She shrugged one shoulder, sending her voluminous purple hair sliding backwards. “So preferably, only fuck people you trust. If you do find yourself in bed with someone you aren’t certain about, there are precautions. Don’t kiss or lick them—they could be coated in any number of contact poisons or paralytics. That’s a common trick. Don’t end up underneath someone, because you could get trapped. Really, it would just be best if you were certain to restrain your partner so they can’t make handsigns or reach for a weapon. Tie them, or hold their wrists yourself.”

That… That was not sexy at all. Shinobi paranoia was Not Hot, and that was definitely not what it was like in Jiraiya’s novels.

‘Good god, does she just think I should knock any potential lovers unconscious? It would be safest, after all,’ Aiko cringed. Okay, some things just weren’t funny when she was close to the situation, like contemplating habitual date rape as a method of not killing killed by fuck buddies. This was probably the most screwed-up, depressing thing about being a shinobi she’d encountered so far.

“Not particularly interested in that bit?” Yugao asked, infuriatingly amused. Aiko was starting to suspect she was a sadist. “Very well then. Leaving all talk of actual sex aside, you are most likely to have to use the implication that sex is on the table in your career, but it will be more likely that an enemy will try to convince you he has romantic sentiment for you.”

‘Ah. There’s the sex-specific bit,’ Aiko noted with faint amusement. ‘They’re using poor psychology and assumptions about supposed biological differences to teach gendered behaviors. Because obviously women are vulnerable to being told they’re loved and men are vulnerable to anyone who seems interested in getting the hot dickings.’

Bit stupid and simplistic, really, but it would do. Being taught to counter one thing should teach her to perform it as well, in a way.

“I’m sure you did capably in infiltration and acting practice in the Academy, but I’ll need to see you prove that you can recognize various verbal traps meant to subconsciously convince you to trust someone is being sincere, as well as demonstrate competency with types of flirtation and give a passably convincing performance as someone who is comfortable discussing sexual acts.” Yugao paused thoughtfully, before she added, “Or not, as the case may be that you’re playing the blushing virgin. It depends on the situation, really.”

Through role-play with various henge and genjutsu, Aiko gritted her teeth and played different roles, practicing walking sexily, demonstrating interest as if from across a room in a way that a target would notice and pick up on with body language and –ugh- giggling, responding to flirtations, and any number of little behaviors that were apparently expected when trying to give off signals of approachability like ‘bedroom’ eyes and matching her breathing and moving up to the target’s to subconsciously reassure him that they were on the same page.

The acting wasn’t too difficult, but almost none of the little tricks were in her normal repertoire.

‘It’s almost like I’m not a particularly approachable girl,’ Aiko mused. ‘Ridiculous.’

Then she really considered it. Was she approachable?

‘Eh. It doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m not really interested in anyone who is so easily intimidated anyways,’ she shrugged the thought off.

At least she had been partially right in her cockiness the other day: it was pathetically easy to recognize attempts at emotional manipulation.

Perhaps there was just something wrong with her, or she’d been improperly socialized, because cues that were meant to embarrass her or make her feel self-conscious to leave her vulnerable and desiring approval did nothing but stir contempt.

Flattery made her outright uncomfortable though, and she genuinely disliked it. That might have been cause for Yugao to think she’d done badly in the demonstrations, were it not for the fact that the emotion being flirted with most often elicited was anger (and therefore not something that could be easily used against her in that situation). Justified or not, she felt cornered and boxed in when inundated with compliments.

She wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not that this ‘training’ (orientation, really) was actually more of a lecture with an older peer. There were worse ways it could have been conducted, she supposed.

‘Am I a total freak for feeling much more relaxed now that this is over?’ Aiko pursed her lips, actually walking home for once instead of abusing her seals to be lazy. Before she realized what she was doing, she had felt out Sai’s location and begun altering her path towards the isolated outskirts of town where he was.

When she realized what she was doing, Aiko was conflicted enough to stop for a moment and ponder what it meant that she was seeking him out right now. Was she hoping for a booty call? Was she just bored? Was she actually attached?

‘Probably not the bored thing,’ she noted unkindly when she came upon the man she’d been looking for. He was sitting silently on a tree and sketching what appeared to be a bird’s nest on the next treetop over. ‘It’s not like he’s a particularly good source of entertainment.’ He did make a nice image, though, with his black gloves carelessly on the branch beside him and his pale skin contrasting with the greenery.

Didn’t that indicate that she just liked to spend time around him? They weren’t always making out when they were together, but she didn’t feel like he wasted her time. Since she didn’t get amusement from him, it had to actually be satisfaction with his presence.

Thus decided, Aiko sat herself beside him without a word and watched him work.

“Aiko?”

She smiled. “Yes, Sai-kun?”

“Is this an example of an amenable mood?”

Aiko took a deep steadying breath, put a hand to her head, and then opened just one eye to see Sai staring at her with just a hint of what could be hopefulness. “Oh, why the hell not.” He blinked just as she grabbed his hand and took them to the seal in her room.

Something like a third of the time that she tried to use seals around other people to travel to a place that had been out of her line of vision something went wrong. Either she interrupted something, or she ended up doing something like elbowing someone in the face, or someone tried to take her head off with a gigantic sword...

So she was actually surprised to find the two of them sitting on top of her bedspread exactly as she’d planned, still side-by-side. There didn’t appear to be anyone else around to interrupt, either. It was almost too good to be true.

“Is something wrong?” His brow furrowed slightly and Sai turned a piercing look at the closed door, as if thinking about going to check the apartment.

“Nope,” Aiko said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ sound and feeling unduly smug with herself. “Nothing at all.”

“Oh. That is g-” Sai blinked. “Good,” he finished belatedly from his new position flat on his back. She hummed noncommittally under her breath, straddling his waist and arching her back slightly to place her palms flat on his abdomen. She straightened her back as she pushed them up his torso, luxuriating in the feeling of warm and hard muscle under her palms, bunching his shirt around his chest. She might have left it there, but he helpfully sat up a bit, so she tugged it completely off and let it fall to the floor.

The feeling of his skin against hers was nice. Really nice. So maybe more would be nicer.

Aiko swallowed, mouth dry and heart pounding, and sat straight up.

“Washboard?” Sai stopped a long moment before adding in a slightly strained tone, “Oh.”

She had grabbed the hem of her tank top and completely pulled it up over her head, inadvertently mussing her hair. That she tossed behind her without looking to see where it went before she readjusted her hips backward so she could slink her torso up his and enjoy the heat of his skin brushing against hers.

When she reached the top of his torso, Sai’s dark eyes were the widest she’d ever seen. So she propped herself on her palms with her elbows half-bent and ignored the lesson she’d had only hours ago to press her lips against his. They were surprisingly dry, considering how soft and perfect his skin looked, so she licked across his lower lip and sucked lightly on just the plumpest part of the skin.

He seemed frozen.

So she settled her hips up to create a different angle for her torso and slowly rubbed her bra against his torso in a silent demand for attention, since her mouth was occupied.

Sai obliged her with both hands sliding up the back of her thighs. The roughened skin of his palms caught a little against her tight pants.

With sudden clarity, she realized just how unsexy and unsuited to liaisons her outfits really were. In order to get naked, she’d have to lose the boots that pinned her pants to her calves.

‘Something to think on later.’

At least Sai didn’t seem to mind, though it may have been because he had no idea that there was apparently a reason to wear less complicated clothing. Still, skirts. Something to think about. At least she didn’t use bandages to wrap down the edges of her clothing like Ino or Kakashi did.

Though that could be a bit of a strip-tease…

A topic for another time.

He didn’t have much for nails, but the little he had was just enough to scrape down her back and send Aiko shivering. She broke her lips off his and tugged on his left earlobe with her teeth, wondering if he was as sensitive there as she was.

Yes. Yes, he was.

Her teeth broke off when she grinned at his sharp inhalation, so she moved to trace the edge of his ear with her tongue.

What was-oh. In an attempt to be helpful, Aiko stopped moving her torso while Sai’s fingers brushed over the clasp on her bra. She gave a satisfied sigh when the first hook came undone and moved to nose into his neck, giving a quick lick before she bit down and sucked almost violently. He jerked under her and his breathing sped up, but Sai kept his composure enough to continue what he was doing.

The stereotype that men couldn’t figure out bras was clearly just that—a stereotype, because the two sections fell apart and the straps soon slipped down her shoulders.

Aiko shrugged them off and detached from his neck long enough to work the garment completely off. Sai must have been ready and waiting, because he adjusted his position to allow him to see what he was doing at the same time that his hands trailed from her back down to her waist and up over her ribs. His left stopped just under the point of no return so that his inner thumb was brushing her breast, but his right hand was much more adventurous.

“Nn-”

Aiko tossed her head back to get her hair out of her way, eyes momentarily shut to cope with the sensation. “I forget how sensitive those are,” she half-gasped, feeling almost lightheaded. When she looked down, Sai had an almost shockingly smug look on his face, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it before the hand gently massaging at her left breast shot down to her waist at the same time that he adjusted his legs for better stability—and then flipped them over.

She might have protested at the sudden flip (especially since he’d failed to put her head on her pillow and she was nearly pressed up to the wall) if he hadn’t immediately ducked down to indulge a thought that must have been lingering for a while. The first scrape of teeth against the slightly darker flesh around her nipple wasn’t gentle enough and she made a whining sound of protest, wrapping her fingers in his hair with enough force to be a warning. He immediately switched to suction and licking as if in apology to soothe the hurt. Sai was a fast learner, though, god bless his little heart, and the next time he tugged on her skin with his teeth it was much gentler.

He had definitely been paying attention to what she did, because she was going to have a massive hickey from her breast up to her neck by the time he was done, but it was hard to care.

The thing she did care about, however, was that he seemed perfectly content to keep at foreplay for an indefinite period of time. His tongue was still sending clever little thrills up her spine and making her pant, but the jolt of excitement that brought her back from the edge of incoherency the instant that she felt something hard brush against her hip was a definite indication that she was ready for more.

��Does he not want to actually have sex? Does he think I don’t want to?’

She jerked, inadvertently tangling her right foot into her bedcovers when she unconsciously parted her legs further apart in reaction to a particularly delicious movement of his hips against her thighs. It was like he was trying to keep them apart below the waist, even though his body kept moving downwards. Was he trying to restrain himself?

Sai couldn’t possibly have failed to notice that he was more than ready. The evidence of that occasionally brushed against her inner thigh while he worked on her torso with his teeth.

‘Either he’s really repressed, or I have little self-control, because I am definitely ready to go.’

But reading wasn’t the same thing as doing, and she wasn’t confident that she could walk the walk as well as she could talk about it. Still, if no one ever did anything, she was probably going to spontaneously combust from frustration. Experimentally, she untangled the fingers of her right hand from the hair at the base of his neck and brought them down his side to curl under his waistband. It was too tight to really get under, however, and he was a little too far down her body for her to reach—so she used her left hand to tightly grip at his hip and pull him upwards (forcing him to bend his torso). Now that her right could reach, Aiko followed the curve of his thigh inwards and pressed her fingers around the curved hardness she found nearby with a palpable sense of victory.

Sai stopped sucking completely. She would be willing to bet a fair bit of money that it was because his jaw had dropped and his brain had momentarily shut down, but it was impossible to see from her angle.

‘Fuck, this is why no one should ever wear belts. I’m starting a petition to get them outlawed. I have a government position, so I can do that.’

The damn things were hard enough to figure out when she could see them. As it turned out, unbuckling someone else’s when she couldn’t see it was the type of feat that she should have gone up an extra danger classification for figuring out. Why did he even wear it? It was a tiny thing. Surely the button on his pants would serve just as well.

She outright whined in frustration when she realized that figuring out the buckle and opening his pants wasn’t the end of the trouble: he had a holster secured to his thigh with wrap-around bandages, and they were too tight for her to force down his leg from her angle.

So she slipped her hand into that holster—momentarily rued that she found shuriken instead of kunai—and cut through the bandages and the thin strap underneath, possibly his pants as well.

“I owe you a new holster,” she reassured him distractedly—as if he honestly cared about that right now—and pressed her hand back over his dick. “You know, you don’t have to be so quiet.” Her fingers wrapped around her new toy as best as they could with the thin fabric of his boxers in the way, and she worked at it with her thumb.

Maybe he had been restrained because he thought he wasn’t supposed to make a sound, because he let out a soft grunt when he pushed against her hand, uncurling his torso to press his face into the curve of her neck. He was clearly trying to keep doing his part by licking, but he had lost his rhythm and the erratic attentions he laved on her skin was clearly effected whenever she tried a new idea—like cupping the base, or forcing her hand under the fabric to touch him directly.

Actually having skin-to-skin contact made her reverse the slightly rough way she’d been playing with him: what had felt so hard through the boxers had a surprisingly smooth texture when she actually touched it, and Aiko had the oddest fear that she was going to hurt him.

‘That’s stupid. Obviously it’s tough enough to take a pounding. That’s what dicks do.’

(She momentarily resolved to never share her internal commentary with anyone else.)

“Pants off,” Aiko ordered, pulling her hands back, mildly surprised to note that she’d been gripping his hip so tightly with her left hand that her fingers had gone white and didn’t want to move for a moment.

Obediently, Sai rose to his knees, twisted so that his feet hovered over the floor, and slid off to put his feet on the floor. He was already stripping when they hit the ground. It wasn’t hard, considering she’d gotten them halfway down his thighs.

Aiko didn’t have time to watch the show, because as soon as he had lifted off her body she had braced her feet against the bed to lift her hips and unzip her own pants. Belatedly, she remembered the damn boots and extended her feet to slip them off. Sai was watching entranced or eager to get back on the bed but definitely intent, so she hurried to kick off both boots and hooked her thumbs under her waistband even as he gently tugged on the loose bit of fabric at her knees to help them off. She hadn’t noticed when, but he had positioned himself back on the bed on his knees, hovering over her lower thighs.

The realization that they were at the point of no return hit her with a sudden finality and momentarily knocked her breath away. Her heart thumped against her chest with enough force that she either had an instantaneous stroke or suddenly forgot how to process sight, because all she registered was white. That was why Sai was the first one to get his fingers around the delicate fabric of the blue panties she was wearing (and she momentarily wished she’d been wearing something pretty instead of boy shorts).

His eyes met hers. It took a moment to figure out what he wanted, but Aiko nodded. Her chin had barely stopped moving before he was tugging the fabric down her thighs. He abandoned it at about her knees, so she bent her legs one at a time to work the fabric free herself, brushing against his inner thighs as she did so and not caring much.

At this point, she wasn’t sure if she was more eager or terrified. Aiko absolutely did not want to stop, but for an instant she felt as frozen as Sai seemed to be.

‘Well, that won’t do.’

She was far too mature and ready for this to freeze up at the critical moment. Aiko curled up on her elbows to open up her range of vision- and sucked in a breath. She didn’t intend to flatter Sai or anything. Honestly, she would have no idea whether or not the dick pointing over her belly was impressive or not. It was the first one she’d seen in real life, and as fucking weird and alien as it looked (because let’s face it, penises aren’t pretty no matter how fascinating Sai found them) she was bizarrely arrested at the sight.

After a moment, she jarred her mind back into motion.

“We need a condom.”

Her heart sank even as the words crossed her lips. How had she forgotten something so basic? She had been trying to get laid for forevvvver. Was she subconsciously sabotaging herself, or just really that thick?

“My wallet.”

Relief washed over her like sunlight from a window.

‘Wallet? Well, someone has been hoping. And is better prepared than I am. Ten ninja points to Sai,’ she thought with an almost delirious high, before the memory that carrying a condom around that way really wasn’t smart rose up for her attention. They were fragile and susceptible to both pressure and temperature. Really, they should be stored somewhere safer.

It would do for now. Next time, she’d have her own.

But he didn’t move. So she raised an eyebrow. “Get it, then.”

He nearly scrambled, leaning off the bed to rifle through the pants he’d discarded. It was the first time she had seen Sai look less than collected, and an unbearably smug satisfaction welled up over her. He really was just a teenage boy, on some level, despite all the awful emotional conditioning and trauma. Even an elite root agent could get a bit flustered by a girl.

The look on his face was nearly heartbroken when he turned around victorious to see that she had re-adjusted onto her knees, and Aiko didn’t bother to hide the genuine, light laugh that welled up. It was as if he thought she’d changed her mind in the three seconds he had struggled with his pants.

“Give me that.”

Sai looked almost stupidly relieved and did as she asked. He leaned in a little too close while she carefully tore open the side of the package, so she placed her palm against his abs and pressed him backwards. “Nnna.”

Apparently, she had given up on words in exchange for bossy sounds, but Sai got the message and stilled, staying on his knees but keeping his torso up instead of leaning forwards when she carefully unrolled the little bit of rubber or whatever the hell it was down until it stopped.

Hands free, she used them both to brace her weight and move her body away from him enough that she could bend down and reach his now-covered dick.

Sai was probably confused as all hell, but both of his hands were suddenly in her hair when she licked him twice before taking his penis into her mouth and laved her tongue around it to wet as much as possible. He might have brought a condom in his wallet, but lubrication? Probably not. She continued the suction as she drew her head back. There was probably a damn good reason people used lubrication, and she would rather be comfortable.

It must have been involuntary, but when she tried to pull off, his hands twitched just a little bit of pressure on her head and pushed her a bit further down. Aiko gave a low hum in warning, which completely backfired on her.

That was the loudest sound she’d gotten out of Sai yet, though, so she didn’t mind the groan. His grip loosened, but she still placed a palm against his hip as she pulled away, bringing her free hand around to hold his dick even as her mouth left it.

“Unh?”

It was the saddest little inquisitive sound she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t help but smile, feeling the happy expression reach her eyes when she glanced up to see just how perplexed her bed partner seemed to be. Considering just how much excellent instructive material he had been reading, he really should know what she’d done. It seemed that Sai was a bit too personally involved to connect the dots and realize why she’d given him half a blow job. “Relax.” She gave a relatively gentle pull with the hand that was still gripping him, as if to reassure him that it wasn’t over.

Her toes curled under so that she could press her feet against the bed, and she slung her free hand around his neck to support her weight (which he barely adjusted to in time to keep them from collapsing) so that she could move her hips further down and straighten her legs. Intentionally, she partially straightened the hand around his neck and shoulders so that she was essentially lying down, and worked her other hand around his still-damp penis, arm trembling with the effort of not gripping too tightly or moving too fast.

Of course, the longer it was away from her mouth, the more it would dry, so there was really no time to waste. “Nnnm.” Aiko tilted her chin up and gave him a pointed look through her eyelashes.

‘I think I’ve invented a new language of bossy sounds that mean nothing.’

It worked, though. Sai obediently leaned over her (staring into her face with a nearly frightful intensity) and braced his weight on his hands, aligning their hips as if he’d been born knowing what to do.

Of course, he hadn’t been, so she moved her hips slightly upwards and guided him into her with the hand that had been lingering on his penis for that moment, aligning the tip and then fluttering down the base and settling on his jutting hipbone.

It was the strangest thing she’d ever felt in her life.

Eyes squeezed shut, she rocked her hips up against his and moved the hand on his hip around to the back so she could hold her partner still. It might not have been necessary, because he still seemed to be adjusting to the new feeling as well.

It was heat and pressure and confusing. She decided that she liked it. That was when Sai moved a little, and she instantly re-evaluated her previous assessment. Being still was good, moving was better.

Her nails dug into his flank in a silent demand, but he didn’t seem to get it. Either that or he wasn’t ready to move. So she slightly adjusted the arms around his neck, letting it fall so that she could rub at the tense muscles with her thumb and flicking her gaze up to meet his. At least, that was the plan, but his eyes were shut.

“Sai?”

He made the oddest sound—a groan that was almost a rumble—and laboriously peeled his eyes half-way open to dizzily focus on her face.

‘Ah. So those are real bedroom eyes,’ Aiko realized, with a sudden appreciation for just what the expression she had dutifully memorized was supposed to evoke. It was supposed to be an excellent aid in seduction, but she was obviously a bit past that point. So instead she let her hips fall down a few inches and brought them back up in search of the initial thrill she’d gotten when he first moved inside her. It was the least graceful movement she thought she’d ever made, but it did the trick.

Even better, she didn’t have to do it again. The motion had apparently made up Sai’s mind or drawn him out of his temporary trance or whatever the hell had been happening, because he slunk down from his palms to his elbows and pressed his nose into her neck even as he began slowly moving. The feeling of his hot breath against her skin was almost as overwhelming as the experimentally slow, gentle pace he was adopting.

When she’d thought about sex, she’d thought that the hard and fast pace would appeal to her more. But she was feeling languidly content. As her heartbeat slowed, she gave up on trying to keep her eyes more than barely open, indulging herself by running her hands over all the hot, smooth skin within her reach. Unintentionally she fell into a symmetrical pattern down his back, rubbing her thumbs around his hips, clawing softly up his sides and massaging at the muscles in his arms. It was all she could do to muster up the occasional satisfied sigh and lean up to press closed-mouth kisses against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He shuddered and gave a much more substantial thrust. For a moment, she saw white pinpricks of light and considered asking if they could pick up that pace again, yes thank you, but the urge faded in the next breath when he fell back into his usual rhythm, slowing stroking downwards with clockwork predictability.

Her heartbeat and breathing had fallen into a relaxed, nearly comatose state, but Sai’s breath was still a bit fast and forceful against her neck. It took her a shamefully long time to realize what that probably meant. In her defense, she was a bit preoccupied and almost stupid with contentment.

‘He wants to come, but he’s convinced that he has to hit some stupid criteria for how long sex lasts.’

First probable downside of getting your sex education from a series of novels that had half as many orgasms as it did pages.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” she mumbled, rubbing her fingers soothing over the back of his neck. “If you want to come, do it.”

Permission seemed to be all he needed. The tension fled his back and neck, and the next five thrusts were much harder than the ones before—and then he stopped, pulling his head slightly up to pant on her chest. The gaze that met hers was a bit disoriented, as though he was almost surprised by the force of his own orgasm. Still, he was undeniably pleased. The confusion was blinked away, and satisfaction flooded his features… and his eyes flickered down to her chest again with a hilariously tangible air of delight, as if he was reassuring himself that really had just happened.

“You’re so cute, Sai,” she informed lazily, tugging on his arm. “Throw that away and come back to bed?” Involuntarily, she forced back a yawn, and fought the urge to kiss him just to get him to do something with his mouth—he could open it or close it for all she cared, but he was just leaving it with the lips barely brushing each other.

“Yes.”

‘Ha, I get sex and cuddles.’ Covetously, Aiko hooked her legs over his when he came back to bed, tugging the one sheet they weren’t pinning to the bed with their bodies up and over the two of them. ‘I win.’

#vapors #uzumaki aiko #electrasev5n #ninja daily #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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jaeminlore · 4 years ago

Text

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

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honklore · 4 years ago

Text

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

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collecting-stories · 3 years ago

Text

Crayola - Daryl Dixon

Request: Could you do one where Judith wants to draw but has no crayons so her Uncle Daryl takes it upon himself to see that his neice has all the art supplies 🥺👉👈

A/N: This was so cute...hopefully I did this request justice lol.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

While going out on a run was fairly common place these days, especially now that everyone was beginning to settle into life in Alexandria, there was something almost odd about Daryl’s departure that morning. He hadn’t mentioned anything to anyone about needing to or wanting to go out for supplies, hadn’t taken his usual roll-call of necessities that anyone else might have, and only told the person guarding the gate that he would be gone for the day but back before nightfall.

Everyone was well aware that even now, so conditioned to the idea of family, Daryl still tended to withdraw into himself. That sometimes, maybe most times, he would rather be alone than with anyone else. It felt normal that he’d gone out alone but odd still that he’d gone so abruptly. He’d even made other plans for the morning. After weeks of trying to build a cold frame for the garden by yourself, he’d promised to get up early and help. But when you woke up, just before first light, he was already long gone, crossbow and hunting knife gone with him.

There was the very likely chance that he was hunting. Sometimes he went out on a hunt just to clear his mind or because being alone in nature had such a calming effect over him. The season would be over soon and most animals in the area would get scarcer with the weather changing so it was possible, probable even, that he’d gone to find some fresh meat to stock up in the freezers and dry for later months.

Then as dinner ended and the sun began to wane, the familiar rumble of his motorcycle indicated that he was back from wherever he’d gone. You were the first to make it to the gate, Judith trailing after you, her toddler hand clutched in yours as she waved excitedly for him. Since her birth Daryl had kept a close eye on his niece, and endearing trait that made him flush whenever anyone mentioned it. Even now, as he parked the bike along with the other cars that lined the wall and scooped Judith up into his arms it was evident that he was completely at her whim.

“What’d you get?” You asked, more curious than anything else, “Denise said you left this morning for a run.”

“We were short on supplies.”

“I just did inventory...” you started to say, noting for the first time since his return that the only bag he’d brought back was the one that sat strapped to the seat of his motorcycle, “you went out for a bag’s worth of supplies?” you sighed, stepping closer to open the bag up, “yell at him for me Judith.”

“She ain’t gonna yell at me, are ya?” He asked, swinging her back and forth and making her laugh.

You rolled your eyes at the pair of them before checking the bag. Lips pressed into a thin line to stop yourself from smiling as you tried to act annoyed, “you went on a run for colored pencils?”

“There’s other stuff in there too.”

“Markers, crayons, three coloring books, some paint...Daryl...” you trailed off, looking back at him, “Judy I think I got bumped for favorite.” You teased, holding a pack of colorful markers out to the toddler.

“Ya gotta be favorite ta get bumped,” Daryl replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him and leaned in close to Judith, whispering conspiratorially so that Daryl could hear you too, “it’s okay Judy, you’re my favorite too.”

After ignoring your insistence that you could manage carrying a bag of supplies back to the house, you and Daryl walked back down the street, bag and Judith still in his arms. You didn’t want to say too much more about the fact that he’d gone out of his way, quite literally, just to get Judith something that he noticed she might like because you knew the minute you gushed he would withdraw, acting like the grand gesture was no big deal. As if anyone would risk their life so a toddler could have a normal life in all this chaos.

It wasn’t until you got to the house that Daryl passed off the bag and Judith, letting you take her to the porch swing while he headed inside to get something to eat, only at your behest.

“You’ve been out all day Daryl; you need to eat.”

“Ya know I been hunting all my life, I can manage in the woods for a day,” he’d grumbled when you took Judith from his arms.

“One of these days, eating a raw squirrel will kill you.” You replied, bouncing Judith slightly when she fussed. Taking her from Daryl was always an easy way to make her upset. Sometimes she flat out cried but for the moment she seemed like she would be okay, “all right, go inside before she totally loses it.”

“She’s fine.” He insisted, as if he didn’t know that, aside from Rick, he was her favorite person in the house.

Daryl disappeared inside and you sat Judith on the porch swing, sitting next to her and dragging the bag onto your lap, “alright Judy, let's see what Uncle Daryl brought you?”

You set out some of the supplies, not wanting to get into any of the paints or markers in case you ended up being the one that would have to bathe her tonight. Judith was definitely good at making a mess and you weren’t going to chance it. You opened the crayon box and laid out one of the coloring books on a page with an outlined unicorn.

“What color should we use first?” You asked, holding the box out to her so she could choose.

“Blue!” Her small fingers clutched at a light blue crayon, pulling it and a few of it’s neighbors out onto the bench. Her coloring skills were closed to scribbling still but you watched as she worked, going back into the crayon box until she’d covered the unicorn in every color of the rainbow, the background splashed with a few different colors as well.

You and Judith stayed outside a little while longer, coloring in a few more pages before Michonne came out to put her to bed. She mentioned the run in passing, that Daryl still managed to surprise her every once in a while, doing something unexpected. You only smiled and nodded, knowing that if you said anything it would undoubtedly get back to him and then he’d be embarrassed.

Once Judith was inside you took to cleaning up her supplies, already thinking one of the empty decorative bins in the hall closet would be a good place for art stuff. Living in a house with other people’s junk seemed odd sometimes but other times you were kind of thankful, they’d thought ahead to things you didn’t have to think about.

“Ya coming in?” Daryl’s voice caught your attention and you looked up from gathering everything to see him standing there at the door.

“Cleaning up this abundance of art supplies...64 crayons, I think she took every one out of the box.” You replied, trying your best to put them back in order. It wouldn’t matter to Judith, who would just pull them all back out again, but it irritated your OCD to have everything out of order. “Did you ever have the 64 pack?”

“Of crayons?” He asked, coming over and sitting down in the vacant spot, thumbing through the coloring book that Judith had started on.

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I was lucky if my dad gave me money for school stuff at all.”

“My mom was a teacher, she used to have this giant box with like...a hundred crayons in each color. It was so cool...of course, we were never allowed to touch it cause it was for her students but sometimes I’d snag a crayon or two.”

“Didn’t strike ya as much for petty theft.”

“Crayons were a very hot commodity when I was six.” You joked, before turning a bit more serious, “this is really amazing, that you did all this for Judith.”

“Ain’t nothing.” He replied, not looking up from the unicorn on the page.

You stood up finally, art supplies all returned to the bag for now, aside from the book that Daryl was still holding on to. “We should hang that one up downstairs.” You mentioned, “it’s only fair you get her first masterpiece.”

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #twd fanfic #twd fic #twd fanfiction #collecting stories imagine

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Robbing a Dead Woman

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale:

Prompt: "Why are you robbing a dead woman?" "Why did you die rich enough to rob?"

The first thing Beca Mitchell realized, was that the ground was still frozen. Even though it was well into May and a subtle sweat was dripping its way down her back, it seemed as if the soil in St. Joseph cemetery didn’t’ get the memo- and if it did, it had been swiftly ignored.

She had almost fallen over, sticking the tip of the iron shovel just below the grass before balancing on its wings and nearly toppling into the marker that was just to the right of the one she had positioned herself on top of- and really, Beca Mitchell wasn’t built to rob graves. She wasn’t built to do anything except for curl up and sleep.

It was well past three am and her exhaustion was still clinging to her just like the scent of freshly turned dirt filled the air. And this was stupid, truly, it was. Because the last thing she ever wanted to do was dig up the grave of some old bat because her gold-plated watch had a gold-plated map on the bottom that would lead to even more gold.

Someone else had probably, probably dug this up before. But the coordinates that she stumbled upon on the campus library had an unbroken seal. So, she thought that maybe it was possible that the famous Beale treasure was still here, still hidden, and still buried under feet of half-frozen mud.

Beca got the first layer of mottled dirt and grey grass away from the opening before she decided to catch her breath. Her shoulders ached and she was sure that a splinter was wedged into the palm of her hand at this point. Her exhale clouded in front of her.

Gravediggers had some gull, she decided, to do this for a living. But she was also sure when no one was watching they brought out a machine that did this for them. It was horrible work- horrible needless work. She was a history major, a stupid history major that just got into cryptography because of an undergrad, and fell into a deep dark hole of lies and codes and deceit.

The Beale family really was at the center of it all. Their names were on several of the buildings on campus and there was an ominous oil painting of Mr. Thomas Beale in the science wing. He wore a lavish blue coat that must have been a fortune in those days and scowled down at the students hunched over different mixtures.

She had already committed some… crimes, or vandalism when she snuck into the dark hallways and took a pocketknife to the back of the dusty canvas. She didn’t’ press hard enough to break into the layer that faced the world, but she hoped vainly that whoever dusted around it next didn’t hold it up to the sun because there would be a very precise square missing from the middle.

The map in the book had led her to the painting and the painting had lead her to Chloe Elizabeth Beale’s grave, which she was now more than halfway through. She could smell the wet overturned soil and her own sweat, and the blood from the blisters on her palms.

A golden light swept across the campus cemetery and Beca didn’t’ waste any time dropping into the hole in the ground that she had just upturned. She held her breath as if the person wasn’t just a passing stranger in their car or some students leaning into one another with the smokey stone park as a backdrop.

She was on her back, trying to ignore the prospect of worms squirming under her clothes. She watched the light and fought the urge to drift off because the dirt was shockingly comfy and warm after a while. The lull of the nearby engine was enough to seduce anyone.

“Why are you robbing a dead woman?” A voice whispered.

Beca shot her eyes open and a scream threatened to form in her throat before passing her lips. But before she could a hand clamped over her mouth, strong and cold and also tasting of soil. She breathed in thickly and darted her eyes towards her left.

For all intents and purposes, Beca Mitchell figured that she was alone in the graveyard. She had been alone while digging and alone while researching where to dig. More importantly, she had been completely and utterly alone while she ducked and flattened herself on top of the soil.

But a woman was next to her, so close that she should be able to feel body heat and she should be able to notice something other than her stunning, ghostly, looks. Her red ringlets of hair and the way little specks of black sludge against rosy, white skin. There were freckles, soft and subtle ones that would be void for not the fleeting headlights still shining through the markers.

“You shouldn't do that, I don’t know who’s in that car but they won’t take kindly of you robbing a dead woman. Why are you doing that, by the way? Robbing a dead woman?”

The girl frowned as if she realized Beca couldn’t answer with a hand over her mouth and pulled back, her breath was just as cold as her skin, even as it pushed against Beca’s collar bone and made her hair raise.

The historian made an uneducated leap. “Why did you die rich enough to rob?”

She had never seen valid photos of Thomas Beale’s wife, but it was only rational, or irrational, to figure that this was her. She hadn’t even hit wood yet and ghosts… ghosts weren’t technically real, not that she could prove or disprove.

But this woman, beautiful and dark and light all at once, didn’t disprove her theory. In fact, she smiled as if it were more than just assumption. Her white teeth were glistening under the moonlight as it mingled with the rest of the world.

“Oh, you know you’re not the first person to attempt this?” She said, turning from her side so her dark blue eyes faced the sky and the stars within it. Beca was torn between watching her and watching the constellations but figured they were the same thing- really. “The whole grave robbing thing is a bit barbaric though. Started in the nineteenth century when medical students stole bodies to perform dissections.”

“History buff, are we?” Beca asked, trying to gauge the engine of the car turning over again.

“Thomas didn’t think women should be able to learn but I spent most of my time reading regardless. He was quite barbaric too.” She scoffed “Liked to make people fight for their next move. Did he hide treasure, then? No one has ever gotten this far before.”

“Other’s have tried?”

“Plenty. You got the painting, though. Smart. I like smart.”

Beca grimaced and tore her eyes away from the sky. She found that Chloe Elizabeth Beale stared at her now too. They didn’t’ say anything, not for a few moments. She didn’t look dead or dying, she looked preserved, she looked captivating.

“What killed you, then?” Beca asked despite herself, curious “If I’m to rob a dead woman I might as well know what made her that way.”

Chloe had a bit of a smile to her voice; it was a soft sideways grin and it made Beca warm in a cold grave. “Consumption. They said it was consumption anyway, with it’s blood and mass destruction. But it never lined up for me and by the time I had enough sense to refuse the whiskey’s that Thomas poured it was too late. Arsenic really has no taste. Did you know that?”

“Can’t say I did,”

“Thomas was always one for his riddles. He thought it would be poetic to hide the next clue within a cage, buried under dirt and a gold wedding ring that was much too weighty to carry. Once some poor fool got all the way to my finger and figured that was the treasure.”

It was Beca’s turn to smile. “Oh? So if I ever get a chance to clear the dirt, there’s going to be something more?”

“mm,” She hummed, breath not showing as Beca’s did in the slowly dimming night “Maybe. Let me know if you ever get the chance. I’d love to know if there’s any truth to the myth. The legend… something worth dying for.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic rec #ghost au #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction

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meloncubedradpops · 4 years ago

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Repo! The Corona Opera

For every rotation that Earth has completed around the sun since the dawn of humanity, humans have created art to cope with the realities surrounding our everyday life. We weave stories in songs, movies, plays, books, paintings, and so forth, that help digest the world around us and provide an entertaining escape from the cruelties we endure. Some stories take place in abstract universes or in the future, and we rely on what we know in our present reality to build upon these fantasy societies. My favorite movie, Repo! the Genetic Opera, certainly makes this list. We are currently experiencing perhaps the most surreal year of our collective lives, and with each passing day I argue that we find ourselves closer to the world crafted in Repo. I have seen this movie, at least 20 times. If you haven't watched Repo! the Genetic Opera or you haven't seen it in a while, I recommend giving it a view. The movie is unique in that it falls under three distinct genres: musical, horror, and sci-fi. And while the jury is out on whether our future society is going to go full on gothic aesthetic, I can say that the Repo! movie experience offers a glimpse into a dystopian fascist post-plague world wrapped in unapologetically hilarity with a heaping side of camp. It doesn't offer any spiritual cleansing that our souls collectively need, but it does show us what a new normal could look like if we really go off the rails.

As things stand, right now, so much of our daily lives and culture are impacted by the coronavirus. All of our institutions have been impacted, from school, to work, to family, to the way we interact with strangers, and especially our economy. We have all felt the effects in one way or another, and honestly? Most the impacts are of our own undoing, for better or for worse. I am going to write three pieces analyzing Repo! the Genetic Opera. First I will create the foundations that bridge our contemporary life and the world of Repo! Second I will explain how the Repo! universe operates under the definitions of fascism. And third I will weave together parts one and two into our contemporary world (particularly in the context of the United States) to highlight the dark path we heading towards. My viewpoints are of mine, and my own alone. Let's dive into part one.

Part I Repo! the Genetic Opera takes place in the year 2056. Humanity was on the brink of collapse as a result of a medical crisis that caused massive organ failure.

I never gave the premise much thought, at least not until recently. We aren't given much detail beyond the fact that entrepreneur Rottissimo "Rotti" Largo solved this crisis through his company GeneCo. GeneCo provides organ transplants that can be repaid through a payment plan. Witnessing the coronavirus unfold in real time and seeing its wrath, particularly on severe cases, honestly makes me wonder if the writers had some sort of "super plague" in mind when creating this universe. For the purpose of this analysis, I will assume that humanity suffered at least one infectious disease crisis. And just to reiterate covid-19 particularly, we really *don't* know what it's going to do to us long-term. Let the parallels begin.

The world in Repo! the Genetic Opera, operates as normally as the citizens possibly can, which appears to be quite limited. I have noted how dated some the technologies look.

For a world 30 years in the future, it lacks cell phones and easy access to internet. When we enter Shilo's world (aka her bedroom!) she watched Blind Mag sing on a busted up tiny ass TV and the program itself looks like an ad on Home Shopping Network.

The Graverobber is shown reading headlines on a newspaper. The news reporters shown in the ribbon cutting ceremony during the 1st Italian Post-Plague Renaissance have old school cameras with flashbulbs.

The most contemporary technology appears to be a Wish.com version of an Apple watch, and even that looks like a leftover prop from Spy Kids.

Obviously the people who made this movie intentionally inserted these anachronisms, but why? This is a science fiction movie after all. I speculate that they reverted back because the impact from humanity's crisis resulted in an overall professional "brain drain" from the sheer volume of professionals that dropped dead. In fact every scene depicting medical procedures looks dimly lit and lacking in sanitation. We will see this as we struggle to contain the coronavirus, at least in America. Healthcare workers have already died from this thing, and I am sure many prospective college students will have second thoughts about a career in healthcare. I mean hell, look at no other than GeneCo itself. That company employs workers called "Genterns" who are most definitely not in full PPE. I don't doubt their medical expertise, but they appear to be disposable (please see: that time Luigi killed one for NO REASON in "Mark it Up").

On that note, it really was quite incredible how China built the pop-up hospital in Wuhan in under 4 days, but it was also not the most safe or structurally sound building by far (it collapsed, people were hurt!). Maybe at this point, the people in Repo! don't have much of a choice. I am sure there were likely legit hospitals, but the fact that the Renaissance had gross surgery tents is a bit unsettling.

This is a world that is completely built upon the social more of valuing your health above all else. There had to be a turning point in the GeneCo business model where they really played on up-selling organs for the benefit of "genetic perfection". "I needed a kidney transplant desperately. GeneCo showed this single mom sympathy. This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!" Imagine signing the documents for your power of attorney while actively going into renal failure, when your doctor chimes in with an up-sell for breast implants. When all is said an done, your body is now not only functioning again, but you're hot! Even in a post-plague dystopia we are still holding value to having a nice rack. What's not to love about GeneCo? Obviously we know right away that GeneCo has a dirty side. Rotti Largo personally lobbied to make organ repossessions legal, and he does not hesitate to recollect his property. The concept itself is, of course, wild. In America, our healthcare system is incredibly broken and expensive. You would wonder how it could get worse without us backpedaling many steps on the industrialization timeline. And in a lot of ways, I could see a company like GeneCo thrive here. We already hate the poor, and we have political think tanks that salivate over the idea of cutting social programs that keep people alive. Our president has wanted to repeal the Affordable Care Act while many people are unemployed during a pandemic. In Repo! we hear about those who don't pay, but obviously there are plenty of people who do. Those who can will happily pay, either for vanity reasons or to stay alive.

And while society cites Rotti as being a "hero" for humanity, we see more and more evidence that the crisis is both not under control and life is cheap.

His son murders multiple people, in front of others, with seemingly no repercussions. In the scene where Shilo meets the Graverobber for the first time, adjacent to the graveyard and tombs owned by wealthy families who could afford grave markers, lies a poorly constructed wall hiding thousands of corpses piled on top of one another. We even get a glimpse of a truckload pouring more onto the pile. I would not be surprised if there is a disinformation campaign there keeping the public in the dark (although you'd think the smell would be unbearable at this point).

There are multiple indications that propaganda works in society (still), and no one is getting the full picture of how much of a raw deal the people in Repo! have. We see poster after poster about GeneCo, in the literal absence of other corporations.

And a lot of them bear resemblance to 20th century Russian propaganda. It would be a real shame if the goals outlined The Foundations of Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia were actually realized. Imagine going to visit your mother's grave and hearing commercials for hardcore analgesics play through the cemetery. Also, there's a police presence too. Apparently the police are called Genecops and have authority to execute any assumed graverobbers on site.

Imagine the hellscape it would be to live in a world where your loved ones may have died from a terrible pandemic, and you face a non-zero chance of an over zealous cop murdering you thereafter, and because their qualified immunity bypasses the judicial system entirely...oh wait. Anyways let's circle back to the Graverobber character.

Graverobber's role in Repo! appears to be minor on the surface. Rotti's daughter, Amber Sweet, appears to almost despise her relationship with him. And that relationship involves him supplying Amber with what he describes as the "21st Century cure". This cure you ask? A super effective painkiller with the clinical use to accompany GeneCo surgeries. This drug is called Zydrate, and it has a street version that he acquires and sells, with clients including Amber Sweet.

Graverobber makes his living sucking the glowy blue brain corpse goo and injecting them into people on the streets. Yum!

Not everyone who needs an organ transplant can pay for it all upfront. Luckily for them, GeneCo provides payment plan options! The caveat to this is if you fail to make those payments, legally GeneCo can come and repossess your newly acquired organs. If you find yourself past due, you will soon see the last face before your doom, the Repo Man. He will harvest GeneCo's property, and it won't matter where you are or what you are doing. There is no anesthetic, and you will likely die! This was all made legal through Rotti's lobbying efforts.

Society, as it's set up today, allows for property repossessions. This can be as straightforward as a repossession of your vehicle to as heartbreaking as a foreclosure on your home. At the end of the day, the impacts of that are difficult and life changing. Currently millions of people in America are out of work, and the threat of losing everything is at stake for many. We could lose our homes, our vehicles, and our sense of purpose. And while many government bodies have created temporary moratoriums, they have not provided any substantial financial relief to keep the proverbial repo man at bay. What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment? Fascism! Ah yes, the dreaded f-word. In my next essay, I will outline the 14 characteristics of fascism and how it relates to the universe in Repo! After I will relate that to our modern world so that we can try and stop this from becoming our reality.

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

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The Four Horsemen | Marley, Felix, Roy & Erin

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Warehouse by the docks PARTIES: @detectivedreameater @streetharmacist @theshadowandvalleyaremine & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun use tw, Head trauma tw

Felix and Marley would be here any moment. Erin hadn’t slept. Couldn’t after the events from the night before. More death--needless death--had befallen innocent lives. How many had been killed in pursuit of one man now? More than she could keep count of, she knew that much, and even more had felt the aftershocks of ever blow. She thought she had readied herself for the cost. Whatever it takes. Another one of her mantras. Her gut twisted stubbornly anyway, a big fuck you to the mantras and the autopilot mode she locked herself up into the past few months. There was a limit to everything and her’s was quickly approaching.

Rather than pace a hole into the floor, she came here, pouring herself into their notes, crossing off businesses and people that were no longer a threat or under Roy’s finger. Made a note of the attack on the witches, the locations he had hit. It was all over the place and trying to figure out where he’d go next was like fumbling through Tommy’s image still sat unmarked. Purposefully. Didn’t feel like her box to check off. Sunlight burst into the dark room, painful for a moment after huddling in the dark for so long. Wasn’t hard to figure out who the silhouette belonged to. “Hey, just in time,” Erin greeted Marley, hunched over the metal table she’d been using for a desk. They didn’t have time for whatever tension remained between them. With Roy’s next move pending, it was nothing but a distraction. Gave a nod to the images on the wall. “I was saving the honor for you.” Marley hadn’t been the one to slay him herself but she more than earned this much. Held out a marker to her, the closest thing to an olive branch as she was going to get right now.

The light at the end of the tunnel was a little too cliche for Marley’s taste, but it really was the only thought she had as she made her way to the docks that afternoon. The three of them were meeting up for a strategy talk, because their two biggest obstacles were now out of the way. It almost felt fake to think, like she’d somehow believed all of this would never end. They’d be caught in the eternal loop of fighting and losing and hitting back and winning. That was how altercations between crime rings and police usually went, but Roy wasn’t just a crime boss, and the three of them definitely weren’t just police. Speaking of, Marley slid her badge into her back pocket as she turned down the lane towards the warehouse Erin had told her about. Though there was no one around, being followed was not something she could allow to happen. She stopped, waited a few minutes by the bus stop, before slipping into the alley. By the time she made it to the door, she was well and alone.

Erin’s voice rang out and Marley glanced around before letting her eyes land on her form, hunched over a table. She was squinting over at Marley, but the dark lighting of the warehouse didn’t obscure Marley’s sight at all. She moved into the room, shutting the door. When she came over to the table, Erin had all their notes splayed out and was holding up the red marker to her. “How sweet,” she said, taking the pen. Things were still a little tense between them, but their little forest foray had eased some of the anger Marley felt. And right now, anger didn’t matter. She needed to save it for Roy.

Her hand hovered over Tommy’s picture for a moment-- her face stung at the image, all the thoughts and worries and strife he’d caused her and the others crowding her head, but something underneath it all bubbled up, something stronger, and she jabbed the pen down, marking off his image with a bright, obtrusive X right over his face. A satisfied smile fell onto her face. She remembered his body, alone in the forest. Remembered the feel of the blade as she cut through his skin. She only wished she could have been there to see Roy’s face when he saw Tommy’s head, packaged so neatly for him on his doorstep. “The honor was all mine,” she said, setting the pen down and turning to look at Erin. “So what’s the plan, now? Felix here yet?”

Felix wanted to take every streetlight that he passed by, avoided, in hand and crush it. Half in light and half in shadow. The fae hungered to paint the whole fucking town black. If he could kill the sun itself, he would climb over every star to do just that. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. They weren’t done yet. Soon enough they would be. He felt pretty damn sure of that. Assurance came in the form of a paper thin glass dagger. If it was enough to wiggle between Roy Chambers ribs and snuff him out, good riddance. It would have to do. His head ached as he walked toward their meeting place. He had a feeling the ache might stop when Roy Chambers stopped breathing. It was the kind of thought that would have warmed him under different circumstances. All it did lately was make his steps quicker, his eyes sharper.

The door to their warehouse opened and shut quietly as he stepped through. He snapped the umbrella he had closed and tossed it aside. “I’m here now,” Felix said as he moved toward the table. He deftly undid the buttons of his suit jacket and took out a carefully folded piece of red fabric. His gaze shifted between Erin and Marley as he set it on the table. A hand slid into his pants pocket. “That’s our ace in there. I’m keen to see just how sharp it is.” He kept his tone level even as his disposition shifted back and forth like a ship in rough waters. A brow lifted over the rim of his glasses. “Guess they’re down a bear, huh?”

A once colorless array of images lined that wall, starting with the bossman himself, to Tommy. Many dead, some in jail, and the most cowardice of the few had fled. Turns out fear and money inspired limited loyalty. Even Dale was up there, his stupid grin marked off with a fat, red X - the very first. Triumphs spread slowly, but steadily, the crimson marking them one by one until only the last remained. “Feels pretty good, huh?” Erin asked with the whisper of a smile hiding behind furrowed brows. It was important to remember these moments. To appreciate the wins, big or little, because they sure as hell wouldn’t be forgetting their losses. Helped remind them why it was worth it, why they were doing this at all. “I’ve got a couple ideas, but I’ll wait for Felix to explain,” she answered, smoothing out the corner of the map she was looking over.

Almost on cue, she watched him slip through the door. His demeanour was far different than she usually recalled. Darker. Sharper, like the knife beneath the red cloth. Not even Felix, who’d made a point to keep his participation quiet, hidden in the shadows, had gone untouched in this war. She waited just a moment, eyes bouncing hesitantly between the two until she reached for it, anxious to reveal it live and in-person. The hilt was simple, sturdy, but once removed from the sheath, her eyes never left the glass blade. “This is it, huh?” An image of the blade sinking into undead skin, watching the life slip from his eyes, brought a dark sense of satisfaction she wasn’t prepared to admit or indulge. “Sturdy enough to crack that thick skull, you think?” She asked, teasing a smile for just a moment. “Thank you,” she nodded at him, gesturing towards the dagger. Slipped it back into the sheath and set it onto the table. Took a deep breath. “I know it wasn’t easy. None of this has been. It’s not about to get easier. But we’re almost there,” she glanced between them both, trying to hold back some of the smugness in the curve of her lips. “We’re gonna get him.” It wasn’t a question, or a matter of if any more.

Marley’s eyes went to Felix when he entered. His entire demeanor had changed. She didn’t even need to be a body language expert to see that. But what she did see that others wouldn’t was the darkness in his step. It wasn’t hidden inside of him anymore. After his loss, after everything they’d all given up to get here, it made sense. It was now a darkness they all carried. The three of them together. Marley didn’t move when the knife was placed between them and Erin unraveled it like it was the answer to all of life’s questions. And, for their purpose, it sort of was. It glinted in the dim light and reflected Erin’s eyes. Marley watched her closely. Victory was so close she could taste it, but being hasty would ruin it. She reached out and put a hand over Erin’s. “He’s going down,” she reassured, “we just have to make sure we do it right.” It felt a little hypocritical after what she’d tried to pull with Tommy, but Erin had been her voice of reason back then and now she needed to be Erin’s. “Right?” she urged, giving a little squeeze. She could feel the eagerness inside her own bones as well. When they were finished with this, things would be better. Safer. She wouldn’t have to be looking over her shoulder or worrying if someone was going to show up at Anita’s. The strange anxiety of worrying about other people was still making Marley’s stomach churn with a sourness she wasn’t used to. She’d questioned once or twice whether she truly was cut out to care about others, but if she didn’t try, she’d never know. Never prove everyone wrong. And this? This was the ultimate test, wasn’t it? Her gaze turned to Felix. “We should strike at night,” she said, turning to face the table, “we need to figure out the best place to confront him, too.”

“Don’t mention it,” Felix said with a slight nod. As the knife came into view, he couldn’t help a slim smile. It was the subtle sort of knife. The kind he could appreciate on its own but could appreciate more when it was sticking out of someone, their face frozen in shock. “Consider him dead already.” He said it easily enough, hardly a breath between. He ran his thumb along the line of his jaw as he thought. “It’d be best to get him where he’s most comfortable. A fat cat like that? I’d wager a nightly house call could do it.” He looked over towards Marley with a small smile. They had done one hell of a job before and he was sure they could do it again. As many times as they needed to. The grin widened, sharpened, as he looked toward Erin. “It’s exciting, right?” He shook out his shoulders some. Roy had made it personal for every single one of them. Whoever had said that an eye for an eye made the whole world blind just wasn’t cut out for it. “Whatever we decide, we do it now or not at all. We got all the pieces. We just need to make the moves. Checkmate his punk ass right into the gutter.”

A night attack was the only thing that made sense when your partners thrived in the safety of shadows. Erin couldn’t help the slight twinge of anger that pulled in her chest at Marley’s words. Hard to forget the panicked wallop that had socked her in the gut after Marley ran off on her own, determined to take Tommy down herself. Damn near jeopardized the whole mission. Did Marley really think she’d pull something like that herself now? It was tempting, sure. But she knew better. Wasn’t like she stood a chance against the guy on her own. “Right,” she assured her, a curt nod following. None of that mattered now. There was one goal and everything they had left had to focus on that. Nothing else. Erin squeezed her hand back before jumping right back into it, moving back to the map on the table. “Alright, so, I haven’t been able to locate exactly where he lives yet. The guy doesn’t want to be found or bothered, right? My guess is somewhere on Harris Island or in one of the gated communities in East End.” Felix was right though. This was exciting. Even found herself fighting back a smile as she spoke. “Even if he’s juiced up on someone else’s magic, there’s three of us and one of him. I think my best bet, and our best bet, is to have me slip in at the end with the knife after you’ve distracted and beaten his ‘punk ass’ down enough--”

“Wow. Seriously--wow.”

A loud, slow clap suddenly boomed from the otherside of the warehouse. Footsteps followed with a booming laugh that made every bone in Erin’s body freeze up. She knew that laugh, that voice. Couldn’t forget it if she’d tried, not with the way it haunted most of her waking thoughts.

Roy stopped clapping long enough to slip his hands into his pockets, dark eyes peering not at the three of them hovering around the table. He spared a few glances but he couldn’t stop staring at their board, the notes taped to the wall, like this was a full fledged investigation. He seemed more… disheveled than usual. Manic almost. “I’ve gotta hand it to your rag tag little group here, Nichols. You all have been nothing if not thorough, haven’t you?” A seething smirk lifted the corner of his lips before he gestured with a nod from the way he’d just come. “Although, with that in mind, you’d think you’d remember to lock the back entrance to your super secret club hideout.” He glanced towards Marley, then to Felix. “Or even hide your tracks a little better on the way here. Rookie mistake. You’re new at this, I get that. Mistakes happen.”

He took a few steps closer, slow, never daring a move that could jar them into action. Not yet. Even when he stiffened at the sight of Tommy on the wall. Took more self-control than he initially anticipated but he worked his jaw, regaining his composure. That shit-eating grin replaced the hard line he’d momentarily allowed to slip onto his features. “Mr. Doyle. Ms. Stryder,” he nodded at her two companions. “You wanted me, right? Well, here I am. You’ve got me.”

The chill that ran down Marley’s spine was one she was sure she’d caused others to feel many times. On herself, it felt wrong. Foreign. The clapping had cut through the air around them like knives and she’d turned stiffly to watch Roy stroll from the shadows and straight towards them. Her hand twitched to her gun, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Perhaps slow him down, maybe, but it would not kill. It could not. But it was her only line of defense right now, since the sun sat high in the sky. She swallowed, watched him closely, subconsciously taking a step to put herself between Roy’s path and Erin. Felix was closest to him now. Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses-- no, she wasn’t completely defenseless. If he could feel fear, then she could use her ace in the hole. Getting him to look at her would be the hardest part. “Didn’t your mother teach you to knock? It’s rude to just come inside uninvited,” she growled, standing perfectly still, eyes unblinking as she glared him down.

Felix looked at Roy head on as he walked in. His own movements were small, casual, as he reached into his pocket to produce a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. “Don’t they just, old sport.” Flame kissed the end of his cigarette. His anger was barely contained under false human skin. The weight of his head felt uneven as he tipped it to the side. A puff of smoke faded and brought his own grin into view. “You went looking for us, huh? Smart. Can’t blame you at all. You know, we were thinking of doing just that ourselves. Nice to see that we broke even on that one, huh?” He shifted his posture slightly, stood up straight and angled his head once more. The next drag he took of his cigarette was slow and deliberate. He gestured towards Roy with the hand that held it. “Say, we do something to set you off there, pal?”

There was an unsettling fury radiating from Roy. Erin could sense it even from here, could see something not quite right in his eyes. Every step, every word eased out of him methodically. Even the way he rolled the cuffs of his sleeves up seemed tempered, brimming with the same unease she saw in those dark eyes. But she only stood, unmoving, tensing every time Felix or Marley quipped his way, agitating him a little more each time. Slowly, so slowly, she moved her hand towards the clothed knife--

“Ah, ah--I see you, Nichols.” Roy’s dark eyes were firmly on her now. Mid-air, her hand hovered above the knife. Still himself, except for the jostling that loosened his silk tie until his neck was completely bare. That sharp smile returned when he watched the smoke curl loosely around Felix’s hand. “Oh, I’m doing peachy keen, friends. Thanks for asking.” He tilted his head slightly, gesturing towards Marley with one hand as the other sunk into his front pocket. “Well, you know, thank you for asking Felix. I’m doing swell. I mean, outside of the fact that you murdered one of my best men. That one did kind of sting a little.” He shrugged, face and nose crinkling with a feigned apathy. “I’m tired though. Aren’t you guys tired? You’ve been at this for--what? A few months now? Blowing up buildings, fighting, getting people killed.” He put a hand to his chest, the corner of his mouth lifting again. “I’m ready for this to be over. What about you? Hm?”

There was a long pause, as if he was waiting for some particular sort of answer. Satisfied after a moment, he nodded. He pulled his hands from his pockets, fingers splayed outward. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” He felt the warmth trickling from his fingertips, the magic pulsing from every dead vein, and without hesitation, his fingers snapped inward, balling into a fist. Every single window in the warehouse crackled, glass bursting out as light poured in. “Much better,” he laughed, though it was swallowed by the deafening shattering. He moved, hands outstretched as he inwardly switched gears, flipping through the coven’s magic like an arsenal. Ribbons of fire stretched from his fingertips, shooting out at the table they all hovered near, very pointedly setting the wall of images up in flames.

Marley’s eyes watched him closely, every movement, every twitch. It was clear he was going to attack. The only thing to figure out was when. Marley felt her chest tightening, pounding. Tommy was dead because of her, and her face was scarred because of him. She would not reveal her hand yet, though. They needed to play it cool, needed to think of a strategy first. She did not answer any of his question, only stayed poised. When his hands came back up out of his pockets, she knew. The windows shattered around them, a loud booming. The rain of glass sounding like a terrifying waterfall of shards. She covered her head, her face, immediately standing back up once it was over. The fire lashed at the wall they’d put up, setting it quickly ablaze. Marley grabbed Erin and pulled her out of the way, holding up her gun. Fired once, twice, directly into him, knowing it was simply there to provide a distraction. If Felix could get to him, they would be okay. That’s all Erin and Marley were now, distractions. “Go,” she hissed at him, “we’ll cover you!” She shoved the gun into Erin’s hands and reached down for her taser baton. “C’mon, big boy!” she hooted at Roy, “must be tiring being so old and ineffective.”

“One of your best guys, huh? You hate to see it.” The twitch of a smile lifted the corners of Felix’s mouth. That telltale smell of magic was thick in his nose. Reactions in the air, the give and take. It wasn’t quite fire and brimstone. There was too much light in the room with the windows busted but they would have to make do. There was no other option. Marley and Erin would be fine. They had to be, even as glass rained and gunshots fired. And now Roy was alone whereas they were three. But sometimes, numbers didn’t mean much. Maybe that wouldn’t be the case here. They had shit to make even. The fae flicked his cigarette aside and sought out the dark where he could. There wasn’t much. Any sunlight would sizzle him and if he stayed in it long enough… He shed the human skin he wore. It wouldn’t do him any good. Any effort would need to be put into getting close. Close enough to get his metaphorical teeth around the magic that Roy spilled over with. He slipped his glasses off and tossed them aside. As much as he wanted to spit venom, it was counterproductive. He slipped along the walls where the light didn’t touch, his steps light. Roy was close. Close enough that Felix’s blood crackled with potential magic and his mouth watered. But not close enough. Not yet.

The bullets sent Roy back a few steps, like taking a bat to the chest a few times, splicing through undead skin and muscle. “Cute,” he huffed, a thin, razor sharp smirk filling his features as he shot a glare at Marley. Wasn’t his first time taking a shot to the chest. But it was Felix who caught his attention, thick black wisps and bright eyes birthing from the solace of what little darkness remained. “Oh, there he is!” Roy shouted excitedly, peering into the darkness. A lampade. Huh. Seemed Erin had a few tricks left up her sleeve after all. Made sense now, the resiliency of their efforts. She’d only stood a chance because she’d been the only human in the room. Either way, he’d have to be more careful about where he threw his magic around now. “What happened there, bud? Get caught on a chandelier or something?” He smirked, peering over, careful not to look directly into his eyes but it was hard to mistake the space where a second antler should have been. Barely casting the two women a glance, he switched his elemental ammunition. That coven had been a goddamn goldmine.

A gust of wind this time, as strong as a draft from a hurricane, hurtled them both back, sending the crates in the room and shards of glass with them. “Come on! Let me get a good look at you,” he practically chirped. With a flick of his wrist, he used the same current to drag debris and the metal table Felix’s way.

Shit, he’d seen Felix already. Marley went to bolt forward, but in the next moment, she was being thrown backwards by a gust of wind. She landed hard on her back, tumbling a few times over before coming to a stop. Her eyes first searched out Erin, standing despite the struggle for breath in her lungs. “Get up!” she said, grabbing her and hoisting her up. “Get behind something!” The table was flying for Felix, and Marley decided now was the time to act. Invulnerability or not, she had to do something. Felix was their only bet of getting out of this alive-- he was their queen on the chessboard, and that meant Marley was nothing more than a rook or a knight. Perhaps even just a pawn. Somehow, she was okay with that. Despite all of her years of self-preservation, of putting herself and only herself ahead of others needs and wants, she felt in this moment that she wasn’t the most important person in this room. She felt as if her role was already decided. And she was okay with that. She had to be.

She made it up to Roy in no time, swung her baton, and watched it smash into the back of Roy’s head. “Wonder how your bear felt in his last moments,” she chided, purposefully looking to egg Roy on, turn his attention away from Felix. “Do you think he begged for his life? Do you think he felt like a failure?”

There wasn’t enough dark in the joint for Felix to blend in the way he wanted to. Wasn’t that just the way of things? Not going exactly how they wanted them to? He grit his teeth. His eyes brightened by a slim margin as the table came his way and he rolled away from it. With a crash, it collided with the wall. Rays of sunlight burned down on his darkened fingertips and he quickly pulled his hand into his chest. His eyes widened as Marley threw herself at Roy, baton in hand like some warrior. She sure fucking was a warrior but that didn’t seem to phase Roy as he tossed her aside. “Marley!” Roy was a large man with a large shadow, the way he stood with the sunlight pouring in. It was large enough that Felix might be able to fit into it. Something seemed to change in the air as the fae crept closer. It felt heavier.

Erin barely had a grip on the gun before her and Marley both were swept off their feet. This wasn’t the fucking plan. It was the only thing racing through her mind before her back hit the wall. A crack and a seering, burning pain ripped up her chest, making it hard to breathe. Even harder to move even when Marley yanked her back to her feet. Fuck. Hide? She could do that. It was about the only thing she could do. Wincing, she scooped up the gun from the debris and slid into position behind a sturdier looking metal crate just in time to see Marley book it. No, no, no.

Roy let out a low growl of pain when the baton connected, grabbing a fistful of the mara’s hair. A different kind of anguish gutted him. He’d never give the woman the satisfaction of knowing her intentional jabs were doing exactly what she intended them to do. If she wanted to piss him off, she’d done it alright. He gripped her hair tighter, the glamour keeping his corpse-like disposition at bay flickering with the intensity of his anger. Tommy wasn’t a failure. If anything, Roy had failed him. He grit his teeth, pulling her closer, dark eyes boring down at her. “I don’t know, do you?” He didn’t need magic to toss her away, clear across the room. She was nothing. They were all nothing. Gnats that needed to be swatted away, to be crushed under his palm. It was high time they remembered that.

The whistle of a bullet shot by his head. Then another--missed, again. The third one hit right in the shoulder and he turned just in time to see Erin gearing up for one more. So determined, so utterly human in her futile attempts, he’d almost forgotten she was even in the room. That dark smile returned and his hand shot up as he stepped forward. A new magic trickled through his veins, different than the ones he’d stolen from the coven. This was from the boy at the bar. He’d known it the moment he’d siphoned the magic but testing it here and now? It just hit different. He’d have to find him again, get another taste so he could practice. It took more focus than he realized but the pressure enveloping her skull was starting to take hold. When she dropped the gun, his smile widened at the sound of her screaming. Oh, this was fun. He liked this. He could feel the pressure building, as sure as he held her head in his palms. “Give your parents my regards, will you?”

Marley didn’t struggle when he grabbed her hair, yanking her up and holding her still. She just smiled at him, knowing what was inevitably going to happen when he let go. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear. Like she’d told Erin not a week ago, fear wasn’t a weakness. She was surprised, however, when her feet left the ground and he tossed her away. Sure, she was flying through the air, but he hadn’t straight up killed her. That would be a mistake. When gravity claimed her and she came tumbling back down, it was with a resounding crack as her back hit the ground hard enough to steal all the breath from her lungs. She could feel the ribs snap and splinter inside of her as she finally came to a stop, wheezing as blood curled up her throat. It leaked down the side of her mouth as she lay on the ground, unable to move, her entire body screaming in pain. Fuck, this was bad. All she could do was hope that it had given Felix enough time. Tried to turn her head to look, but a scream from the other side of the room pierced her ears instead.

Erin.

“N-no,” Marley coughed, forcing her body against every protest to move, rolling over. Pain spiked through her chest, her side, her stomach, but she ignored it. Pushed herself up with her one good arm. “No…” She could see Roy’s hands, lifted up as if he were actually holding her head. She couldn’t see what was going on around Erin, but the way he was walking towards her, the way Erin was writhing in pain-- he was doing something to her. He was killing her. Marley’s entire stomach leapt into her throat. A fear like none other gripped her heart, shaking her to her core. Erin couldn’t die. She just-- couldn’t. Marley’s mind couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t figure that as an option. Erin didn’t deserve to die. She needed to live. She had to live. This wasn’t supposed to be how this ended. They’d fought for months for this, lost so much and so much-- this couldn’t be how this ended.

“No!” Her body moved on its own. She gave one last glance towards Felix, telling him with just a look to make sure he finished this. She would give them the opening to. That was her lot in this after all, wasn’t it? The distraction. The sacrifice. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d find herself thinking that, let alone acting on it. She’d always lived for herself and no one else. Maybe this was to make up for all the bad shit she’d done, then. Maybe this was how she saved herself as well as Erin. Maybe this meant her life wasn’t for nothing. Her body barreled into Erin’s with a heavy step, knocking her out of the way. Shoving her far enough out of his reach that she wasn’t a part of this anymore. Her eyes locked with Roy’s as she felt the pressure lock on to her, increasing around her head. It pounded and tore and folded her up. She let out a groan of pain, the inside of her skull vibrating. Through the haze, she grinned. Blood was already trickling down and out her nose, her mouth, her ears. She needed to make sure he focused only on her. Make sure he forgot about Erin and Felix and everything else. If she could just get him to look at her in the eyes, if she could just get him to look.

“I bet he d-died a-alone and a-afraid,” she growled through the taste of blood, the increasing pain, “I bet he s-suffered.” Let it all egg her on. “All because of...me.” She fell to her knees, still looking up at him, waiting, but he wouldn’t look into her eyes. If this was it, then maybe it was worth it. Maybe her life had meant something after all. God, Anita was going to be so mad at her. “What’d his head look like, in that bad? Was it r-rotted by the time it got to you?” She swallowed a mouthful of her own blood, grinned through the blue staining her teeth, her lips. “All because I sent the hunters after hi--” but she never finished. The crack! of her skull echoed in the warehouse, and her eyes rolled up into the back of her head as her body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Roy’s magic cup runneth over and Felix felt greedy. His shadowy skin sizzled as he stepped between light and shadow. It was a matter of time before he was meant to meet the sun. Today wouldn’t be that day. As for Erin and Marley, it wasn’t their time for the sun to set on either of them. They had been through too much, hemorrhaged out people as well blood. The thought of Jane dead alone in the wounds, what she might be had she not been bitten. The second attempt on Bea’s life and the thought of her wrist cold, still under his thumb. Erin’s home had been reduced to ash. Bones had been broken. If it could have, his inhuman shadow would have overtaken the room that had been their sanctuary. As much as they had plotted, they had laughed too. Shared toasts to victories and sat in silence at their losses. Erin’s scream and Marley’s wheezes had him crossing the great distance between him and Roy. If to burn meant victory, he would step into the light unphased.

The air was thick with magic as he waded through it. There was so much of it. He could see the blood trickling from Marley’s face when he crossed over to Roy, the way she went still. His hands grabbed the fext’s face and violently tugged his head over to look at him. Wide, unblinking moons stared into the depths of Roy’s eyes. The fae clawed his fingers into the fext’s human face and as Felix hissed through his teeth, he drank. His blood sang, his grin widened to something monstrous. It felt good to so readily take power from the powerful. To watch them wither.

“Look at me, Chambers,” he said as his eyes flashed. “I wanna see your fucking light go out.”

It was like all at once, Erin’s humanness caught up with her, handicapping her into a near useless form on the playing field. The same one she’d been a formidable player in, behind the scenes, moving the pieces up until now. Her strategies and her will meant shit all with Roy Chambers in front of her. When he set his gaze on her, the powerlessness and the pain was uncomparable. Like someone squeezing her skull, making sure that she felt every ounce of pressure being applied with every grating second that passed. Couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even hear herself screaming. This was it. Checkmate. It was over. This would all be fucking over--

Suddenly, with a jolt and a hard shove from the side, it stopped. It wasn’t over. Not yet. But--no. Marley. Her senses were slowly unclenching, but blurry as everything was, she could see Marley screaming at Roy, falling to her knees. Blinked again. Saw the blood dripping down her chin and the sickening crack that followed.

Marley’s body went limp.

He didn’t--he couldn’t have--no, no, she wasn’t--

Ice filled her veins and red filtered her vision. She wanted to howl and scream, to rush to Marley’s side. Wanted to rip his throat right from his goddamn neck. Felix had beat her to him. Almost instantly, he was rendered motionless, the glow brightening Roy’s face. The knife. Where the fuck was the knife? The red cloth filled her vision just up head. It wasn’t far. Hope struck like lightning in her chest. Gave her the strength to crawl forward, aching ribs bellowing in protest. But her fingers wrapped around the hilt. She could do this. She had to do this. She glanced at Marley, like she was waiting for her to move, to get up, to keep fighting. She wouldn’t--couldn’t. Erin grit her teeth and kept moving.

That bitch. She’d gotten what was coming for her. Tommy would’ve loved the way she fell to her knees, how her gaze gleaned over as her body slumped to the floor. Would’ve eaten his full of the woman. But the satisfaction that came with the crack of Marley’s skull was short-lived. From the depths of the shadows, Felix reared into view and all Roy could see was that intense light. Held firm in his grip, there was no avoiding it. Ensnared like a fawn in a hunter’s trap. He howled, a rage building in him like nothing he’d ever felt. He lashed out, dug his fingers into the lampade’s eyes, what little of his mind that was still tethered in place fighting back. But it was too late. He shed his glamour completely, his decomposing form paling beneath the rays of sun trickling in.

With a resounding, inhuman roar, like an animal gone feral, he hurled Felix back. Magic. He still had some of his magic left. Much of it had been devoured but there was enough of it coursing through his fingertips to finish the job. A swipe of his hand and another crate flew threw the air, slamming into the lampade to keep him down. He stood in front of him, the throws of exhaustion slowing him down. Every little exertion mattered. His hands rose up, slowly, burning with all the magic he had left. “You first,” he growled, though his lips curved into a wicked smile.

“Will you shut the fuck up, already?”

Roy perked at the voice just behind him and then stilled, completely, jerking still with a throaty groan. Not another word. Erin had sunk the knife into his throat, pulled it out, and dug into the soft flesh of his temple. She didn’t have a chance to linger on how good it felt when he grabbed her wrist. It snapped in half with one twist as he flung her off of him. She watched from the ground as he pulled it out, stumbling forward, practically disintegrating before her eyes. He was reaching for her, arms outstretched, but she couldn’t quite meet him in the eyes. Rage burned in those black voids, darker than anything she’d ever seen. Even now it horrified her, sending her clambering backwards. With a final step, he launched himself at Erin, the last of his skin peeling, melting to the floor. Grabbed her ankle, he hauled his rapidly decaying carcass forward, sheer will and pure, unadulterated hatred fueling those last moments on earth.

He knew his time had come but even now, he refused to accept it, desperately clinging onto this plane until his body no longer gave him a choice. His eyes locked on hers when he finally, finally stopped moving.

Felix could see it. The snap, the slight unhinge of the mind. The disconnect. It had been awhile since that old familiar thrill sat on his shoulder and grinned with him. It was a comfort to have one of his oldest friends back in his time of need. Even when Roy rounded on him, tossed him aside like something weightless, he felt grounded. Whatever magic Roy had coursed through the fae, who clutched his wounded stomach and wounded head yet still grit his teeth. He knew he would remember this, the moment when Roy’s lights went out and failure greeted him like a proverbial knife to the throat. As the fext withered and looked at Erin with the eyes of a man who knew he was dying, the fae snapped his fingers and laughed. He wanted it to be among the last sounds Roy heard.

As much as he would remember the fall of Roy Chambers, he would also remember the ones who had started it. Memories were a gift and he vowed to himself as he looked at Erin and Marley, that they would never be forgotten as centuries came and went. The weight against him fell away and he brought himself to stand on shaky feet. He could taste dark blood in his mouth and he blinked rapidly to right himself. Roy Chambers was nothing more than lifeless meat and bone. Bone that might be useful. Profitable. What better way to honor an enemy than by profit. He went to Marley and as he carefully assessed her head, he looked at Erin with dim eyes. Looked past the pile of flesh that rotted into the ground. It’d be impossible to thoroughly clean up.

“Didn’t really go according to plan, huh?” His voice was quiet and ragged. He didn’t smile. “It’s done and done but we gotta get her outta here, Nichols.”

Roy was dead. Erin sunk the blade in herself, twice, and his lifeless corpse sat rotting before her eyes. She kicked away the bony hand clutching her ankle. He was still again. Eyes glued to him, waiting, watching, like she was merely biding time before he spring back to life. When that moment didn’t come and Felix’s voice finally reached her, it took all she had to pry her eyes away. Glass crunched under her as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. Only then did she register the unnatural slack in her wrist and how it screamed in protest at the slightest movement. Her chest stung and every breath felt pricked like knifes against her ribs. Roy was dead. It was done. Felt like more than her brain could properly process, not when--Marley. Fuck. The icy fear that consumed her when she heard that sickening crack returned with a fury. They couldn’t stay here. Felix was right. Erin nodded, the world and most words not coming back to her as quickly as she needed it to. Roy was dead. It was the only thing truly processing, repeating over and over. As if she thought those three words long and hard enough, comfort or relief or anything would follow.

No, no--she didn’t have time for this. Marley didn’t have time for this. Felix wasn’t looking too hot himself but he probably fared better than either of them. “Can you drive?” She asked, rushing to Marley’s side. Still breathing. That was good. That was a good sign. Right? Fuck. Fuck. “Marley?” She called out to her, touching her cheek, willing her to wake up. Nothing. “You don’t get to tap out now, alright? You promised. We see this through to the end. Remember? You promised.” Dread built in her gut. She’d pushed her out of the way, took the blow. That could have been Erin. Should have been Erin.

Roy was dead but that black fire still roared in her chest, as ugly and hot as ever as she helped Felix carefully lift her unconscious body. Panic swelled alongside fear, gripping her so hard she could barely breathe. Roy was gone and this had to be worth it. This all had to be worth it.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: marley #chatzy: felix #chatzy: roy #the four horsemen #gun use tw #head trauma tw

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stillebesat · 5 years ago

Text

The Interview (5/5)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Patton, Virgil, Roman Blurb: A normal day at StoryTime! Inc. takes an unexpected turn when Logan goes to investigate why his coworkers have made a bet using Crofters as the prize. Fic Type: General, Human!AU Warnings: None

To Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Logan hadn’t meant to stay for the entire negotiations on Roman’s commission. He could have easily excused himself from the room as soon as he’d pulled up the proper forms for Virgil to read through, negotiate, and then sign.

After all, he had his own pile of work that needed to be seen to before the day was over and Roman was quite capable of hiring his own employees.

And yet.

He couldn’t help but be intrigued by what Virgil requested in exchange for each character piece that his brother wanted.

Virgil hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d followed Thomas from the beginning, and Logan should have realized when their new hire admitted to having theories on there being Two Princes at StoryTime! that he would be familiar with their work and placement within the company as well.

For Virgil had set to bartering with his brother like they were traders arguing over goods in the market.

And those goods...were their respective skill sets. For every artwork Roman wanted, Virgil had ended up negotiating what had amounted to practically a month’s worth of various lessons from The Prince himself. That didn’t mean just learning more drawing or animating techniques. Their new hire had also convinced Roman to give him a handful of acting lessons, one singing lesson, a sneak peak at a couple of scripts his brother was working on, and a copy of Roman’s Broadway performances Logan had secretly recorded before they’d been hired onto StoryTime!.

How Virgil knew about those recordings Logan had no idea. He’d kept those tapes under wraps...so he’d thought.

But not once did a monetary value cross Virgil’s lips as the price for his work as he carefully took notes on his beat up phone of every detail his brother wanted.

Logan was sure their new hire could have used the cash, but to have him seeking to improve his skills was admirable. Plus, the amount of questions he asked showed that Virgil was willing to put in the work to make Roman happy, though it was very apparent that his brother, from the ragged state of his usually perfectly styled hair, hadn’t expected him to go into quite so much detail about what he wanted in each artwork.

Virgil pulled at the tie around his neck, loosening it to the point where it looked more like a shiny ribbon than a tie. “But Princey.” He argued, his eyes sparking with the fire Logan had seen down below as he leaned forward, pushing the sleeves of his suit up. “You have to pick one face of the Mayor.”

Roman buried his head in his hands. “I knoooooow, Stormcloud! Stop badgering me. I didn’t expect that I would need to!”

Virgil scoffed, tapping his phone screen. “You didn’t expe--have you ever done commissions before, Romanji? You’re basically the driving force of StoryTime! and you can’t decide on a face? Where is this ‘You push on! No matter the hardship! No matter the voice that tells you you can’t!”

His brother pointed a finger at Virgil without looking up. “Don’t you DARE quote Psycho Godfather Wars at me! GAH!”

Logan fought back a laugh as he shook his head, pulling the portfolio closer to him. “Honestly Roman, the solution to which face of the Mayor should wear is simple.”

“Simple!” Roman scoffed, twisting in his chair to him, throwing his arms out. “How can such a choice be considered simple!”

He raised an eyebrow. Well, it would have been a simple solution if he hadn’t distracted Roman from looking through Virgil’s entire portfolio. A pity. He would need to ensure his brother properly looked through it later tonight. “Virgil’s portfolio already contains the answer to your problem.”

“My artwork? Sure it’s--” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, flushing. “ah...g-good and all, but I don’t see how--”

Artists. Logan flipped open the page to the green basilisk from earlier, sliding it to them with a faint smile.

Virgil stared at it wide eyed before face palming. “OF COURSE!”

“Of course?” Roman leaned forward. “How does--”

Virgil shook his head. “It will probably take a bit of trial and error.” He said leaning forward. “But” He shifted the paper, so Roman could see the basilisk’s scales switch from green to white. “If I can get it to work on the head--”

“We can have the Mayor wear both faces at once! Virgil you genius!” Roman clapped him on the back before eagerly pulling the artwork to him. “How in the world did you do this? You gotta teach me!”

“Te--Teach you?” Virgil managed, going pale as he rubbed the spot Roman had touched.

Logan sat back, adjusting his glasses as his brother nodded, his eyes racing over the page while he shifted the paper back and forth. “It’s an ink right? But almost like paint--this is like ah!” Roman snapped his fingers. “Specs! Do you remember in school--with the gel pens?”

How could he forget? Logan pulled the pages of Virgil’s contract from the printer, ensuring they were all there and in order before he tapped them into a neat pile. “You mean the markers you filled with glitter that--”

“Caused Miss Mary Lee to sparkle for a month straight when one exploded? YES!” Roman chuckled. “She banned me from markers for the rest of the school year.”

Which was unfortunate because she couldn’t tell him and Roman apart so Logan too had been banned from them that year. He quirked an eyebrow. “Not that it stopped you from ruining the crayons, the colored pencils, the regular pencils, every pen you touched, the chalk, the--”

“Seriously?” Virgil’s brought a fist to his lips, but not before a soft laugh broke free. “Princey, are you sure you’re not a Demon? A Destroyer of Creativity?”

Roman shot to his feet with an offended gasp. “HOW DARE YOU! I AM--”

“Definitely all those and more.” Logan interceded as Virgil jerked back, wide eyed. “At least, he was as a child.” He allowed. “He’s improved slightly since then.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow to Roman. “Slightly.”

His brother jerked a hand to his heart as if he’d been stabbed. “Traitor! I haven’t broken a pen in-”

“He’s not dead, Reese.” Patton’s tiny voice piped up from Logan’s watch.

“Wanna bet your famous pasta on that?” Her voice asked into the silence. “He’s totally been taken by a Vampire.”

“Vampire?” Virgil asked, glancing around for the source of the voices.

Roman’s lowered his hands, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oooh? You didn’t tell me the others are interested in our new hire.”

Virgil paled. “Others?”

Logan exhaled, silencing his watch. He had stayed too long. He should have realized his team would get suspicious with his long absence. “And if I say yes?”

Roman’s smile grew, humor dancing in his eyes as he leaned in. “Then I would ask why exactly did you go find my new hire, Lo?”

Logan shrugged a shoulder, moving to stand so he was on the same eye level as Roman. He would need to tread carefully here. But it wasn’t like Virgil wouldn’t find out eventually. “As I told Virgil earlier, it was noted that he’d been outside for quite some time.”

“And you went to investigate?” His brother raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You don’t go outside Specs.”

Logan rolled his eyes, fiddling with his glasses. “You know for a fact that I do.”

“Not before dusk. Maybe you’re a vampire after all.”

Of course his brother would make them go through such a silly conversation. He turned away, breaking eye contact as he slipped Virgil’s contract into a folder and handed it to Roman “Make sure Virgl reads, negotiates the proper terms and signs this before he leaves as I regrettably-” and it was regrettable as watching Virgil interact with Roman was far more fascinating than crunching numbers and managing budgets. “-have to return to my own department.”

“Right right, but don’t ignore the fact that you’re avoiding my accusation brother dear.” Roman grinned, taking the contract with a nod. “Did you actually become a vampire and not tell me? Rude!”

Hardly. Though with everyone’s apparent obsession with the creatures Logan could foresee their MC being a vampire in StoryTime!’s next movie. “As Virgil can attest, I was fine standing in the sun. So obviously, I am not a vampire.”

“I dunno…” Virgil licked his lips, a careful humor all too similar to Roman’s sparking in his mismatched eyes as he pushed down his sleeves. “The forums did circle that particular rumor around for a while a couple years ago about you, Specs. But what is this...uh...bet? Why did you come outside to..well...see me…” He tilted his head, rubbing his arm as he studied Logan. “If you don’t usually leave?”

Roman suddenly smirked, laying the contract on the desk near his commission notes. “Ooooh. If I didn’t know better I would say this probably involves….” He paused for dramatic effect. “Cofters.”

Despite himself, Logan flinched. “No!” He denied, though from the way Roman’s eyes lit up, he’d negated the accusation too quickly for it to be believable.

Virgil frowned, looking between the two. “Crofters? The Movie?”

“The jam.” Roman clarified. “Lo here’s obsessed with the stuff. Come on.” He advanced around the desk as Logan took two short steps backwards towards the door to stay out of range. “Tell us brother mine. Why did Crofters make you go outside for my interviewee?”

Logan cleared his throat. “For the record I didn’t know who Virgil was or his purpose for being here when I ventured outside.”

“But you had your suspicions.” Their new hire said, shifting in his seat. “You asked if I was here for an interview.”

Logan nodded. “Yes, your portfolio was enough of an indication of that and Roman has lost people in his department recently, so it was a simple enough conjecture to assume you were here to interview with him.”

“Even so, dozens upon dozens of people holding portfolios have passed beneath our windows.” Roman stated, gesturing out his own windows. “Why then would you choose to interfere with my interview when you told, nay, you promised me you wouldn--”

“Alright!” Logan shook his head, spreading his arms in surrender. “I admit Crofters was the motivator for why I went outside but it had nothing, and I repeat, nothing.” He met Virgil’s mismatched eyes. “To do with me hiring you. You earned your spot at StoryTime!, Virgil. You have the talent and skill of one who’s worked with us for years. There’s no doubt there. Crofters had nothing to do with it.” He gestured to his watch. “While there are friendly bets that take place among the people who work here; policy, as is more fully outlined in your contract, dictates that said bets never involve work related matters. Since you are our new hire, no bets can be made about you or your work from here on out.”

Virgil let out an unsteady breath, giving a shallow nod. “Okay...good..yah...good to know…” He pulled the tie from around his neck, twisting it among his fingers. “So you...so this...bet?”

“Was between Patton and Reese on whether or not you would come inside the building, nothing more.” Logan said simply.

Roman blinked. “Come inside? Why wouldn’t he come inside?”

“Because the forums made you out to be freaking terrifying, Princey.” Virgil muttered.

His brother inhaled...hesitated then sheepishly shrugged. “Okay, That I can’t deny. I have a vision after all! I can’t settle for second rate!”

That was accurate on both accounts. Hence Roman’s intense pre-interview requirements for each application. Logan shifted a step closer to the door. “Regardless, your loitering outside drew their attention and so the bet was made.”

“Right on me...coming inside.” Virgil ran his fingers through his hair, the careful humor coming back into his eyes. “So who won?”

Roman snapped his fingers. “Patton.”

Logan nodded, not at all surprised he had guessed correctly. “Yes. He was quite adamant that Virgil would come inside. Offering up six jars of Crofters and his triple death by chocolate brownies before I was made aware of the situation.”

His brother whistled, clapping Virgil on the shoulder. “SIX. EmoKnightmare you already have Patton’s heart! He never goes above three.”

Virgil flushed, fidgeting in his chair. “So...Reese?”

“Bet that you would not come in, yes, but do not take that to heart.” Logan said. “She enjoys being contrary as you’ll find out soon enough.” Once Virgil signed the paperwork and finished the basic training, he would be given a full tour around StoryTime! and introduced to the various teams. After all, Virgil couldn’t become part of the FamILY if he didn’t meet everyone.

“Ten more minutes and I’m calling it. R.I.P to Specs. He had a good run.” Reese piped up from the watch.

Logan exhaled, straightening his tie. “That, I believe, is my cue to go assure the others that I am not dead and not a vampire.”

Virgil smirked, shoulders relaxing. “Being a vampire technically means you’re dead, well undead, but go off I guess.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Finish your commission talk you two, and Roman.” He pointed a finger at his brother. “I expect Virgil’s signed contract on my desk before I leave.”

“Easy enough.” Roman winked returning to his chair. “Considering you never leave.”

He wasn’t going to live that down anytime soon was he? Logan gave them a nod. “Virgil, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing your work here at StoryTime!.”

“Ah..yah..thanks…” Virgil rubbed the back of his head, giving him a half smile. “Cya around Specs.”

With the niceties over, Logan slipped outside, heading back to his own office. Of how he had expected his day to go, this momentary distraction with Virgil had been-

“HE LIVES!!” Callie cheered as he entered the room.

“I do indeed...why would you assume I did not?” Logan asked, briefly meeting Patton’s worried gaze and offered him a small smile.

Patton straightened, giving him a blindingly wide grin in return as he laid his sketchpad on the nearest desk.

“Because you were gone for forever that’s why!” Reese stated swiveling to him. “Soooo?”

“So?” Logan rolled down his sleeves as she threw her hands out with a scoff.

“Weeeeelllll, what happened Specs? Is the kid any good at all or did you just want Patton to win the bet?”

“Virgil has been hired on as StoryTime!’s newest member of the FamILY.” He said matter of factly, glancing to Patton and Callie as they cheered.

“YES!” Patton pumped his fist. “I knew you could do it, kiddo!” He stood, looking around. “Where is he? Can I meet him?”

Like he would be able to stop Patton from darting off to find him even if he said no. “He’s finishing filling out the forms with Roman now, so I wouldn’t interrupt them just yet. BUT.” Logan adjusted his glasses, looking to each of them in turn. “Virgil was hired based on his skills, not because I wanted Patton to win the bet. It could have easily been you, Reese, if he had been found lacking.”

Reese groaned, dropping her head to her desk with a thud. “That doesn’t make me feel better, Specs. I had could have had six. SIX. Jars of Crofters and the triple death by chocolate brownies on my desk tomorrow morning. But Noooooo. You’ve deprived me of the simple joys in life.”

Dramatic as always. “You didn’t lose everything, Reese.” He said, waiting until she lifted her head before he continued. “Virgil didn’t enter the building until I invited him in.”

“What?!” Callie gasped, eyes going wide. “No!”

Reese cackled, grinning like a demon. “YES! That means candy for me!” She spun to Callie, holding out her hand. “A handful of your-” Her lips twisted. “Christmas candy, Cals. As agreed.”

“I can’t believe he’s a vampire! He was out in the sun.” She whispered, unknowingly echoing Logan’s earlier point as she pulled open a drawer in her desk.

“Well maybe he’s a hybrid.” Reese threw out. “Times have changed since the world went from black and white to color and ARE THOSE FREAKING CANDY CANES?”

Callie blinked, holding up a dozen multicolored candy canes towards Reese. “Yes?”

“Why in the world do you have those HERE already?!” She practically screeched. “EW!! Cal! That’s an affront to all things Thanksgiving!”

Laughter danced in Callie’s eyes as she shook her head. “No it’s not. I thought it was rather festiv--”

Logan turned to Patton and tilted his head towards the door in a silent question.

Patton nodded and the two of them slipped out of the room while the girls were distracted with their argument over when holidays should be celebrated.

“So? How did it go really?” Patton asked as soon as they entered Logan’s office, eagerly taking a seat. “You took quite a while to look through the kid--ah Virgil’s work before you both came inside and then you well.” He made a small poofing noise. “Vanished.”

“It went…” Logan ran his fingers along his tie as he sat down. “Well. Virgil was nervous to face my brother and so I offered to look through his portfolio for him and after what I saw….” He looked up. “I hired him on the spot.” He confided quietly.

Patton gasped, nearly falling off his chair as he leaned forward to grab Logan’s hands, eyes wide with concern. “You?!--but after last time, you knew Roman--”

“Would be upset and he was as expected.” Logan twisted his wrists so his fingers twined with Patton’s. “But the risk I took was calculated and you know how good I am at math.” He said. “Roman was quick to change his tune when he realized that Virgil was none other than his beloved EmoKnightmare478.”

”WHAT?!” Patton shrieked, bouncing in his chair, squeezing Logan’s hands. “That--How COOL! Was Roman excited?”

Logan didn’t hold back his smile. Really the odds of Virgil being the interview had been beyond extraordinary. He was sure Roman would be gushing about this for weeks. “Beyond excited. He’s commissioning Virgil to draw the entire Nightmare Before Christmas cast in the Sallyized Jack style.”

Patton’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Whoa.” He breathed.

“Exactly. Which is why I didn’t return right away, I was overseeing their negotiations…the kid--” Logan let out a breath, squeezing Patton’s hands. “He’s got quite the unique outlook. He has amazing, innovative designs of his own make and an active eye to StoryTime!’s future that could help us continue to reach out to more audiences and I just--”

“You just?” Patton encouraged, softly, eyes shimmering as he glanced to the door, more than likely itching to go meet Virgil in person though his hands remained steady in Logan’s.

He shrugged. “I think he’ll fit in quite well here. Plus, he and Roman are actually getting along and that’s...big.” His brother didn’t always warm up quickly to the new hires and he and Virgil already had quite the dynamic going.

“If Roman likes him, then I’m sure he’ll fit in just fine here with the rest of us, Lo.” Patton said, giving him a sly wink as he gestured to the three jars of Crofters sitting on his desk. “We’ll make the kiddo feel like he’s part of the FamILY in no time. I promise.”

End

Taglist in Reblog

#The Interview #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Logan #Virgil #Roman #Patton #Logic #Anxiety #Creativity #Morality #StoryTime!

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years ago

Text

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Eight:

Parking in the garage, Bucky cut the engine and climbed out. Steve started to as well, until Wanda asked, "You live here?"

Having gotten used to the brownstone, Steve almost forgot what it was like to see it for the first time. It brought Steve back to his former self who was positive that he and Bucky wouldn't be able to afford it. Or that it would be too large for just the two of them. Sure, they had fixed it up once they did purchase it, but the bones of the house had always been elegant.

"We do," Steve confirmed, climbing out and opening the passenger door for her.

With some difficulty, Wanda climbed out of the car and rubbed her small baby bump. Eyes wide as she looked over everything. The hockey sticks, the baseball and softball bats, the plethora of soccer balls and basketballs. On the walls, bikes were mounted out of the way. Up top, in the loft were kayaks and inner tubes for their camping trips at the lake. As Wanda's eyes roamed over the interior of the garage, so did Steve's; trying to see what she could be seeing.

However, all Steve could see was a home.

Bucky led them through the garage and started the tour. Pushing open the door to the right, he said, "This is the laundry room." Turning, around, Bucky pointed to the door at the end of the hall, "That's our bedroom."

Then, he started heading upstairs. Bucky first, Wanda next, and Steve last. Once at the main level, Steve noticed that the girls were absent while Luke and Ethan lounged on the sofa in their pajamas, freshly bathed and relaxing before bed.

"These are our sons." Steve gestured to the older boy on his phone, "Luke and --" he gestured to the little boy cuddling with a hand-me-down Pascal pillow from, Tangled, "-- Ethan."

Both boys turned to look at her while Bucky said, "Guys, this is Wanda."

"Hi," Ethan shyly greeted before bashfully burying his face in the stuffed chameleon's body.

"Hey," Luke gave her a nod before redirecting his attention to his phone.

Wanda cleared her throat and softly returned, "Hi."

Steve smiled. They didn't seem to hate each other, and he saw that as a success. All the while, Bucky gestured to the left, towards the front of the house, "That's the sitting room."

"There's art supplies," Steve told her, giving her a kind smile when she looked at him, "You can use anything in there. Markers, paints, beads. Anything."

Mutely, Wanda nodded and ducked her head when Steve looked at her for too long. Steve's heart broke a little more, with every movement to withdrawal into herself. They had kids like that in the past. The abused and neglected. With Sun-Hi, they had spent months trying to get her to even make eye contact with them. Now, she was a confident young woman in culinary school. With Tommy, it had taken longer, but now he could argue without having a panic attack. Which was miles away from where he had been.

Steve could only hope that they'd be able to help Wanda, too.

As the trio made their way to the kitchen, Steve asked, "Would you like to eat first? Or you can bathe while we warm it up."

Wanda shifted uncomfortably and meekly answered, "I'd like to shower."

Steve nodded and started guiding her back through the dining room and into the living room. Rounding the grand staircase, Steve led the way. All the while, Bucky could be heard in the kitchen, preparing the soup. On the second story of the house, Tibby could be heard with Sophia.

Tibby could be heard laughing, "It must be nice being a duck."

"Quack, quack," Sophia giggled.

Rounding the banister, Steve found Tibby brushing Sophia's stringy-wet hair while the little girl pretended that her arms were duck wings. Steve couldn't help but chuckle at the sight and the joy that radiated off of them. Once Wanda was on the landing, Steve gestured towards the two who could be seen in the doorway of the girls' bedroom and said, "That's Bucky's sister, Tibby, and our daughter Sophia."

Wanda nodded in acknowledgement and Steve gestured towards the rooms closest to the stairs, "These are the boys' rooms." Walking towards the other end of the hallway, Steve passed the bathroom and said, "We like to leave the door open, so people know that it's not occupied. But we also knock whenever the door is closed, just in case. Pretty common sense stuff. There's hair-ties galore that you can use, and unopened toothbrushes in the second drawer."

Another nod and Steve led the way towards the other two bedrooms. The one that Katie shared with Holly when she was home from college, and the one with multiple beds that was currently only occupied by Sophia and her dolls.

Gesturing to the room on the right, Steve said, "You'll be staying in here."

Wanda peeked into the room and sheepishly smiled at the little girl who had stopped quacking long enough to have her black hair braided so it'd be curly, "just like Auntie Tibs'." For a moment, the two paused and smiled over at Steve and Wanda, nothing but kindness. Steve could already see the adoration filling in Sophia's eyes. Sure, she loved her brothers, but she loved having sisters, too.

"You can choose either of the other beds, just not the one with the pink floral comforter and the bumblebee pillow. That's Sophia's bed." Steve informed, crossing his arms and hugging himself instead of hugging this poor girl who needed so much love.

Thickly swallowing, Wanda darted her tongue out along her lips to wet them and answered, "The bed closest to the window, please."

For a moment, fear shot through Steve. Terrified that she'd try to make an escape and run away. Only, his imagination got the better of him as he dreaded that next time they found her on the street, she'd be dead.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he squeezed himself once before he dropped his arms and turned to look at the timid brunette. "How about you take a shower and I'll find you some clean clothes and change your sheets, so they're fresh?"

Simply, Wanda nodded and headed for the bathroom. Steve was starting downstairs as Wanda closed the door. Only, he paused when she did. Through the crack of the door, she peeked over at him and quietly said, "Thank you."

"No problem," Steve sincerely grinned.

Once the door was closed, he continued on his way. Looping around the banister at the bottom and heading straight down to the lower level of the house. Figuring that the only clothes that would comfortably fit, would be Bucky's. Immediately checking the dryer to see if there were any warm clothes in there. However, it was just the kids' laundry, so Steve headed into their bedroom and straight for their closet.

Knowing that the Father's Day sweatshirts were the softest, Steve grabbed a maroon colored one that correctly claimed, Number One Dad. Smiling down at the soft garment, he rifled through Bucky's sweat pants until he found a pair of gray joggers. After all, she was taller than him, so she definitely wouldn't fit a pair of Steve's. Plus, Bucky's were comfier.

As Steve returned to the main level, he found the boys still lounging along with the sleeping dog. Glancing at the clock, Steve reached over the back of the couch. Smoothing down Ethan's damp hair, Steve said, "Bedtime."

"Papa," the six year old unhappily whined, burying his face further into the Pascal pillow.

"I know, bub," Steve soothed, "But it's late and you've had a long day. I've had a long day. And you don't want to be grumpy tomorrow."

Ethan huffed and dramatically slid off the sofa, disturbing Thor at their feet. Still clutching the stuffed chameleon to his slender frame. Tugging at his Mandalorian, The Child, pajamas until they were right on his body again. Then, he slumped his shoulders and started trudging up the staircase.

Shaking his head, Steve directed his attention back to Luke and told him, "I want you to go to bed in an hour."

"Got it," he grumped, stretching out on the sofa, not taking his gaze off the phone.

Recognizing that something was wrong, Steve rested his arms on the back of the couch and asked, "What's up?"

For a moment, Luke just chewed on his plump lower lip. Then, he looked up at Steve and sat up. Quietly, he huffed, "She's older than me. Which means that I'm back to sitting in the back seat. And that my movie choice will be pushed back. And… and I'll have to wait until she's done in the bathroom before I can get ready."

Sighing, Steve walked around and sat on the couch. Setting the clothes to the side, he gestured for Luke to come closer, and that was exactly what he did. The boy leaned into Steve's side and rested his head on Steve's slender shoulder. It still surprised Steve sometimes with how much he had grown in the last four years. He had a growth spurt, where his shorter, chubbier frame thinned out for the most part, which he seemed particularly thrilled about. He had armpit hair, and that, for some reason, surprised Steve because his little boy was growing up.

Smoothing Luke's slightly damp, combed out hair away from his face, Steve rested his cheek on the top of his head while he was still able to do so. Trying to comfort the teen, he said, "Just because someone new came into the family doesn't mean that you're going to be pushed to the side. It doesn't mean that we're not going to listen to you, or not care about what you have to say. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean that we're going to love you any less. You should know that by now."

Luke eased against Steve, "Thanks, pops."

"Of course," Steve assured, kissing the top of his head, "We're always going to be here for you. Always. No matter how old you are, or how far away you move -- although I would like to still be close enough to hug you, please and thank you -- you can always come to us. And when you don't remember that, we'll remind you." Then, for good measure, Steve added, "I love you, bub."

"Love you, too," Luke exhaled deeply, as though he had truly forgotten. And maybe he had. But Steve meant what he said. When Luke gave his torso a squeeze, Steve knew that he remembered again. Remembered and believed him.

#a place to fall #jump then fall #those who fall #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #domestic life #fluff #smut #otp

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mxbitters · 5 years ago

Text

boy envy.

there was a time when i found solace in 7:00 sunsets, the chalky pastel and renaissance paintings of twilight in late august, but tonight i sit under mid-november black skies, empty and unforgiving, cold. nothing could’ve prepared me for it.

i am disoriented by the puff of white as i exhale again, the grey of the bleachers, the greens and golds and blacks and blues of boys my age on a football field, the orange markers and the yellow goalposts, neat, chaotic, respected.

they find it exhilarating, their heart rates fast as they tackle each other again and again, drag each other into the frost-pale turf and tumble to a stop. nobody takes a knee.

you don’t take a knee in high school football.

i worry about my friends who go here, the boys who share a locker room with these teams, quietly changing in bathroom stalls in fear of hallway violence. they don’t deserve this.

nobody deserves this.

another balloon pulls itself free, gold and ready to orbit the sun, its ribbon out of reach, seconds before disappearing into the inkwell of a cloudless sky. i envy it.

i wonder how it’d feel to be able to escape the things you’re afraid of without being questioned, without being less than. i wonder how it’d feel to walk home from here as the lights go out and you are alone.

a curly haired boy is lifted to the air before leaping, twirling back into the rest of the cheerleaders.

i sit on the bleachers, hands almost frozen, watching what i wish were a star but seems more like a satellite, flickering as if a god were holding a lighter to their favorite band. the satellite creeps its way across the sky. it’s 0-35, halftime is coming, and i’m out of coffee to keep me warm.

ii.

it’s near midnight outside of the theater after the last show of the season, and by the time we get outside, the rocky horror poster is already gone. this year’s cast stands near me on a smoke break. i watch as an ensemble member comes outside, graceful, illuminated in scarlet from the sign overhead, and dumps ice from a cooler onto the sidewalk. he’s still dressed in leather, fishnets, and platform boots, his makeup smudged and his hair a mess. he only briefly shoots me a glance before retreating to the warmth of the building.

it is on nights like these, and only on nights like these, where we can all be beautiful and not feel shame for it.

there was a time when there was a line between him and me, between the aquarium blue of the people i fall for and the bloody, burning red of what i want to be, but the contrast that used to pinpoint the difference now meets in a violet haze, an incense of dragon’s blood, addictive, hungry and impatient for change, for rebellion.

dr. frank-n-furter takes off his wig and his six-inch heels, exhaling secondhand smoke in full makeup. he basks in the attention he wins for himself at these annual performances, warm from the stage lights and his leather jacket. without thinking, i approach him, terrified, congratulating him before running across the street to get my ride.

the truth is, i just wish i could be like him, never needing to prove myself worthy. worthy of love, sure, but worthy of respect, even more so. worthy of hate, raw and frothy enough for somebody to look me dead in the eyes and admit it.

at the end of the night, frank-n-furter is just a man, just an actor, but as we drive away, he waves me goodbye, and for a moment, it’s as if he and i are one and the same.

iii.

i remember seeing a punk at the national zoo. he had a black vest with all the expected bands on it- nirvana and black flag, sex pistols and ramones and misfits ironed onto the back. i could tell that he’d usually wear his hair in a mohawk, but in the hundred-degree heat he wore it down.

i couldn’t lose him in a crowd from the purple dye.

he stood tall and was proud of who he was and what he was doing, turning heads in the middle of d.c. and not giving a shit. people gave him his space, and he was happy with it.

i kept my head down in the heat, sheltering myself from the sun as the zipper on my shirt burned up my back. i could only dream of being like him, wearing rebellion on my sleeve without people’s questioning, without being “poser” or “trender,” without remaining subhuman at best. miles away, i was someone else’s political statement, one more bathroom bill, one more subject to be brushed off by a room full of men.

i was told once that the most punk thing somebody like me could do was to exist.

i think about that a lot, even when i watch these boys i once knew tackle and tumble and drag each other down, never taking a knee.

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nightwingshero · 4 years ago

Note

1 to 25 for Whitney xoxo

Wow, you really went for it, huh? Lol under the cut, my dear x

1. What’s their go to pick up line/flirting tactic?

Whitney is obvious as a flirt (when she can actually flirt), and it shows in her body language: hair flipping, touching your arm and giggling at anything funny you say, crossing her legs, puffing her chest out a bit, and leaning in close to you. She’s going to wait for you to make the first move, and you will because she will have you eating out of the palm of her hand. Jedi mind trick, because sure, you think picking her up is your choice...when that decision was made before she even started talking to you.

2. Can they dance?

Nope, not really. While Whitney does work out (she’s not shy from doing physical activity), she hardly ever dances. She believes its silly and she would rather be saved from the embarrassment.

3. Underwear style?

Silk and lace. Usually in the colors of light pink, white, or shades of gold.

4. Crayons, markers, colored pencils, or paint?

All of them. Whitney went to school for art and she uses a lot of different mediums. Paint is her favorite, though, and she has a sun room she uses as a studio.

5. What was their childhood stuffed animal of choice?

A fuzzy teddy bear her mother bought her not long before she died. It has a red ribbon/bow around it’s neck and sits in her armchair in her bedroom.

6. What’s their sleeping positions?

Whitney doesn’t move around a lot in her sleep. Mostly it’s on her back, but sometimes she sleeps on her side.

7. Do they snore?

Oh, hell no. Whitney wouldn’t tell you if she did, to be honest. Snoring is above her and ladies don’t do that.

8. What do they act like when they’re drunk?

Ha! Look, I’m just gonna tell you now: Wren and Jane are the worst influence over her, I swear. Anyway! White girl wasted, I’m telling you. Mostly with tequila though. She’s the fruity drink kind and she’s a light weight...it doesn’t mix well for her. Now, if it’s wine or she’s only had a little to drink--she’s just a little more emotional.

9. Sweet, sour, salty, or savory?

Sweet. She bakes a lot and loves it. She likes sour drinks, but that’s about it as far as that goes. Whitney has a complicated relationship with salty foods, she tries to eat healthy, so she doesn’t really eat a whole lot of salty things.

10. Can they play an instrument? If so, which one(s)?

No, not really. She knows some basic piano, but not a whole lot, so she doesn’t really count it. She does sing though and helps with the choir.

11. What would their favorite book be?

Little Women

12. What is their guilty pleasure?

Already answered!

13. If they got a new pet, what would they name it?

Something super cute and adorable, like Pumpkin or some shit. She had a small white dog named Snow White once...she’s not original.

14. Beach house, cozy snowy cabin, treehouse in a forest, or desert paradise?

Already answered!

15. What would their favorite board game be?

Life, Connect Four, Candy Land, and Trivial Pursuit (although Wren and Rowan kick her ass).

16. What do they smell like?

She’s gonna have more of a floral scent, mostly roses. She will also smell like whatever she decided to bake--apple or blueberry pie, sugar cookies, etc. Honey, vanilla, Viktor and Rolf Flowerbomb perfume, and Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume.

17. What’s their favorite smell?

Florals, mostly. Anything citrus and some woodsy scents--sandalwood, cedar, and pine (although you won’t catch her dead in the woods). She loves maple and pumpkin spice (she’s one of those), honey, and brown sugar.

18. If they were drunk, what would they get a tattoo of?

God, Wren would fucking try...Whitney would get a butterfly tattoo, she so fucking would. And yes, probably in the form of a fucking tramp stamp, especially if Wren has anything to do with it. (Istg, Wren and Jane live to corrupt Whitney). If not, she would get it on her hip or get one of those badass under-the-boob tats. I could also see her getting something simple between her boobs--Wren would totally get one with her.

19. Describe their laugh.

Bells, honestly. I know that sounds weird. But it’s not too different from Wren’s, but Wren’s is more...wholesome. If that makes sense? Like, Whitney has a higher note to it, but its a bit sharper, while Wren’s is a tad bit high-pitched, but more full. I don’t know if I’m explaining this right.

20. Hoodies, knit sweaters, wool coats or just a blanket to stay warm?

Knit sweaters and blankets quilts. Whitney is warm and loves things like that. She’s very homey underneath the materialistic uptight front she has (mostly thanks to Nancy and some of Joseph). She’s genuinely loving and caring, not the condescending southern rot-your-teeth sweet she uses on her enemies or the Resistance. Whitney is very much “let me cook you a good meal, you’re skin and bones, and have some hot chocolate with 30 blankets--we can watch Hallmark movies together. Or Nicholas Sparks. Do you like Nicholas Sparks?”. She will definitely be a knit sweater kinda girl.

21. Are they good with their hands? How do they deal with household-type maintenance?

She’s useless, maintenance wise. Good with her hands? With gardening (the only acceptable time to be dirty) and painting, yes. Baking? Absolutely. Fixing things? Hell no. Woman has no idea what she’s doing, she would probably die changing a light bulb.

22. If they had a custom car horn, what would it be?

Heaven Is a Place on Earth or Pocketful of Sunshine. If Wren’s rigging it, it’s gonna be I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston or Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey....Killer Queen is also on the table.

23. Favorite carnival attraction?

Cotton candy stand and the carousal.

24. Showers or baths?

Baths, all day long. She’s a self-care queen, and will either do bubbles, bath bombs, or rose petals. There are candles involved most of the time with a glass of wine and something she can watch Netflix on.

25. What’s their ideal day like?

A bright sunny day painting next to the pond in her backyard with music lightly playing in the background. Maybe with some friends over for company. If it’s raining, she’s gonna be in the sun room painting or enjoying a classic movie--like Titanic or something.

#whitney seed #my ocs

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darkmindsotome · 5 years ago

Text

Risque Rouge pt11

Tagging: @umbralaperture @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 11

It had taken most of the remainder of the day to reach the marker they were looking for. The sunset painted the abandoned relic of a church making its scorched stone shine once more in the colours of flame. The grating sound of rusted metal travelled in the wind as the broken weather vane attempted to turn in the breeze.

Amos passed through a gap in what was left of the waist-high stone wall and walked almost reverently through the half-obscured and overgrown gravestones. He wrapped his leather coat around him a little tighter as if it would shield him from the shadows of the past.

Trailing ivy and clematis had latched on to the charred thick wood of the door filling in the missing gaps with vibrant green leaves and delicate white flowers. The stone flooring was partly covered with green moss and tufts of grass. Fallen beams and missing sections of the roof told more of the same story, a dilapidated building caught in flames of history. A single gothic rose-shaped window remained mostly intact and allowed the setting sun to fill the space with even more light.

Amos walked around the edge of the once solid structure where the climbing foliage hung like a curtain maintaining its secret and slipped into a gap between one of the stone pillars and the wall. A very narrow staircase followed the uneven flow of the stone until they hit the soft dirt worn smooth with use and the passage of time.

He smiled to himself as he walked with ease down the same path that was once used as a method of escape for those above knowing it had easily been repurposed in exactly the same way as everything else could be. Nothing in this world was as simple as it seemed and everything could be manipulated to suit a purpose. What that purpose was to be had little to do with him.

“Ours is not to reason why.” He mumbled to himself as he walked further along in the darkness. The air here was thick and filled with a stronger smell of decay than the church above. Here the airflow was minimal and the stone clung to the damp chill of the subterranean realm.

After several twists and turns, each supplying false passages and dead ends the path he was walking expanded to reveal a roughly carved archway blocked by the same heavy wood used for the church door.

Amos removed a small dagger from his pocket and used its hilt to knock on the wood. The blade rang in the acoustics of the passageway as if it were a tuning fork.

“Entrar.”

The boards blocking the arch moved to the side with surprising ease. As Amos stepped into the cavernous space beyond the archway, the stale air was replaced with a rich and heady scent of incense.

Rough, cold stone walls had been covered with thick tapestries each one detailing a different method of torture in fine gold thread against an inky black fabric. Candles lit the space. They were both tall and short, standing on their own piles of melted wax that dripped and pooled like a living creature on every surface.

The only objects not to be affected by the melting mess were two chairs that seemed to be made from the remains of a crypt, roughly covered in scraps of aged leather and a large stone desk similar to a table used for satanic rituals. Runes, words, symbols of all faiths known to mankind were etched into its surface including a few archaic ones that had long since been forgotten.

Sitting on one of the chairs behind the desk was a figure dressed in long robes of state. They were trimmed in the same golden thread as the tapestries. The hood covering their head hid most of their features revealing only their chin and mouth. Calloused hands that had been in the process of writing ornate sloping calligraphy stopped to pick up their ink blotter.

“Amos? It is not yet time for your report. I trust you have something of interest?” The voice of the man behind the table was dry as dust and rang clear as a bell in the domed space.

“The reos has taken a female. I thought you would like to know in case there was to be a change in plan.” Amos stood a little taller as he addressed the one who saw fit to hire him. He held the small dagger in his hand, twisting its hilt in his grip before placing it back into the hidden folds of his leather jacket.

“What is their intention?” The figure enquired with a slight distraction as they checked the quality of their writing and removed the stretched vellum from the writing slope.

“I do not know. There is a chance it could mean little.” Amos replied resisting the desire to shrug in the presence of a man who had torn limb from limb for daring to display such signs of idleness.

“But also, a chance it could mean breeding.” With a heavy sigh, the figure behind the table pulled back their hood revealing a shaved head with a ring of wiry hair. They looked towards Amos with a pair of eyes that looked to be tainted by the darkness they had once declared to wish to purge from the world. It was a cold and unforgiving judgement that saw many fall from grace. “We simply cannot allow for that line to continue without securing the artefacts.”

“What would you have me do Grand Master?” Amos waited patiently his mind already running through possible scenarios and ideas that could be put into play as soon as he returned to the city.

“Put an end to this distraction as soon as possible. I leave the details to you Amos.” The Grand Master waved his hand signally the end of the conversation as well as the time he wished to spend thinking of such a trivial matter.

The boards moved back to seal the room shut as the figure of Amos faded into shadow. The Grand Master selected a new piece of vellum, the visible markings of former tattoos telling a tale of where the skin had come from and stretched it over the writing slope. After pinning it securely in place he picked up his quill once more and dipped it into the inkwell. Curling lines of darkened crimson blossomed on the skin as the fluid lettering began to detail the last words of the former soul that once owned both the vellum and blood.

---

Evie had been given more of a tour of her temporary home after enjoying luncheon by Comte with Sebastian in tow. She discovered her first idea that the mansion was a bit like a mini castle was not exactly wrong. The vastness of the property had her head spinning as they moved around.

She already knew where her room and the dining room was, even if she genuinely was getting a little concerned, she could become easily lost. Sebastian added small details to Comte’s guided tour that also helped give her an idea as to where she might find some of the other guests if she wanted too.

The stables and la salle were interesting but as she could not ride and was no swordsman she honestly could not see herself returning to either. The parlour was set up for relaxation and games. Stacks of board games were housed in an alcove with a chessboard that was already set up for a game nestled between two chairs. There was even a billiard table with several cues mounted on the wall behind it.

She became curious when Comte appeared to pocket a deck of cards that had been left on one of the small tables. It looked to be rather decorative with lots of female figures printed on it. When she asked all he said in response was it appeared to be a special deck left by Arthur. Comte made eye contact with Sebastian over her shoulder and she could hear the butler's exasperated sigh.

After a very quick look at the kitchen, they passed the music room where a beautiful piano piece could be heard through the closed door and came to a room that she never imagined existed. Pushing open a set of double doors Comte stepped to one side and her eyes found a massive library that took her breath away.

It was spread out over two whole floors and was filled floor to ceiling with books on everything and anything she could possibly imagine. Comte smiled as he watched her looking shamelessly childish giving a small squeal of joy and running to a random shelf brushing over the leather bindings with her fingertips as if she thought it all to be a dream.

Comte found his eyes following her as she flitted from shelve to shelf like a hummingbird. The natural light was fading by this point and the lamps in the room would soon be lit to counter the darkness but for this brief moment before the day turned to endless night there was a warmth in the room, unlike any fire. The smile on her face was so enchanting he found himself mirroring it naturally.

“You may read anything you like and if there is anything that is not here, I would gladly go with you to find it in town.” Comte declared happily as he came to join her by a section of books, he himself had been rather fond of when he was younger.

“I’m not sure I could read all of these even if I took a whole lifetime to do so.” Evie looked around her clearly still struggling to grasp the quantity of literature in the room.

“You could…” Struck by the sight of her innocent wonder, words simply fell from Comte’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Did you say something?” Evie tilted her head as she looked at him. Her black hair was a little messy and he found his hand moving naturally to smooth it back into place.

“No nothing. We still have a couple more places to see, ma Cherie.” Comte gracefully avoided her question prompting her to move on to the next location. There was still an important discussion that was required and he found himself once more unable to have it. Sebastian was watching him in silence like a rather daunting owl. He knew nothing that was happening was to avoid detection from his wonderful manservant he was only thankful that whatever questions the man had remained silent for now.

The last places to see were the garret and then finally what he called le thermae. If the library had been a room that went beyond her imagination, she certainly never thought that an entire roman bath would be hidden beneath the building. The large room had a massive pool of hot water with a marble sculpture standing proud at its centre. Tall columns reached high up like trees to meet the vaulted ceiling that looked almost like a cathedral.

“Incredible…” Even silently her voice carried in the room becoming much louder. She had heard from several people at the performing house that popular bathhouses had appeared recently called Hammam. From what she could remember they were from Turkey and not like this at all.

“You naturally have access to your own private powder room and shower in your bedroom but this is an experience not to be missed.” Comte spoke proudly looked at the gleaming marble surfaces and the steam rising from the water.

“There are indeed many benefits to enjoying a hot spring. In my country, there are many locations where people travel from all over to visit and enjoy the waters. Each location hosts a variety of different health benefits depending on the minerals present in the water.” Sebastian added a little cultural insight to the idea of bathing in this manner.

“Really? It does sound like it could be very relaxing.” Evie nodded enjoying learning something new. Intrigued by the space around her she couldn’t deny she was certainly curious what it must be like to enjoy a dip reclining in the pool compared to a standard bathtub.

“While you are staying here, I shall arrange a schedule so you can have complete access to le thermae without fear of intrusion.” Comte spoke which prompted Sebastian to take out a pad of paper and his pencil. There was a moment of frantic scribbling followed by a ripping sound as a page was removed and handed to his master. Comte accepted it as if it were nothing and placed it in his jacket pocket.

“Oh! You don’t have to trouble yourself.” Evie tried to avoid any further burden she would cause with her staying here. Comte had already done so much so anything else felt as though she could never hope to repay her debt to him.

“No trouble at all ma Cherie. My only wish is for you to enjoy your time here arranging such things is no trouble at all.” Comte’s charming reply felt like he was purposely ignoring her concerns.

Her conscience continued to trouble her as he continued to effortlessly display his kindness by walking her back to her room and suggesting she take some time to have a quiet dinner alone before bed. Sebastian had appeared with a tray of food which she ate enjoying every bite but found herself wondering at the lack of fullness in her stomach.

She tried to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the sensation of breath on her skin and the tight grip of fingers digging into her body. She remembered the cries and how it felt too coiled herself around the body of the doctor. The look of the lifeless body in frozen rapture in her arms. Her eyes snapped open and she sat upright as if someone had pulled a leash around her neck. Her body was shaking and she was drenched in a cold sweat. She reached out to pick up her glass of water from the bedside table and found it to be empty. Sighing she shakily got up from the bed and wrapped herself in the silk robe Comte had also seen fit to buy for her.

With her glass in hand, she turned the handle on her door and stepped out into the hallway right into a rather solid yet soft obstacle.

“Ah!” She cried out as she started to fall backwards nearly dropping her glass. The strength of a strong arm wrapped around her waist and she couldn’t help remembering Leo doing something similar earlier in the day. Her eyes found one eye that shone in the dim light of the hallway like a starless night the other hidden behind an embroidered patch. “Pardon Monsieur.”

Evie found she didn’t know where to look as the figure in front of her was like a flawless piece of artwork. She could easily imagine any number of angelic creatures being modelled after such a person. As if to hit home the heavenly appearance they were also dressed in a white uniform that looked to be military of some sort but equally would have suited a dashing Prince.

“Are you alright Mademoiselle?” The stranger spoke reminding her that she had been staring rather rudely at them. Evie moved in the man’s grasp which seemed to remind them of their proximity and they immediately removed their arm looking apologetic. “Pardon…”

“No, it was all my fault I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Evie took half a step back and gave him a weak smile. Now she could get a better look it did seem that she was right about the uniform, not only was there a streamlined appearance to their clothing there was also a sword attached to their hip. She wondered if this was one of the other guests she had yet to meet or if he was some sort of guard for the building.

“Egads, if it isn’t the ghost of the mansion and what’s this? They seem to have caught a rather pretty little bird.” A man dressed in a blue blazer with a patterned waistcoat appeared out of nowhere. He also had an open-collared white shirt with a loose tie and a pair of gloved hands which were currently hooked into the pockets of his trousers. His dark hair had a blue hue in the bad lighting but it was nothing to the sapphire blue of his eyes that sparkled with mirth as he looked at them.

“Ghost?” Evie asked wondering if she was still stuck somehow in a dream. Everything happening felt a bit disconnected like her body and mind couldn’t find a balance.

“Jean here is something of a phantom, although I had no idea he was capable of sneaking such a delightful surprise into the mansion. Guess it’s true what they say about still waters isn’t it old chap?” The new man was speaking with an even more defined accent than the others. Evie was willing to guess the ghost who was called Jean was certainly French while the man chatting in a friendly and flirtatious manner was English.

“I will thank you to not spew such slander and keep your lewd ideas between yourself and your scriptures.” Jean was clearly not comfortable with whoever this man was. Compared to the reserved and almost reverent soldier the English man did seem to be rather forward.

“Now now no need to be such a grump. I would be more than happy to overlook anything I have seen if you let me have a little time with her as well…” The man moved forward getting just close enough for Evie to clearly see the playful smirk and way his blue eyes roamed over her from head to toe making her feel as if she were being undressed.

It was one thing for something like that to happen in the performing house where it was to be expected but it was another to have such things happening now. She was not at work. There were no barriers here for protection against such advances and she felt her blood heat up as she gave an icy glare to the new man. She was not an object and certainly not a willing participant in whatever games he had in mind.

“Excuse me? I have no idea who you think I am or what you think you are witnessing Monsieur, but I can only assume from the stench of alcohol you are in no fit state to deduce anything.” Her eyes were unmoving and her face had a stoney expression fixed to it.

She didn’t know if it was from tiredness or that strange sensation she had woken with of the memory of hunger but she was certainly not expecting the blaze way in which the English man so easily shrugged off her criticism.

“Ah! That is where you are wrong my dear.” His smile seemed to grow wider and his face shone with amusement. He was taking very slow steps towards her which sent chills running up her spine but she refused to cower and give him the satisfaction of witnessing her run. “I can deduce a great deal from the fact you have come to this house from outside of the city proper and have been in the habit of balancing on the balls of your feet which says to me you are something of a dancer. You have had a rather trying and harrowing experience recently that has resulted in something of a loss of sleep and you are still suffering the effects of such an event even now.”

“What? How could you?” Evie forgot her mask as her emerald eyes went wide searching the encroaching sapphires for the secrets they held. How did this stranger that stunk like a brewery and cheap perfume gather so much information so quickly?

“Do not concern yourself, Mademoiselle, his little tricks are little more than witchcraft.” Jean spoke positioning himself partway in front of her blocking the other man’s approach as he did so.

“Well, that is rather harsh dear boy I realise I called you a ghost but I would have thought a man of your background would have refrained from using such words.” The Englishman’s target seemed to have momentarily shifted once more.

It reminded her of a cat playing with mice for fun. She couldn’t work out how serious this person was at all. He seemed to be having fun but this whole situation felt like a game set up. He was clearly more than he seemed and it was going to take a much better understanding of him to work out what exactly that was. As much as she enjoyed a good mystery she was not certain that she wanted to get close enough in order to solve this one.

“You know you would be much safer with me little bird? You are already thinking so from the way you are undressing me with your eyes just now I can promise to live up to expectation.” The man in blue now held out a hand reaching for her hair on her shoulder.

Before she could recoil there was a rush of air and the dull sound of something meeting wood. Evie looked at the solid back of Jean that had moved to cover her more and the outstretched arm that held the glistening hilt of his sword that now had its tip embedded in the wooden door frame at the level of the other man’s throat.

“Try it and meet my blade.” There was a challenging note to the way the soldier addressed the other man. Evie could not understand how it had all escalated to this so quickly and surmised there was probably other factors or occasions that had led to this point.

Soldiers had what she was told to be a code of ethics. It gave them reasoning in unreasonable situations and a purpose. She was certainly not a soldier and hated fighting but she could understand wanting to protect something.

She was grateful to Jean for his interjection but she had seen more than enough blood and horror for a lifetime. Evie lifted her hand and placed it on Jean's shoulder. They flinched under her touch and she felt their body relax as their eyes met and he lowered his weapon. There was a swirling mass of unspoken words and emotions in his eye the main one she thought she saw was remorse.

“What do you think you are doing?”

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ne0n-thunde1 · 5 years ago

Text

Happy holidays y’all!

This is my gift for @ghosttransmissions ! I hope you like it!!

The girls first Christmas

The girl was the first to wake up, as the winter sun flittered through the filthy windows. She usually had to be woken up by the others, with varying degrees of care, but today was different. There was a little note at the bottom of the beaten up mattress she slept on. ‘Merry Christmas kiddo!’-Party’s handwriting messily done in black marker- ‘If the suns up come wake us up’ It looked like party had written something about kobra and not waking him, but it had been crossed out. ‘No going outside without us!’ Jet had messily added, with a little doodle of the ‘sandy Claus’ they had told her about the night before.

She leapt up and ran down the hall faster than a tumbleweed in a storm, giggling happily. The worn door- it’s from before the war’s Dr.D said!- Came open as she leant against it, before throwing herself onto the nest of mismatched blankets and pillows That’s Party’s and Jet’s bed. With a soft thud she lands, laughing, followed by a grunt from both of them. Jet’s long limbs were tangled around party, who looked at her with a smile.

“Merry Christmas kid!” Their hair was stuck to one side of their face, and despite only just waking up, they were wearing the familiar wide smile that only appeared just before a big concert or celebration. Jet slowly untangled himself from party, still half asleep, eyes only partly open. “Morning sunshine..” he mumbled and ruffled her hair. Party chuckled and nudged his arm

“Wake up, c’mon it’s Christmas! And I’ve got to go help wake up kobra! Not every day I can do that and not get in a fight after.” They laughed and rolled off the makeshift bed, then stands up and picks up the girl.

“We could sneak up and jump on him, or throw pillows, maybe put the radio on loud next to the bed, If we’ve got enough water to spare we could throw some on him..” she thought for a moment, weighing up how wrong they could go, but how funny they would be. Jet rolled out the bed in a similar way to party, standing up then pulling on their jacket and stretching. They snuck up behind party, holding a ‘sandy claws’ hat and pulled it over his head, red fabric matching their hair. “Hey!” They scrunched up their face “I could have dropped her!” The girl laughed and pulled the hat down over their eyes. They let out a mock scream and put her down.

“NOoooooo.. I hath been slain..”

After a few minutes of preparation, the girl and party are armed with pillows from around the diner, jet stood behind with the Polaroid camera, all three silently holding back giggles. Party cautiously opened the door, the girl sneaking in under their arm, party following with jet behind him, lightly treading. The girl threw the first pillow, hitting kobra square in the face.

Kobra is a heavy sleeper, ghoul however, is not. He moved out the way as the first pillow was thrown, and added their own pillow into the hail. A chorus of laughed filled the small storageroom turned bedroom, joined with grunts and yelps from kobra. Jet laughed and watched the chaos.

By the end, kobra was curled up and clutching a pillow as a shield. “W-What the hell? Go the fuck back to sleep!” He yelled from behind the pillow.

“It’s Christmas morning Koko.” Ghoul grinned excitedly and pulled the pillow out from his grip “You gotta get up.”

“Yeah Kid!” Party pulled their brother to his feet. “Last one to the Christmas cactus is a drac kisser!” They laughed and set off running, kobra swearing as he pulled on his glasses and ran after him, stumbling a little, the girl giggling and following behind.

This left jet and ghoul to slowly followed behind, laughing happily. No matter how old their boyfriends got, they always acted like kids sometimes.

The night before, as the sun had set, the four had gathered together as many brightly coloured things as they could, as the girl listened to the radio. They ended up with a few bandanas, bright plastic cables and a can of blue spray paint. “Hey kid!” Ghoul smiled as the rest crowded behind him. “Remember that Christmas thing? Well, it’s time to decorate the cactus!” The girl picked up the radio and ran over to them, a skip in her step. “Yay! So sandy claws can find us right?”

“That’s right kid” jet grinned “We gathered all the brightest decorations we could, and some paint.”

“You get first decoration kiddo” party looked at Kobra’s slightly disappointed face. “Youngest Always gets first.” She looked through the rainbow pile, the four crowding around her, old Christmas songs that show pony had found for DR.D playing on the radio. After a few moments she pulled out an old bandana, neon green and pink.

“Where do you wanna put it?” Party crouched down, ruffling her hair

“Up there!” She smiled and pointed at the second highest point of the cactus, the top of an arm like branch. “Lift?” She made puppy eyes at Jet.

“Why’d you never ask me bean?” Ghoul pouted dramatically

“You’re shorter than Jet like me!” She giggled as Jet picked her up, chuckling as kobra bent down to hug ghoul and party laughed lightly.

“True.. but you didn’t need to point it out.” Ghoul grumbled.

After a few moments of lining the bandana up just right, the girl tied it around the prickly arm, Jet cheering as the other three clapped, a proud grin filling her face, sticking her tongue through the gap from her missing front tooth.

“Let the decorating begin!” Party pulls out a rainbow feather boa and wraps it around the centre as ghoul paints a smiley face in neon blue on the arm and kobra hangs an old crimson bauble he found in the sand on a spine. Jet carefully puts the girl down and they join the careful mess, all adding their own decorations and paint to the cactus, careless singing and improvised lyrics filling the air with laughter and joy.

It looked like a bomb hand blown up, throwing paint and random bright objects over the cactus.

“Still needs something at the top..” kobra stepped away from it and tilted his head.

“Didn’t dr D say he used to put a star on top of a tree?” She bit her lip and thought.

Ghoul looked at party, wide smile creeping over his face. Party shook their head, defensively stepping back and crossing their arms.“No. Not happening.”

Jet grinned “I’m with ghoul.”

The girl looked between them, trying to figure out what unspoken thing they were discussing. They always did that when they got excited or didn’t want her to know about something. Of all the great and wonderful things they did, this was the one she hated.

“Your mask would be perfect.” Kobra beamed and ran back into the diner, party letting out a yell as they struggled to catch up with him, a small cloud of sand lingering for seconds after they got inside.

It clicked for the girl as she joined Jet and ghouls laugher

Kobra emerged seconds later, holding the mask like a trophy, party smiling and shaking their head behind him.

“You want to have the honour poison?” Kobra held out the mask, the sun now set and moon the only light.

“Thanks Kobes.” Party took it, then carefully placed it on top of the cactus. The 5 admired their work, before cold winds came, biting at their faces and they headed inside to sleep.

Kobra got outside first, skidding to a stop in the sand, followed by party and the girl. She stopped dead in her tracks, five brightly wrapped parcels now sat under the cactus, each with a label on it.

“Sandy claws came! Sandy claws came!” She smiled and jumped up and down as ghoul and Jet came into the sun, blinking as their eyes adjusted.

“Hell Yeah He did!” Party laughed

The girl looked closer at the parcels, trying to read the labels like Jet had taught her to, the four smiling with childlike happiness l as they gathered around, ghoul leaning against kobra as Jet put his arms around party.

“This ones for kobra!” She smiled and struggled to lift the foot stall sized box, tied with cheap shiny yellow ribbon with various coloured paints splashed across it. Kobra moved to help her, ghoul almost falling over as his weight went from on kobra to air, a surprised curse followed by laughed escaping him.

“Sandy claws brought me something?” He grins and lifts the heavy box, making it seem as if the girl was taking most of the weight as it rattled. “This is heavy!” He chuckled.

“Open it!” She giggled and bounced as kobra set the box on the sand, struggling with the ribbon. Ghoul smirked and undid it in seconds, kneeling beside him in the sand and stuck his tongue out.

“Show off.” Kobra smiled and kissed his boyfriend quickly, then pulled the lid off the box. His eyes glittered like the computer parts and robot scraps inside. He gently dug through the box, amazed at the stuff. “How did y- sandy claws get hold of this stu-“ he pulled out a broken Nintendo power glove, party smiling widely.

“Thank you.” He got up and hugged the four, then the girl. “How about you go check the other parcels?”

She giggled and grabbed another parcel, a small oblong box with neon green ribbon

“This one says..” she struggled to read it for a moment. Jet looked at kobra. Usually his handwriting was pretty good. “Party!” She jumped up and giggled, lifting the package with ease and handing it to them.

“For me?” They grinned and undid the bow then opened the lid. Inside was a bright pot of poison red hair die and a mix of random paints.

“Holy sh-sugar.” They lifted a few of the tubes up. “Still sealed?.. damn this is is the good stuff. Sandy claws really is magic huh kid?” They ruffled the girls hair before hugging the rest of the floor, whispering a quiet thank you to each of them. No one wanted to ruin the magic for her.

She already had the next gift in her hands. “Jet! This ones yours!” This time the present was wrapped in paper, makeshift glue holding it shut.

Jet knelt down and accepted the gift as she held it out to him, shaking it a little. With a wide smile, they ripped the paper open, and a small bag of guitar strings a a pick fell out. He held them like they were pure gold.

“You said you needed new strings!” She looked at them. His old strings snapped a few weeks ago.

“Yeah.. sandy claws really is magic like that. He knows what you need.” He shared a smile with the others, mouthing Thank you’s and how did you get these’s?, only to get mischievous grins and shrugs back.

“There’s two left..” she picked one up and read the label. “Ghoul! This one says it’s for you!” She bounced the painted shoebox as she dashed over to him, party and kobra both looking slightly alarmed. She handed it to him with a wide smile “You really are being sandys little helper” he smiled and ruffled her hair as he took it and opened the lid. Inside was a Polaroid camera, clearly old but with a new coat of paint, a portrait of the desert. He carefully looked it over and put his eye to the viewfinder.

“This is amazing.. thank you!” He bounced up and hugged them all.

“How about you check the last present kid?”

She knelt down beside the large box “this one says.. me!” She grinned and took the lid off, the four crowding around. A soft meow cane from the box as a small, black kitten stick its head out, looking at the girl. Ghoul grinned and snapped a picture of the moment.

“A cat!” She picked it up, smiling as the cat looked at her, then gently put their head against her.

“Looks like they like you.” Party smiled and softly petted the cats head.

“They’re the best gift ever!” She laughs as they lick her cheek.

A sparkle lit up in party’s eyes.

“Hey Kobe’s. I’m gonna build a sand man.”

Party was sat in the sand, hair newly dyed.

“I’m gonna build a better one.” He grinned and jumped up, finding a spot then piling sand into a mound.

Party party started beside him, in a similar way, two trenches being made as sand was piled high. The girl played the radio, jet playing and singing along. Show pony refused to let Dr.D play anything other than the same 15 songs all week.

“I think we” he gestured to the girl, Jet and the cat, “Shall judge who wins”

“Sounds fair.” Kobra nodded, starting to smooth the edges and form a head.

“May the best win?” Party held out a hand, the other working on smoothing out the body a little.

“May the best win.” Kobra shook it, quickly returning to making the head.

“Hey, Jet!” Party stopped for a moment “go grab my helmet for me? And the bottle cap box. We need to decorate these piles of sand!” They grinned, having finished shaping it, though not giving it a head.

“Why’d you need your helmet?” Kobra looked confused as Jet got up to grab them.

“You’ll see soon. Your head looks good.”

“Yours seems to be missing.” Kobra laughed, the cat climbing the body shaped mound.

“Here.” Jet handed party his mousekat helmet and put the jar of bottle caps in the sand. “It’s looking great love” he smiled and picked up the cat, sitting down then handing the cat back to the girl.

Party placed their helmet on top of the sandman, then added a few bright bottle caps as kobra formed a smiling face by pressing the caps into the sand.

Party had finished a few minutes before kobra, and sat beside Jet, wrapping and arm around his shoulders as the girl and ghoul played with the kitten, petting them and rolling around a ball of paper they made. When kobra finally fished, half smile matching the sandman’s wonky grin, ghoul, Jet and the girl stood up and inspected the sandmen.

After a moment's discussion between the three, they turned to party and kobra, who sat in the sand beside their creations.

“We have come to a conclusion” Jet announced, the other two snickering behind him.

“We will let the cat decide!” She held up the meowing black kitten before putting them down between the two sandmen then stepping away.

The cat looked at each of them, tension rising as the five watched. It’s paws were near silent as it walked and climbed up a sandy pile, then sat on the blue fur of the mousekat helmet.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE. YOU CHEAT.” Kobra overdramarically fell to the floor, then burst into laughter.

“Victory!” Party grinned and picked up the cat, spinning around then hugging them close.

“They only chose yours because it had the mouseKAT helmet you didn’t even make.” He pouted.

“Creativity little bro.” They teasingly grinned, prompting kobra to stand up and step closer.

“Says the cheater.” He smirked

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“I’m going to play some guitar, who’s coming?” Jet sighed and walked back to the cactus, the girl and ghoul following.

“Want to help me figure the camera out?” Ghoul smiled at the girl as the cat sat on her shoulders.

“Sounds fun!” She smiled as Jet sat down to play and ghoul picked up the camera.

After a few minutes they had it figured, ghoul held it out, facing towards him with everyone doing their own thing behind him, and snapped a photo.

When they were all around the best table in the diner, the least worn and torn one, eating the canned peaches Dr.D and show pony had given them as a gift, all singing to the radio, ghoul handed kobra the Polaroid.

“I took this earlier. Could you write something on it? Maybe we should start a scrapbook or collection or collection of important memories..”

“Sounds like a great idea” kobra smiled as he carefully wrote ‘girls 1st Christmas’ across the bottom.

#dangerdaysgiftexchange2019 #mcr reunion #kobra kid #killjoys #party poison #the girl #fun ghoul #jetstar #danger days

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