#check in case they did sell music. and then once i was inside i figured i may as well buy something. and i was short 50c so the guy

[amphibiosis]

oh.. note to self i owe the music store a dollar

[britishassistant]

What happens if Yuu goes on vacation or needs to leave the city for business?

Would they just leave and not tell the villains? Leaving them to wonder where they went and potentially tear the city apart?

Would they tell them and risk the full time villains showing up? Or Vil/Kalim/Jamil/Riddle to show up for business purposes?

Who hopes to catch them in a bathing suit?

@mister-jedblack said: I wonder what if Yuu and Yuuken took a vacation to Yuu’s parents house and they didn’t told the NRC villains that they’ll be gone for two weeks. What’s their reaction about it.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon and mister-jedblack!

Yuu and Yuuken decide to use their saved up holiday to go back to Yuu’s parents’ place for the week of Yuu’s birthday so they can actually celebrate with some peace and quiet and puppies rather than Yuu just being getting kidnapped and being unable to celebrate altogether.

Only Uncle Divvy knows what they’re doing, and was the one who came up with the whole idea in the first place.

Amazingly, nothing happens on the journey out of the city, and they enjoy a quiet drive to the country with very little traffic, debating playfully about what music they should be listening to.

Waterboy breaks into Yuu’s apartment on the evening before their birthday to see that it’s empty. Yuu isn’t at any of the other locations Snake Charmer told him to check if Yuu wasn’t at the apartment either. Even Grim can’t tell Kalim where Yuu is, depite promising the monster cat the best tuna money can buy.

Kalim panics.

He calls Tsunotaro and begs him to give Yuu back if he’s taken them, because he and Jamil have a really cool scheme that they wanna show Yuu, but he can’t find them anywhere! Please, please Tsunotaro, give Yuu back? They’ll only keep them for like, an hour tops, he promises!

Malleus, who does not have Yuu, is very confused. And once he figures out what Waterboy is yammering about, very, very panicked.

Malleus orders Sebek to call those two Card Soldier minions Yuu is hanging around all the time and see if Royal Flush doesn’t have Yuu in his grip.

Ace and Deuce are very confused when Sebek texts each of them and orders them to call and put Yuu on the phone. Ace and Deuce both that Yuu isn’t there, shouldn’t Sebek just call their apartment if he wants to talk to them?

Sebek is not good at hiding the fact that Yuu may be missing.

Ace goes to scope out Yuu’s apartment while Deuce messages Jack and Epel, asking if Yuu is in the King or Poison Queen’s lair. When Royal Flush, Trey and Cater assemble for dinner and ask Deuce where Ace has gone, he’s not able to lie very well to his boss and seniors.

Now Royal Flush is calling Ace every 3.25 minutes and demanding status updates on the search for Yuu. Meanwhile, Jack and Epel have questioned their respective seniors and employers to ascertain that Yuu definitely isn’t in their lairs. Leona and Vil aren’t stupid though, and this line of questioning inspires both of them to send their lieutenants out to investigate.

Vil calls Tsunotaro just to make sure Yuu isn’t just out on another odd gargoyle sightseeing walk somewhere abandoned. Meanwhile, Leona calls Leviathan to see if the creepy octo bastard has tied up the reporter in his basement to feed to his eels or something, fully willing to lay siege if this is the case.

While all this is spiraling out of control, since Malleus doesn’t have Yuu, Kalim has called Jamil in a tizzy, clutching Grim who’s similarly freaked out, blabbering about how Yuu’s gone, no one knows where they are, what if they’ve been kidnapped, what if they’re gone forever, what do they do?!?

Jamil spends thirty minutes trying to calm Kalim and Grim and himself down, before making the executive decision to get into contact with the one supervillain who could possibly find the missing reporter in the shortest amount of time.

Snake Charmer calls Charon and asks him for the current location of Yuu’s cell phone.

Idia is immediately sus of the request, not quite buying the fact that Yuu is with Snake Charmer and worried that they’ve lost it. His hackles are only raised when he does use the tracking app he covertly installed and sees Yuu’s cell phone is somehow miles out into the country. He answers Snake Charmer’s question more out of confusion than anything else, only to be met with a dial tone as Jamil suddenly hangs up on him.

The final nail in the coffin is when Leviathan then calls him, worry in his voice barely covered by the smarm turned all the way up to demand the same thing Snake Charmer just asked him. He tells Ortho to fly out to these coordinates with his tablet to see wtf is going on.

Meanwhile, Jamil, Kalim and Grim have stolen one of the Asim company cars and are speeding out of the city. They end up driving by where Ace, Ruggie and Rook are caught in a standoff, with Rook recognizing the occupants of the car thanks to his keen eyesight. Rook immediately calls Vil and tells him he’s in pursuit of a car with this licence plate.

Ace and Ruggie refuse to let him leave peacefully and not lose the car unless they get to go with him, so the three of them end up piled on the back of a moped to give chase.

Vil cuts off Malleus’ rambling to order Epel to get in the Queen Machine and get going. Malleus, suspicions roused, commands Lilia, Sebek and Silver to follow the Pomefiore villains in the Dragon Mark ‘59 Copter that Lilia bought on a whim because he said it “looked perfectly evil!”

This vehicle is much more like a dune buggy with a propeller on top than an actual helicopter, so Malleus and Sebek are forced to crouch on either side of the “cockpit” while Silver drives and Lilia gleefully hangs upside down from the undercarriage and freaks out passersby below.

Ortho is understandably shocked when he sees them flying alongside him, Sebek screaming above the wind to ask if they’re going the right way.

Riddle receives Ace’s text that he’s en route out of the city following a car that might have Yuu inside, and rallies Trey, Cater and Deuce onto the first train out the city in that direction available. It’s awkwardly packed with tired workers at this time of night who do not appreciate Cater’s attempts to document the journey through selfies.

Meanwhile Leona and Jack are having a standoff with Azul and the Leech twins over the bus that Jack and Leona are trying to steal to follow Ruggie’s directions. Jade suggested that if they couldn’t get an answer out of Idia, that they hitch a ride with one of the seven other supervillains who are all rapidly leaving the city, and Leona and Jack were the poor saps generous allies they found!

The poor bus driver who is caught in the middle of this conflict is almost glad when Azul tosses him a wad of cash and Floyd throws him out the doors, Jade taking his place behind the wheel. According to Jack, they’re very behind everyone else on the trail of the wayward reporter, so Jade obligingly steps on it.

The bus smashes through a closed mall and several speed limits on it’s journey out of the city. On the plus side, they catch up to the Queen Machine, Jamil’s stolen car, and the overloaded moped in practically no time at all!

All of these methods arrive at roughly the same moment, though the Heartslaybul villains are forced to frantically push their way off the train and run the mile from the station to get there on time. Poor Trey is very winded.

Whatever nefarious place they expected Yuu to be held, this certainly wasn’t it. A modest, two-story house in the middle of a street full of other houses just like it (and very confused neighbors taking pictures of the menagerie of vehicles from their windows). Still, whatever upstart thought that he could kidnap their reporter out from underneath the noses of the seven most feared supervillains in the city has got another thing coming to him.

The mass of villains and henchmen march up the drive and knock on the door—

Only to be met with Divus Crewel answering it in decidely more casual clothes than he would ever be caught dead in at work, glaring down at them all with a very full glass of red wine in his hand, as more Dalmatians than it seems reasonable to own try to jump up and get out the door to greet the new people behind him.

“Uncle Divvy, who is it?” Yuu calls from inside.

“No one, Yuu.” Divus calls back, one arm pointing imperiously and eyes screaming ‘Go right now and don’t come back, or I swear to the Seven you’ll all be waking up with baboon livers’. “Just someone trying to sell something.”

He waits until all the supervillains have sheepishly shuffled down out of the driveway to firmly shut and lock the door in their faces. They’re not dumb enough to try and infiltrate another way, not if Crewel’s in that house and probably has it filled to hidden traps and defenses up to the gills.

Well, everyone but Grim isn’t dumb enough. He’s currently making his way into the utility room, where he will soon be surrounded by a dozen dogs that want to play with and chase this new cat-like thing! It’s only Yuuken’s intervention later that evening that prevents anyone from getting hurt.

The others are all trying to work out how they’re going to get back to the city. Idia is rapidly firing off questions to Malleus through his tablet about the manufacture of the vintage copter they arrived in. The moped’s out of gas, and the train station is closed, so Azul volunteers the bus for the Heartslaybul villains too. Leona and Jack put their foot down on Jade being behind the driver’s wheel on the way back though. Rook is delighted to be able to go back in the comfort of the Queen Machine!

“Hey Ja—Snake Charmer?” Kalim asks suddenly. “Was it just me or did you see birthday decorations for Yuu in there?”

Yuu sneezes inside the house, wondering what the sudden cold feeling down their spine is.

[alotofteez]

Background Music | PSH

⇢ Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader (gender neutral) ft. bff Hongjoong ⇢ Genre: Fluff, College!au, Coffee Shop!au ⇢ Word Count: 2,196 ⇢ Synopsis: You knew every routine sound of the coffee shop; the friendly chatter, the clinking of mugs, and the chime that welcomed each visitor. It became your background music, and he blended into it. ⇢ Same Universe: Hazelnut Latte (San) and Love Shot (Yunho)

The strong brew of coffee beans hits your senses as you push open the entrance door. The usual chime rings above your head. The familiar face behind the counter drops. Your friend is already rolling his eyes at your presence.

“Aren’t you supposed to greet me nicely?” You ask and immediately imitate his voice, walking to the register, “‘Welcome to Beans ’N Cream.’”

“I’m not in the mood,” Hongjoong deadpans.

“I’m guessing you’ve seen the assigned groups for the online store project,” 

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, “I don’t even know the people in my group.”

“Maybe you should show up to class then.”

“Maybe I won’t serve you.”

“No, I need caffeine,” you whine.

“Your order has barely any caffeine,” he says as he prepares a glass.

“I don’t tell you how to drink your coffee,” you counter, watching him check on the other barista.

“San, get back to work!” He yells over to the guy working the drive-thru.

San turns around saluting, “Aye, aye, Captain!”

An exhausted sigh leaves Hongjoong as his eyes meet yours again, “I hate it here.”

“Why don’t you just fire him?”

“I can’t… He brings in a lot of customers.”

“Then quit.”

“You know why I can’t. Now I’m screwed since we’re not in the same group.”

“You’ll live. Maybe it will be good for you to actually do your own-”

“Take your liquid sugar with a splash of espresso and go.” He places your usual iced macchiato on the counter with a clink.

“Love you, Joong,” you coo as you take it and head to your regular spot at the corner table.

Friday nights at the coffee shop are chill with the fairy lights glimmering through the wooden rafters above and soothing live music being played across the cafe. It’s the perfect place to work on some projects and papers.

A plate lands next to your textbook, and you look up to find San.

“Another anonymous blueberry muffin.” He smiles.

“Again? Why can’t you just tell me who it is?” You sigh.

“Because I’m here for the secret admirer cliche… and they said not to tell you.”

“San-”

“You sit here for hours not eating, and they want to make sure you do. So eat up, buttercup,” San says and begins to walk away before you can pry any further.

“Is it Hongjoong?” You call after him.

“I’m not telling, but no!”

Your eyes scan the cafe for clues, but all you find is other customers engrossed in their own lives. The music has stopped as the next open mic performer sets up. Conversations continue, and you resume studying symbolic consumption, self-image, and personality while nibbling on the muffin. A couple of popular songs fill the air, lulling you back into concentration.

The performer clears his throat before strumming the intro of the next song. The first few words sang sound familiar; the title on the tip of your tongue. It brings a warmth over you as your fond memories embrace you, but you can’t quite remember them. With each lyric that flows out of his mouth, you fall a little more in love with his voice.

“Forever is a long time, but I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side.”

“I Wouldn’t Mind” by He is We. Someone else actually knows this song? Your eyes shoot up to finally see the performer. His dark fringe hangs over his eyes as he focuses on his fretting. He looks familiar; you’re pretty sure he’s a regular here. His group of friends usually sit at the table next to the window, and sometimes they laugh loudly but are never a disruption. 

You’ve become used to the routine sounds of the coffee shop. It’s your favorite background music. Right now, it comes in a soothing voice singing an old favorite song of yours. The atmosphere feels like home, and you wouldn’t mind staying like this.

When the song comes to an end, you watch him put his guitar away. One of his friends says something to him that makes the rest of them laugh. The guy glances back at you with curious eyes, and when he turns to his friends, they seem to tease him.

With your laptop snugly under your arm, you walk inside the coffee shop, ready to settle in to do school work. It’s a Monday night, and the cafe is a little more crowded than usual. The normal chatter is slightly louder with excitement. 

As you head to the front counter, your eyes wander to the table by the window, making contact with the guy from open mic. He quickly averts his gaze to the table, hiding his eyes under his fringe. It flusters you for a moment before you greet Hongjoong.

“For that online store project, my group decided to sell our own brand of sustainable clothing,” you inform Hongjoong as you sit on a barstool, “One of them was talking about how difficult it would be to do that in our group chat. I don’t think they realize this online store is just practice and that we’re not actually going to make or sell any products.”

“The amount of stupidity that gets into college astounds me.” He wipes down the counter in front of you.

“Has your group figured out what you’re selling?”

He glances up at you pointedly, “My group hasn’t even responded to my emails.”

“Oh… I’ve already done research on hosting websites, different merchandising tools we need to implement, and established competitors in the market. I’m about to look into new technologies our brand can exploit to stand out from other sustainable clothing retailers.”

“You need to spend your time doing something else. This is a group project, and you’re doing all the work. You are wasting your crazy college party years being here and doing more work than you should.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I have no choice but to waste my time here. You should be out with friends or dating or something.” He argues as a coffee machine beeps behind him.

“You’re my friend.”

“Yes, but I’m working and you just sit over there in the corner doing extra random research that professors don’t even ask for.”

Ice clinks into the glass in Hongjoong’s hand before he pours coffee and creamer.

“But I like doing that.” You try to defend yourself.

“You tell yourself that, but you’re so stressed that you’re stressing me out.”

You lower your eyes to the counter in defeat, but you’re not going to admit he’s right.

“Look, I think I might know someone who’s interested in you. He’s over there,” Hongjoong gestures with his head to the table by the window where those few guys are sitting, “The one in the brown sweater. His name is Seonghwa. He’s a communications major with a minor in public relations. He sings at open mic most weekends.”

Your heart beats faster when your eyes land on the guy. He’s the one who sang that He is We song you like. “Him? There’s no way.”

“He stares at you every time he’s here. Trust me. He’s into you.”

“Well, I can’t just go over there. He’s with all his friends.”

“You don’t have to. Seonghwa, your order is ready!” Hongjoong calls out.

Daggers shoot from your eyes while Hongjoong just smirks at you. You hear footsteps come up next to you, but you’re too scared to even glance over.

Hongjoong looks at the drink in his hand and tsks, “One moment, didn’t put the extra vanilla.”

As your friend leaves you, you can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you. Against your anxieties screaming at you, you look over and smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says and smiles back a bit shyly.

A clank pulls your attention back to Hongjoong returning with a glass. “Seonghwa, here’s your order. Y/N also drinks creamer with a milligram of espresso.”

“Strong coffee is nasty,” Seonghwa laughs and grabs his cup.

“Exactly!” You chime, giving Hongjoong a look.

“Thanks, Joongie.” Seonghwa nods to your friend and heads back to his table.

“What was that?” Hongjoong immediately scolds you.

“Shut up, ‘Joongie.’” You mock and slouch back onto the barstool.

After a few hours of writing a paper on Millennial and Generation Z coffee consumer behavior, you wander back up to the counter and plop onto a barstool. Noticing your presence, Hongjoong sits a blueberry muffin in front of you.

“From anonymous?” You question, and he nods.

“I saw you watching Seonghwa sing. Did I plant a seed of interest?” He teases, making your cheeks burn.

“Shut up,” you mutter, “Make me another of my usual.”

“San, you heard the order.” Hongjoong looks to his coworker.

“Aye, aye, Captain!” San salutes before grabbing a glass from the back counter.

“If you don’t stop calling me captain…” Hongjoong’s threat fades to the background as you notice Seonghwa out of the corner of your eye.

“You did really good,” you compliment as he passes by and stops at your words.

A sweet smile pulls at his lips. “Thanks.” His voice is quiet and a bit shy.

You try to suppress your smile and nod before he grabs some napkins from the dispenser next to you and leaves to go to his table of friends.

“I felt something there,” San says, snapping you back to reality.

“Shut up. Shouldn’t you be actually working?” You give him an annoyed pout.

“Yeah, he should be,” Hongjoong says, lifting a heavy box of new glass cups onto the back counter, “But also, why did you let Seonghwa walk away?”

“Yeah, exactly.” San crosses his arms next to Hongjoong.

“Where is my drink?” You bitterly ask San, igniting Hongjoong’s wrath once again.

You can hear the blood rushing in your ears; your whole body is on fire. The documents in your hands are clenched tighter. These circumstances wouldn’t be happening if you had just checked your email. For the past week, you’ve been too busy doing research and writing a small case study that checking your email slipped your mind.

Your group for the online store project is already inside Beans ’N Cream, and when you spot them, they begin to stand and collect their things. Panic sets in.

“Wait, I just got here,” You say, breathless from your anxiety-ridden journey.

“The meeting started over an hour ago, and we have finished the first part of the proposal,” the group leader speaks with a hint of annoyance.

“But I have my research and notes. It’s a group project, and I should have a contribution.” You feel so small and dumb. Why can’t you just do things right?

“Then you should have been here on time,” she retorts, “We’ll make sure your participation evaluation reflects that.”

The other group members avert their eyes away from the scene and awkwardly stand there.

Your vision starts to blur, and with a blink, a tear falls.

“Are you seriously crying?” The leader almost laughs.

“Hey,” A deep voice comes from behind you.

Before you even see who is interrupting, your documents are being slipped out of your grasp and held out to the group leader expectantly. When she hesitantly takes them, you realize who came to your rescue: Seonghwa.

“Find a way to use those.” Seonghwa’s eyes are locked on her face with his jaw tense.

“O-Okay,” she agrees but seems very intimidated by Seonghwa.

The group quietly leaves, and he turns to you. You can’t even form words to thank him as he instinctively wipes away your stray tear with his sweater sleeve.

“I know you work hard on your school stuff and couldn’t listen to her talk to you like that,” he says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Thank you… for that.” You lower your head.

“Hongjoong kind of introduced us the other week, but, um, I’m Seonghwa.”

“Y/N.”

“Do you, um, want to get coffee together?” He asks nervously.

“Yeah.” You sniffle and pat under your eye with your own sleeve.

“About time!” Someone calls out from the table by the window.

You both glance over at Seonghwa’s friends.

“Yeosang, shut up,” Seonghwa says, cheeks turning pink, “Sorry, my friends are embarrassing.”

“I can probably do you one worse.” You already know what’s coming as the two of you approach the front counter.

“Wha-”

“About goddamn time!” Hongjoong yells, coming out from the back and successfully interrupting Seonghwa, “Would you like two iced coffee flavored milks?”

You and Seonghwa stare at him blankly.

“Alright, I’ll get them right out.” Hongjoong takes the hint and begins getting your usuals.

Seonghwa’s hand gently lands on your lower back as he leans closer. “Let’s go sit at your table.”

As you guide him over, his touch doesn’t leave, and you feel giddy. Stress no longer hovers over you while you settle into the chair you’re so used to with a closer view of the guy you have found so charming.

“Have you ate today?” He asks with a curious gaze.

“Um, no. I-I didn’t really have time,” you stammer out of embarrassment.

“Do you want a blueberry muffin?”

You watch him suppress a grin as you make the connection. A soft laugh escapes through your smile. “Yes.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Late Autumn Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

This post is dedicated to @stehkotori​, an incredible woman who created and maintains a home for us on Discord to share our love for MLQC. She’s also very encouraging and sweet 😭💕

Kiss Dates Collection: Kiro // Lucien // Victor

Hearing yet another bout of loud laughter from downstairs, I take up my phone and enter Gavin’s number, planning to tell him to meet me directly in the music room.

Just as the dial tone sounds, I hear a familiar ringtone behind me.

I turn around to see Gavin leaning against the door frame, his lips lifted in a gentle smile.

[Note] He only has one official CG in this date so I made another myself]

MC: You actually found me! I was about to tell you to come to the music room directly.

Gavin: Mr Keller said you disappeared right after signing the attendance, so I guessed that you’d be here.

MC: I’m not the type to participate in such lively events. Mr Keller will understand.

It is Loveland High’s hundred-year anniversary today. As “Outstanding Alumni”, Gavin and I have been invited to participate in the ceremony.

However, it’s a little too noisy with the announcements and music blaring downstairs.

Furthermore, as a mere producer for a small program, I have nothing in common to talk about with the distinguished figures present today. It’s best to stay in the music room, where I can enjoy the peace and quiet.  

MC: According to the schedule, all the outstanding alumni have to go on stage to shake hands with the Principal. While I’m far from being “outstanding”, you’re not.

MC: Ever since Principal Fang heard that the current commander of the Special Task Force graduated from Loveland High, he’s been wanting to meet you.

Gavin: I’ve never liked participating in lively events. You know that.

He walks over, lowering his eyes to meet mine.

Gavin: Are you playing the piano?

I scoot to the side, patting the empty space on the piano bench.

Gavin smiles and sits down next to me.

MC: Do you feel as though we’ve been coming to school quite often?

Gavin: Mm, but I like the feeling of coming back here with you. It brings back many memories.

MC: Things from high school?

Gavin’s gaze falls onto the black and white piano keys, his amber eyes filled with the tranquil daylight of late autumn.

He doesn’t respond to my question, as though recalling something. He seems to have entered a trance, the corners of his lips raised slightly.

I rarely see such an expression on his face.

MC: Gavin?

I tug on his sleeve gently, eyes full of queries.

Gavin: Some things from high school, and some things from the Special Task Force.

There is a smile in his eyes as he speaks, as if all his recollections are happy memories.

Gavin: I haven’t thought about how to tell you about them yet.

Curious, I stare at him for a few seconds. I lean over to pull on his left hand.

MC: In that case, you have the duration of one song to organize your words.

Gavin places his fingers on the keys obediently.

Gavin: All right, I’ll do my best to keep up with you.

As soon as the prelude starts, Gavin instantly casts me a glance – this is the tune most familiar to us.

The chords he plays with his left hand easily match the melody I play with my right. We don’t make a single mistake.

Accompanying the sounds of the piano, many images resurface in my mind.

The scene when I met him again, the ginkgo bracelet on my wrist which accompanies me day and night, every sunrise we waited for together, every starlight we have seen…

If I were to take count, every memorable moment was spent together with him.

MC: Actually, I came here once when you weren’t around. There wasn’t a reason why I did it. I just had a sudden whim to take a look.

Gavin: Did you gain anything?

MC: It was dismissal time, and the field was very crowded. I think there was a class having a basketball competition. You could hear their heated shouts from outside the school gate.

MC: Oh, I even saw two people laying on the flower bed stand doing corrections for a test paper. Maybe the teacher wanted to check them. My language teacher back then used to love checking our test papers during night revision sessions.

MC: When going up the teaching building, I was thinking… did we often meet at the stairway back then? Did we pass by each other, just that we didn’t know one another?

Gavin: We didn’t.

His tone is plain and ordinary, as though we are talking about trivial matters like what to have for a meal.

Gavin: We met often, but never passed by each other. I remember every moment I saw you in school. Time, location, weather, your expression, your clothes – I remember them all.

His fingers linger between the black and white piano keys, sunlight flashing in his eyes.

Gavin: Even now, I still remember.

With the sudden pause of my hand, the tune abruptly stops.

MC: …we seem to have really missed out on a lot.

Gavin responds to my sudden lament with an expression reflecting a lack of understanding. He doesn’t probe, waiting for me to continue.

MC: I’ve thought about a few things since a very long time ago. For example… cheering you on at the basketball court after school. And then proudly telling the entire class that the name of the tallest and most accurate shooter is ‘Gavin’!

MC: Back then, there was a small stall outside the school gate selling red bean puffs. $3 for one, $5 for two. It was crispy on the outside and sweet on the inside, with a generous amount of filling. You’ve definitely not eaten it before…

MC: Now, the Cityscape Management doesn’t allow the setting up of stalls outside the school gate, so I don’t have the chance to bring you there to eat.

MC: We used to have late night self-study sessions and were only dismissed after 9pm. The girls in the same class would find company to walk with. If you were there, you’d have been able to send me home.

Upon hearing this, Gavin hesitates slightly.

Gavin: Um, I didn’t have a car back then.

MC: I’m referring to a bicycle!

Gavin: …you can continue.

MC: Piano lessons were way too dull. Once I sit here, it would be for several hours, playing the same song over and over again. Sometimes, I’d think of going out to have fun - to go shopping, sing karaoke, eat all kinds of good food, or do my homework while having a drink in a small shop.

MC: Also, the 800-metres physical test was literally my nightmare! If you were there to practice running with me, I wouldn’t have passed only after my third test.

The moments I spent in Loveland High replay in my mind, but the things that are brimming in my memory, apart from the purity of youth, blazing passion and ignorance, seems to be missing something.

MC: If I could be with you back then… my deepest memories in high school wouldn’t have just been of exams.

If not for the misunderstanding, if not for us going around in circles – the tedious high school homework and boring practices would have had a completely different experience.

Whenever I think about these possibilities, I feel sorry for us.

I pretend to be angry, loosening myself from his grip. I stand up, wear a serious expression, and lodge a “complaint” against him.

MC: It’s all your fault! …you didn’t give me a chance to know you earlier.

Astonishment flashes in his eyes, and his voice is hesitant.

Gavin: …I didn’t think that you would have such thoughts.

MC: Well, now you do – we missed out on a whole six years! Even if we want to make up for it every day, it wouldn’t be enough even if you spend a full twenty-four hours with me.

Of course, I’m just joking around with Gavin. However, his expression clearly shows that he has taken my words seriously.

He stands up slowly. When his eyes meet mine, they contain a sorrowful smile that I haven’t seen for a very long time.

I’m about to coquettishly say that he has to repay his debt, but he traps me in between his arms.

Before I can react, a familiar scent takes my breath away.

Without a shred of hesitation, he kisses me.

The kiss carries an overtone of recklessness and ravaging – as he fiercely rubs the territory between my lips and teeth, his hands grip my waist tightly.

Searing breaths descend on my lips. I open my eyes slightly and see unsuppressed aggression brimming in his amber-coloured gaze.

I suddenly recall how I had trembled when meeting his eyes for the first time.

MC: Senior…

I try to open my mouth amidst his continuous demands, but am only able to release an incoherent mess of words.

Gavin eventually stops for a few seconds. His breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t pull back.

Gavin: I was just thinking about that.

He lets out an incredibly soft laugh, gently tucking messy strands of hair on my cheek behind my ear with his left hand. His lips follow after his warm fingertips, descending on my cheek again and again.

Gavin: Whatever I owe you, I’ll return them one by one… is that okay?

He leans over to my ear and speaks in a low voice. Mixed with desire, the sound is enveloped with cloudy breaths, and every wisp leads to an itch in my heart.

MC: Gavin.

There are so many things in my heart that I want to say. In the end, I can only think of calling his name gently.

The corners of Gavin’s lips are hooked into a smile. He suddenly lifts me up with a hand.

MC: …!

In my panic, I grab onto his shoulders. He simply tilts his head and smiles, placing me directly onto the piano.

The piano lets out a noise in response to the sudden weight. Just as I’m about to exclaim, my lips are sealed once again—

Student A: What was that sound just now?

Student B: Probably someone in the music room.

Student A: Want to take a look?

Although the footsteps and voices outside grow increasingly louder, Gavin maintains an air of disregard, continuing to encircle me in his arms.

He not only ignores the voices, but also takes a step forward. He puts his knee on the piano bench, pushing me completely onto the piano.

A few piano keys resound at the contact, embellishing our ragged breathing.

Student B: What’s there to see in the music room? It’s definitely someone from our club anyway. Let’s hurry over to the ceremony – I heard that the commander of the Special Task Force would be here today!

Student A: Are you serious? I saw him on television once – he’s super alpha!

Student B: Mr Zheng said so the last time, so it shouldn’t be wrong. Hurry up, we wouldn’t get good seats if we’re late!

Hasty footsteps pass by, not even stopping for a moment outside the music room.

I look towards Gavin, lightly tugging at the corner of his shirt. At the same time, I gently bite his lip, wordlessly expressing the feelings in my heart at this very moment.

As though punishing me for my mischief, his eyes narrow slightly. With a hand on my cheek, he presses my entire body onto the piano.

MC: …

I close my eyes, holding onto his solid arms. I lift my head to welcome his lips, savouring his unique breath.

The person in front of me has shed off the roughness of youth, leaving behind only the purity of youth. He often makes me forget that he once used to be unrestrained like the wind.

He has a body that is stronger than everyone else’s, a tough soul, a will that is as firm as steel, and a heart full of tenderness – it is soft beyond compare.

I cling to his waist tightly using my calves, wanting to brand every part of him into my heart.

I want to bear his everything.

Gavin: …

Another light laugh enters my eyes. I open my eyes halfway, feeling the wind slowly sweep past my burning skin.

Even before I sober up from the deep kiss that almost stripped me of consciousness, the scene in front of my eyes causes me to let out a cry of surprise.

Countless ginkgo leaves are floating in the air, dancing outside the window.

The color gold covers every window. Every leaf seems to be drawn by something, spreading their wings as they spin past the floor.

Students standing along the corridor of the teaching building also exclaim, and are unable to hold back their surprised “wow”s!

Gavin smiles faintly. It’s only after a long while before the repeated warmth lingering on my lips gradually leaves the scorching ambience.

Gavin: Do you like it?

I straighten up, leaping off the piano neatly. I kneel on the piano bench with one leg, pressing myself against him.

MC: I like it. I like it very much.

I raise my head, using my fingers to rub his chin, his lips, the tip of his nose, and the corner of his brow.

MC: I like it so much that… I don’t know how I can prove to you just how much I like it.

Gavin reaches out to hold the hand which has drifted to the space between his eyebrows. He has a generous smile.

Gavin: …we did miss out on a lot. Back then, I wasn’t certain if I could have you for life.

I look straight into his bright eyes, and laugh quietly.

MC: And are you very certain now?

Gavin: Mm.

Gavin responds without much thought. His slightly raised eyebrows reveal a sense of pride.

Gavin: I hope you can give me an answer to this question as well.

He holds onto my waist, leaning over to hug me tightly in his arms. Even though he doesn’t continue with his questions, I immediately surrender.

MC: It’s all yours. The rest of my life is yours. The years we missed are also yours.

Everything I have, I’ll give to you.

I won’t leave anything to myself. I’ll give it all to you.

-

🌸 MOMENTS 🌸

Gavin’s Post: Today’s pork rib soup tastes great. 

MC: Is Commander Gavin satisfied with the supper which was prepared with love? 

Gavin: There’s no need to wait up for me next time. 

-

Gavin’s Post: Today’s pork rib soup tastes great.

MC: You’ll do the cooking over the weekend.

Gavin: Yes ma’am.

-

Gavin’s Post: Today’s pork rib soup tastes great.

MC: Can you taste my new recipe? 

Gavin: You added ginkgo, right? 

[lovelivingmydreams]

Family and identity

And so we have arived at a new chapter in the Paper Flowers au. This one complete from the start. I promise. For those who missed it, previous instalment can be found here.

All the chapters can be found in the pinned post t the top of my page.

In this chapter Patton takes Roman's unintentionally given advice and it goes as well as you could expect. Enjoy!

Virgil was lying on his bed listening to music. He was feeling pretty okay. Not great, but all things considered he was having a good day. Usually that thought would make him panic and try to remember what he was doing wrong. But right now, he wasn't going to question it. He had a list, he checked it twice, today was just going to be nice.

Roman was really getting to him. Here he was once again being optimistic. And rhyming on top of that.

A sudden knock on his door had him confused. Hardly anyone knocked on his door.

Princey wouldn't knock on that one. The field had become their hang out spot. They watched movies, talked, listened to music or brainstormed together. It was nice.

So it wasn't Princey.

Janus and Remus were out too. Both tended to invite themselves inside if they wanted to bother him. One more reason to be happy with the field. He'd spent some alone time in there truly at peace knowing nothing could harm him there. If he didn't have to look after Thomas he'd probably move there permanently. And he supposed he couldn't leave Princey to deal with the specs on his own...

Speaking off those two. At least one of them was at his door.

The knocking was back. “Kiddo? You in there?”

Virgil frowned confused as he got up and walked to the door.

"Patton?" He said in surprise as he opened it. Sure he'd figured it had to be him or Logan. But between the two he would've put his money on Logan. Patton usually just announced that dinner was ready and left before Virgil could even respond. Then Virgil would go down to collect a plate and leave for his room right away. He'd been tempted to stay and listen to Roman's stories once or twice since they became friends. To gang up on him with Logan, pointing out holes in the grand tales and laugh along as Patton made a joke, making them all forget what they'd been talking about. But he figured he better not intrude on family time and risk messing up. They tolerated him when they were working. If he forced his company on them in their free time they'd probably send him back down. And as much as he cared about his fellow outcasts, he couldn't go back there….

Would his key work if he did? He should test it out, just in case…

He was getting of track. “What's wrong?” he asked. Trying to sound like he couldn't care less. He leaned against the doorframe to sell it better. Inside he was terrified.

Patton smiled at him nervously, leaning back and forth on his heels, wringing his hands. Why was he here? He clearly didn't want to be.

“Nothing wrong kiddo… just… dinner will be ready soon. Why don't you join us?”

What? “Better not,” he huffed looking at his fidgeting hands with a raised brow. He planned to turn around and close the door to freak out in peace, but then…

Patton balled his hand in fists at his side and stopped wiggling. “Sorry, but that wasn't really a request Anxiety. You live with us, so you join in for family dinners. I make Roman come out of the imagination, I drag Logan away from his work, up until now I’ve given you time to adjust and join us on your own time. But I’m done waiting. Pizza night is family dinner night. I expect you at the dinner table in 15 minutes.” And before Virgil could respond he turned and went downstairs.

Virgil went back in and shut the door. What was going on? Should he go ask Roman if Patton said something? Should he go to the others? Maybe this is a weird joke from J?

Or maybe this is a test? Or maybe Patton is looking for a good reason to send him back down? Proof that he doesn’t fit in with them? No, that doesn’t sound like Patton at all… what should he do?

“Dinner is ready!” Patton’s voice pulled him out of his panic. He’d been worrying for a full 15 minutes and now it was too late…

He took in a deep breath. He would not mess up. He just had to get trough dinner. And Roman would be there to distract Patton right? Right. He could do this.

When he arrived downstairs Roman and Logan were already seated and served.

Roman saw him enter and paused his recollection of his latest adventure to look at him.

“Evening Seymore Krelbore,” he greeted with an elaborate gesture.

“Likewise Bummertime,” he replied as he loaded his own plate and, to the surprise of both Roman and Logan went to sit at the never before used chair. Patton looked pleased at least.

He didn’t think he could handle a conversation though. Luckily he didn’t have to. Roman continued his story as if nothing had interrupted it and Virgil got away with just eating his pizza, thanking Patton for dinner when he was done, putting his plate in the dishwasher and leaving for his room.

Roman watched Virgil going up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised that shortly after he disappeared from sight he could feel a swift, but urgent pulsing from the key in his pocket.

He wanted to join Virgil at once, but then Logan said something that drew his attention.

“Patton? What’s the problem?” Roman looked at the paternal side and saw that he was looking up at the stairs with a frown.

Patton sighed and slumped in his chair, letting his head fall into his hands.

“It worked, but I don't know if I can keep doing this,” Patton explained.

“What worked Padre?” Roman wondered.

“Tough love… patience didn't get him to open up to us, but you seem to get him to at least talk to you for more than a minute nowadays. So I thought… maybe if I pushed just a little? I'm sure there is a wonderful kiddo hiding under that eyeshadow. I thought that making him join family dinner would help?” Patton explained. Roman felt a little guilty. One, he had given Patton this idea that had put both Virge and the moral side through a tense dinner for their troubles. Two he had all the answers to make Pat feel better… no. It was not his place to tell. Patton would understand.

He laid a reassuring hand on the eldest side’s shoulder. “If you wish I shall retrieve the pumpkin king in the future,” he promised.

Patton thought about it for a bit. “Are you sure Roman? Will he even come if you ask?” he wondered.

Roman chuckled and bowed. “No worries Padre I will ensure his company won't be lacking on pizza night ever again,” he vowed though he wondered if he'd have to break that promise.

He'd cross that bridge when he got there. He used his key to get to the field. The others never questioned his doors. He was the prince of imagination after all. Things like this were expected.

Once he closed his door, he looked around. Where… he spotted an empty spot in the otherwise smooth sea of origami flowers. He smiled as he walked over and sat down next to it. One leg straight in front of him, his other bent at the knee. He leaned back to look up at the clouds passing by. Supporting his weight with his hands.

“They do look lovely today,” he started casually.

“Still not doing it Princey,” Virgil replied to a question Roman had yet to start building up to.

“He meant well, he just wants…”

“Me to be part of the family, I know!” Virgil groaned as he sat up hugging his knees to his chest. “But I’m not and I’ll never be. You didn't see him when he told me to join dinner. He thinks that I’ll turn into one of you. All soft and optimistic. And he wont have to be scared of me anymore. That can't happen, for everyone's sake. I have to make you guys cautious. So we can't tell him.”

Roman could tell the subject was over. He'd tried to encourage Virgil to let the others in as well a few times. Normally he'd probably push harder, perhaps even until he crossed a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. Ruining their friendship in the process. But the field was so relaxing, and their friendship was comfortable and safe enough that he felt he could fake his time considering his words. He'd found himself realizing that he kept parts of himself hidden from the others as well. Parts that he feared would make them loose respect for him. Virgil knew about some by now. He had very quickly picked up on how stressed the spotlight made him sometimes. He knew talking about Remus made him feel guilty and terrified though they hadn't talked about the why yet. Anyway, Roman would be a hypocrite if he made Virgil tell the others about his true self if he wasn’t willing to do so himself.

Roman sighed under the heavy atmosphere.

“Hey Virgil?” he asked, a small burst of pride exploding in his chest as he said Virgil's proper name. He was still getting used to it. And he was glad for their battle of the nicknames or he definitely would have slipped in front of the others by now.

Virgil looked up, curious what Roman wanted.. “Yeah?”

“Did you actually listen to my adventure? Cause it gave me a few ideas…”

Virgil chuckled. Roman was probably just looking for an excuse to tell it again. Knowing this Virgil nodded. “Yeah I heard you.” Roman's face fell a little, though he tried to play it off and Virgil grinned teasingly. “But best to make sure I remember all the important details right?”

Roman lit up, not even caring that Virgil just messed with him. He jumped straight into story teller mode.

“So there I was…”

 __________________________________________________________

The Prince found himself once more locked in combat with his arch nemesis.

Theirs was as rivalry written in the stars. An ancient battle between the heavenly lights of goid versus the dark depths of evil.

And he couldn't have asked for a better opponent.

“How long have we been doing this dance? Surrender! You know you cannot win!” he bellowed readying his sword.

“Never! And 5 years today! Don’t pretend you don't know that,” his opponent growled.

The prince gasped, moved. “You remembered!” he exclaimed in awe. He hadn't been sure if the lord of evil cared enough.

“Of course you nitwit,” his foe grumbled a bit flustered before regaining composure. “Now die!”

Both men raised their weapons and charged with a battle cry.

 __________________________________________________________

You are browsing tumblr.

Thomas's latest vine was hillarious. You are probably way too attached to the villain character though. He's existed about 18 seconds. You take comfort in the fact that you are not the only one. There is art and fics about him and the prince popping up everywhere.

And boy do people ship it. Suddenly you see a thread that catches your eye. You start reading.

"Considering how well liked he is, Prince's nemesis should have a name if Thomas isn't going to at least give him a title. I vote Marcus. It sounds badass and it is. It comes from Mars, God of war. All hail to our future overlord."

You chuckle. But Marcus does sound good. The thread continues with another fander stepping in.

"He should have a name. But knowing Thomas I'd think it's Kevin."

If you'd been drinking you would have choked on it. Kevin?

A reply from yet another user. "Let me guess you are one of that idiot Prince's squires? I'm with OP. The dark lord is called Marcus."

Oh this is getting spicy.

"Well you are clearly a henchman. Just look at how the guy is dressed! He looks like a 2000's emo kid. Defenitely a Kevin. XD"

There were more replies of people proclaiming themselves as either squires or henchmen. It's all in good fun. Plenty of laughing emoji's made that clear. You hit reblog and take a moment to consider who you are going to join.

Thomas has no clue what he's started.

Next chapter: By any other name

[chicago-geniza]

well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to

treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot

exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a

single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if

you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.

anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in

his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Birthday Sequence

Three friends have their birthday in a month of each other, and the parties get progressively more interesting. Content warnings for coarse language, offscreen sexuality, underage drinking and the consequences thereof.

As always, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag for more, let me know if you enjoyed reading, and if you want to chat or ask a question, my askbox is open.

~*~*~*~

"You look great."

Idia made a whine you were certain they could hear in Savannahclaw and put his face in his hands. "Why did no one tell me about the birthday event?"

"I dunno, because we'd all assumed you'd seen everyone else put on the prissy little birthday boy suit and dance around like an idiot while I did an interview, and realized you weren't exempt."

"But why didn't you make Crowley skip me?" He looked ready to cry, so you you got up on tiptoes to kiss his nose and dry his tears, which simply had the opposite effect.

"Because maybe I wanted to see you dressed up pretty for a change?"

He just groaned. "Wasn't the festival enough?"

"Never enough; not with you. I'll make sure me and Ortho are your bodyguards, okay? Now, get out there and pretend they're all in their underwear. I got a present on the table for you. And..."

"And?"

"If you're truly overwhelmed, I'll bring you back here to hide, and get you out of the monkey suit myself."

It took him three seconds to turn a truly absurd shade of pink, and flee out the door of his room. The only thing scarier than a crowd where you're the center of attention is a lover who's relentless in voicing her attraction, if you're a neurotic dweeb with a molten core of self-hatred.

~*~*~*~

He'd relaxed somewhat as the presents went on. After checking with each person if they'd rather he open it now or in private (shuddering every time someone said now, in fear of bad reactions), he'd so far wound up with a super mega deluxe vinyl release of the Moirai's most recent album (despite not owning a record player, but it came with the digital album and lots of feelers so he still liked it very much), piles of sweets, and wouldn't have to pay for the subscriptions on most of his game for at least two years. And, he still had a pile to go through.

"Who's this one?"

"That's me. Go ahead."

He lifted the lid off the box, and took out a little creature, a sofubi toy of transluscent grey plastic painted with pearly stripes and shiny green eyes. "I've never seen this Nyarochi before." He turned it this way and that, a small smile on his lips. "Where'd you get this?"

"I got it blank at that second hand shop you showed me."

"... Blank." You could see the gears turning.

"Why do you think I asked to borrow your airbrush?"

Turning, turning... there we go. "You did this?"

"Yeah, dude. One of a kind, just for you."

He looked back and forth between you and the toy, smile growing. Once finally settled on you, he lit up - literally; his hair let out a bright, sparking burst that left spots in your eyes. You think he might have said thank you, you were too busy reeling from the sweetness of his expression, all directed at you, and little Nyarochi was tucked in his jacket pocket until he finally left for his room, you in tow.

~*~*~*~

"Hey Sam."

"Hey, Yuu. What can I get for you this fine day?"

"I got a list. I'm making something for Lilia. Did you know he's a new year's baby?"

"I did!" Sam scanned the list, only to set it down and raise an eyebrow at you. "I have much of this, and can order almost all the rest. You do know I'm not allowed to sell alcohol to a minor."

"It ain't for me, though. Do you know where I can get it?"

He shuffled around in a drawer before sliding a card across the table. "In Stock Now! The solution to your problem."

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. "Sam. Does Crowley know you're selling fake IDs?" Your turned it over. "Really, really good fake IDs?"

"Crowley lets me do what I want, because I might stop doing what he wants."

You laughed. "Gross. Alright, I don't know the price, but can I get a discount if I help you stock a few weekends?"

"I'll do layaway just for you, if you come in next week."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu!" Lilia leapt at you, and you swung him around in a hug. "It's so great to have you here! Where's my loot?"

"I got to finish it, let me go a minute."

He did, and watched with interest as you set up from your cooler. You ran a lime around the rim of a glass, and crust it with red salt before filling it with ice.

"Yuuuuuuu. My little darling. You know I'm too young to drink."

"No you're not, dude. it's an open secret, like what happens in that shed behind the gym stays there and you don't get admitted to NRC if you're completely heterosexual." You added the mix to the glass, before tossing in a celery stick and sliding it over to him.

He barked out a laugh and took the glass. "That's true all right." He sipped at it and smiled. "What is it?"

"At home they call it a Caesar. I made up a shitton and I'm leaving you with the recipe, which you have to follow. I figure you liked your tomato juice, so..."

"It is just my taste. Thank you." You'd only blinked, and he'd already finished it and slid the glass back. "More, please."

~*~*~*~

You'd learned two things tonight, of which you'd only dimly suspected one. The first was that Lilia could probably drink the entire school under the table, staff and ghosts included. The second, far more interesting thing, was that when tipsy, Lil talked about his past, and in his past, he truly redefined the meaning of "absolute slut".

Looking like a particularly cute teenybopper had not stopped him from fucking his way through most of the Court of Thorns, and a great deal of the places he'd visited, in ways both inventive and more than occasionally disturbing. You really, really ought to stop him; poor Mal was standing out on the balcony with his fingers in his ears, singing very loudly to drown out the noise, but you were too busy taking notes. Kalim was listening to his fellow Light Music Club member in awe, and Cater had been recording for the past forty five minutes, though you were pretty sure if he uploaded any of this his Magicam account would get permabanned for pornographic content.

"And that's when his sister - fabulous woman, cunt like a ripe fig and she'd start giggling every time you..." he stopped and swirled his empty glass. "Where'd my drink go?"

"You drank it all, dear. There's none left."

"Aww. Why'd I have to share it all." He set his glass down and plucked the half-full one from in front of Silver's sleeping form. "Hey, did I ever tell you what I got up to with his," nodding out towards Malleus,"his grandmother?"

You never found out, as Mal simply bodied him clean across the room before any more could be said.

~*~*~*~

"Vil."

"What."

"Can I borrow your lab equipment?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why."

"I wanna make perfume."

He brightened. "Finally decided to stop smelling like a haunted house?"

"Vil, I actually pay real money for perfume that smells like a haunted house. I have multiple. Sometimes I layer them, to mix with the natural scent of the haunted house I already live in. And it's not for me, though if this works I might try to make stuff for myself."

He wrinkled his nose at you, somehow not creasing his makeup. "Why should I help you?"

You thought about it, and then shrugged. "Well. Why not?"

"... I hate that I can't argue with that. Come on."

~*~*~*~

You have no idea if the party was sedate because of the relatively few people outside of Diasomnia, or because everyone was scared of potential etiquette breaches. You could not complain either way; parties wore on you as they went on and Idia hadn't tried to leave in fear. Either way, Mal was starting to go from blandly cheerful host to fretful.

"What if there is too much cake? I don't wan't to have to finish it."

"You don't have to, dude. Cake's for sharing."

"When I was young, I was the only person at my party who wasn't a servant. So I would end up eating the entire cake by myself, every time." He stared off into the middle distance. "I don't really like cake."

"That's the single saddest thing I have ever heard in my entire life, holy shit dude."

"Why have a cake then, if you don't like it?" Idia was halfway through his piece. Third piece, actually. You envied his capacity to eat what seemed like his weight in buttercreme and not get nauseous, even if you worried for his pancreas.

"Tradition," Mal said, as if he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

"You should have done an ice cream cake, then. You actually like that."

"That is an option?" He paused, eyes full of wonder. "What else can be ice cream?"

You cut in before Malleus could continue down a road of ice-cream-everything. "You know, if you're that worried about leftovers, why not send a wrapped slice with the thank you cards for the gifts? Gets rid of it all so you won't be compelled to eat it ‘til you're sick."

Mal instantly grabbed you. "You are a brilliant, amazing, genius of a person. I'm glad you're my Son of Man and I like you very much."

Idia gave the tinest of coughs, looking towards the poison-coloured flames in the fireplace.

"You are mine too. I like the special case for my Dragon-Kun very much."

"Thought you would." He smiled down at his plate.

"Oh, shit, yeah. Here's mine." You brought the bag out from behind your seat and handed it over; Mal shredding it in his excitement.

"... What is this?" the box inside revealed a set of five amber bottles with screw-on tops.

"Your own special perfume blend. Rose petals from the Heartslabyul garden, blackberries, and the fruit of a blackthorn tree." You leaned back in your seat and struggled not to laugh at your own hideous pun. "I call it Feeling Thorny."

Good thing the box was well padded, because he dropped it in his laughter. Idia, bless his heart, wound up choking on some of the cake and needed an entire glass of water to stop coughing.

"I got the goods!" Lilia and Sebek had returned, the latter glowering at you over the top of a dusty crate as though he'd assumed you'd simply eat his precious prince alive the second his back was turned.

"What's the goods, Lil."

"Well, he's got friends he made here for this party, so I figured I'd crack something open from my stash." He pried the top of the crate with his bare hands, which would have made you need to sit down if you hadn't been already. "Saving this for a special occasion."

"Lilia, there's no need to bring that out for us."

"Nonsense! You deserve it! And this party's too damned slow. A little wine will be just the thing, and this is very light stuff, you'll all be fine."

You doubted that, but still accepted the glass of liquid gold when offered. It smelled sweet and floral, and to your pleasant surprise, did not taste like fermented misery when sipped.

Wait a minute.

"Lil, if I drink the fairy wine, I don't have to go live in the Valley of Thorns forever, do I?"

Malleus, seizing opportunity, sad "Yes" at the same time Lilia said "No" and Lil elbowed Mal in the ribs for it. "I'm not invoking any of our more traditional rules of hospitality. If I must," he said, elbowing Mal again before he could try to weave anything, "Let this be in return for being such wonderful friends to both me and my boy."

"I'll accept it." You sipped more as Silver wandered over and leaned over Idia for a glass himself. Idia simply drained his own to try and distract himself from the proximity of him before the anxiety kicked into high gear. Maybe it would vanish entirely if you got him profoundly drunk, you thought to yourself, but that wasn't something you wanted to try. He had enough issues without his deciding alcoholism was the solution to his problems.

Time to settle down and enjoy the evening. The wine didn't feel like anything, so what could possibly happen?

~*~*~*~

You woke up with a pounding head, your party clothes in disarray, and new and interesting pains. You examined yourself and your surroundings, and let things come back naturally.

Lilia, being very generous with his bottles, to the point of not letting a glass go empty at any point. Malleus sitting with his legs crossed and head in his hands, gazing warmly and not without hunger at a both very animated and disheveled Idia as he talked. You getting up to leave, and sitting right back down because your legs didn't work, so you'd simply...

Simply wound up here in Mal's bed, instead of home. With both of your boys.

The evidence wasn't the best. No telltale soreness, but you had a number of new and interesting bite marks, including one very high on your inner thigh with the dentition clearly showing fangs. Your underwear was in place, even if the tule of your pannier was shredded, so you didn't think you'd done anything more than very heavy petting. And to tell the truth? The idea of having done anything more didn't bother you - truly, there weren't other people you'd rather have done it with - but the idea that you had? And you couldn't recall all the fun details? Agonizing.

You leaned over, holding your head, to brush the hair off of Mal's face. He looked at ease, and had managed to slot himself into his weird pillows, so at least he wouldn't wake up with a crick in his neck.. You checked your boyfriend, clinging to Mal's far side like a lanky blue limpet. On his collarbone, at the spot where you preferred to leave your own marks, was a bite similar to the one on your leg. You had to turn away at the sight; the images it brought to your mind left your flushed and dizzy with want despite your pain. How fun, to learn new and interesting things about yourself.

Idia stirred and sat up. He looked to you, to Mal, to you again. His face had no expression beyond starting to turn rapidly grey and sweaty.

You pointed. "That door."

He nodded once before stumbling off to bed and through the bathroom door, to puke away his hangover.

Alright, next step. You poked at your sleeping friend. "Mal. You alive?"

He opened both eyes, bloodshot with a hair-thin pupil, and started making a noise akin to a base boosted tea kettle up 'til you placed a pillow over his head to shut him up. Fortunately, it worked immediately, he lay where he was like an idiot until adjusting it so the pillow merely blocked the top of his face.

"Yuu. How are you feeling?"

You thought about it. "Like I got run through a laundry press. You?"

He smacked his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth. "My mouth has grown fur."

"Wonderful."

"Light hurts."

"Par for the course."

"I'm not sure what else yet. Where is Shroud?"

Another bout of heaving from Malleus's bathroom answered that thoroughly.

Mal pouted. "Poor thing. He didn't even have that much."

"We all had enough. I'm still remembering bits and pieces."

He reached towards you and grabbed your arm, squeezing. "You are... you..." As much as he struggled for the words, the anxiety in his voice made the meaning clear enough.

"I'm not upset over any of it. I just hate that I don't recall it clearly yet." You extracted your arm from his grasp, and slid off the bed. "I'm gonna get water from the hall bathroom. You want any?"

He smacked his lips again, and smiled, wider than you'd ever seen him do before, specks of blood still crusted in the grooves of his teeth. "I can still taste you on my tongue. I never want it to fade."

"Hhhhhholy shit you need water. Bye." You left to try and hide the wobbling in your legs that wasn't from the hangover.

~*~*~*~

"You."

You stopped, and stared. It took an entire four seconds to realize that the large, half-dressed green bean glaring at you from the doorway was Sebek before he styled his hair in the morning. "You mean like, my name, or just me in general?"

He pointed a finger, hissing out his words. "You finally did it! You evil little minx."

"I didn't, actually, or at least not what you think."

He kept going, trying to keep his voice down. "You've seduced Lord Malleus! And now you're going to try and steal the crown."

What in the actual fuck. And he wasn't done yet. "You cruel temptress! Leading him on just so that you could become a queen our people would detest! My poor lord, at the whims of some-"

"Hey, you jealous there, Zig? You mad you aren't serving him all ways? If you want his dick so bad-"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" He looked over his shoulder, back inside, before glaring back at you. "I couldn't do that in good conscience! Lord Malleus deserves someone who holds only him in their heart. He's not my whole heart, so I wouldn't try. You, you have damn near everyone here wrapped around your fingers! And it's still not enough for you!"

"Sebek! He is my friend. And I give zero fucks about the whole throne thing, just so you know. Why would I want to be a queen? That shit sounds exhausting. And he isn't going to ascend until my great grandkids are in the dirt, so, yanno, shit planning if I tried."

Sebek was trying to think of a rebuttal when a pair of hands squeezed him from behind. "Stop yelling. I'm going to brush my teeth." Silver let go and circled around, dragging his hand along Sebek's waist as he did. "Be ready when I'm back." With that, he walked past you with his small smirk to the bathroom you'd just exited, wearing nothing but one of Sebek's shirts.

You watched the hemline skirting the back of his thighs with entirely too much interest before looking back at Sebek. "God damn, dude."

"Say anything else and I will throw you out the window."

~*~*~*~

Mal had traded his bed for sitting on the floor, braced against the wall by the bathroom. He'd managed to close the drapes against the garish light of morning, and the sounds from beyond the wall had changed from sickness to a running shower as you gave Mal a cup. "Drink up, asshole."

"How am I an asshole?"

"Because it's your birthday we all got drunk at."

"Please blame Lilia for that. Fairy wine is not something humans should start the evening with." He sipped the water and grimaced.

"Taste bad?"

"I forgot I didn't want to put anything else in my mouth after you."

"Mal, no. There won't be a repeat, even if I don't really regret it."

He looked at you with heart about to break. "Why not?"

"It's not fair to either of you! I love you dearly, but I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with him." You sighed. Even as more of last night came back, you realized you may have broken the whole thing beyond repair. "And how would you like it if you saw me running around with someone else? Don't say you wouldn't be jealous. You've got a five mile streak of it."

Mal was silent, before saying very quietly, "I don't mind so much after having him too."

"Yeah, well." You put your head in your hands. "You're sure he didn't jump out the window to hide in his room forever after that?"

Mal knocked againt the door, wincing at the noise. "Idia? You are present? You're alive in there?"

A few moments before that shaky reply of "I'm not sure, check in five minutes."

Mal smiled. "That's promising, is it not?"

"You know I can hear you out there, right?"

"I didn't."

"I can." More silence. "Also, the window doesn't open."

You quirked your mouth. "Is the shower helping? I might need a turn."

"Some."

"Do you want to talk about last night?"

More silence, before a small, "Not yet," as the shower shut off. "Can I borrow a robe? My clothes are wet."

"Go ahead, Idia."

He exited in a cloud of steam and purple-black terrycloth, and simply laid down on the floor, gripping it as if he would fly off.

"Still bad?"

He noded, cheek pressed against the floor. Fresh from the water, his hair was low enough that you could make out the actual hair on his head, each glowing like the finest fiber optic thread.

"Well. I don't think any of us are going to class today. So stay as long as you need to."

"Thank god, I don't want to try those damned stairs until my head's on right." You thought to yourself for a moment. "Is Ortho okay?"

Idia actually managed a smile. "I told him I was thinking of staying over and trying to activate event flags."

It took you a moment to understand the implications of that. "Noooo. This was not your idea."

"Mal wasn't. But. Ummmmm." He held up a hand and wiggled it. "He was there?"

"Your boyfriend is interestingly pliable when someone puts their mouth on him. A trait you both share, actually."

You felt ready to burst into flames. This could not be happening. "So who's idea was you getting under my skirts, Mal? That bruise is going to last weeks."

"Yours, actually. You wouldn't let go of my horns until you were satisfied."

The memory of that, and more, hit you like a transport truck, and you simply laid down and refused to say anything until Lilia burst in, disgustingly chipper and with a platter of burnt toast to chew on until the worst of the hangover was gone.

[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes 26: Preparation

[part 1 of 2]

TSF pt25 here! <-

“THANK YOU, PEOPLE OF MANTLE!” Summer yelled, shredding each note of her personal favorite songs. One after another she played to her heart's fill. Each song was more aggressive and brimming with vigor than the last. Summer would’ve played till dawn if she had her way but neither her body or promise to her brother would allow that. It wasn’t time to leave yet but she needed a break.

Summer begrudgingly got herself to get off the stage to let others perform. Their music wasn’t terrible by any means but the other musicians could easily stand to have more practice. A rave audience isn’t hard to please however, so the crowd ate up the talent all the same. A little insulting to her own performance but eh, this wasn’t an actual contest. Summer was happy enough blowing off steam and listening to the beats from behind the stage. Not even she could deny the beats and tempo. Her hips couldn’t help but sway!

From the corner of her eye she could make out a familiar figure keeping an eye on her. “Did Nick tell you to keep an eye on me, Eliza?”

“Not really.” She walked over and poured herself a cup of water. “I was training in the area.”

“Are you saying he had nothing to do with you being here?”

“Oh no, that would be a lie. You know Nick, always negotiating. He really knows how to persuade a person. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could sell a heater to someone living in Vacou. Anyways, he didn’t ask me to stalk you or anything like that. He knew where I’d be and told me if I could swing by for a spell. No harm in that.”

Summer smiled. “Funny. That sounded like you were defending him. Don’t want me getting upset with my own brother?”

“Shut up. It would be a pain if I caused unnecessary controversy in a household. Need I remind you that you both have duties to the school that require your full attention? Frankly I’m glad I arrived. I don’t go to your concerts so my opinion of your performance skills was limited.” Eliza sipped her water, giving Summer’s attire and overall attitude a once over. “Where’s all this when you're getting harassed in the halls?”

“That’s...school is different.”

“Pfft, yeah okay.”

“It is!” Summer said, defensively crossing her arms.

Eliza watched the girl's face soften into the meek and reserved Summer she was used to. To think that’s all it took to shut her down. “I swear you and your brother don’t have a consistent bone in your body. Whatever the case, I don’t really care much as long as you bring your best effort to rehearsal and the live performance.”

Summer squinted. “Not the actual tournament?”

“Hey I don’t participate in the duos. You can bomb that for all I care. But you know, Nick is counting on you to pull your weight. Also it would be pretty annoying if you lost to Max and his asshole know-it-all, Darren. Gods know he’d talk about it until graduation.”

“Was the fight that happened in the school bad?”

Eliza shrugged, “Can’t say. Wasn’t there. He’s always been a thorn to me though so I don’t doubt he made things ugly. He was very rude to Veronica in the principal’s office as well. An act I find inexcusable.”

Summer couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Look I know you admire her and all that jazz, but I’d bet she didn’t help the situation.”

“My views on her have nothing to do with it!” Eliza huffed. “I would think you off people would be sympathetic to a person like her.”

Summer leaned against a wall. “Call me jaded, but Veronica has a habit of bringing out the worst in people.”

Eliza frowned. “You know her better than I. Tell me, is she the type to lie about being harassed?”

Summer didn’t have to think long, especially after learning more about her in the forest. Then there was Veronica’s sketch journal. Summer still couldn’t make sense of all the scratched out pages. On top of that, Blake’s request made Summer even more uncertain. “No. Veronica’s a piece of work, but she isn’t a liar. She might actually be too honest if you asked me. I’ve never had to deal with Darren personally but Nick’s not a fan by any means.” Summer bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t believe it, did she just defend Veronica’s qualities!? It was only fair. Veronica did almost end up a frozen husk.

“Well it’s good to know we can all agree on at least one thing without fail. So not to rush you but how long are you planning on staying in a place like this?” Eliza asked, watching all the party animals.

“Haha, not your type of crowd?”

“The crowd is fine. I can handle a little noise and rowdiness, but it is technically a school night. I- ah! Summer!?” The girl had taken Eliza by the hand and started pulling her to the dance floor.

“If you keep bringing up assignments 24/7 then all you’re gonna look like is a stick in the mud. Live a little. School sucks!”

“School is important!” Eliza protested.

Summer grabbed Eliza’s other hand and started making them sway side to side, back and forth. The blood rushing to Eliza’s cheeks made Summer giggle. “Awww you know you dig it. I’ll make a deal. Cut loose with me for a few songs and I’ll gladly let you dance me right out the front door. Show me that colorguard rhythm!”

Eliza watched the petite girl actively laugh without reservation. Summer jokingly shimmied towards her and swayed her hips, getting lost in the music. Just how much did this girl go out to rave? She looked like she belonged here! The beat got more intense by the moment with no sign of stopping. With her pride in check, Eliza began to sway steadily, getting into the music.

Summer’s eyes lit up. “Aye!”

“Two songs and then we’re out of here.”

“Works for me! Show me what ya got!” Summer turned up the heat by dragging Eliza deeper into the chaos. She might not be as persuasive as Nick, but Eliza quickly found out Summer was definitely more pushy. Forget the tournament. Eliza was beginning to think they’ll beat her at everything!

xxxxx

“This is crazy. How did I not know about this!?” Nick said, walking down the rainy sidewalk.

Veronica smirked as she held Nick’s hand, allowing rain to pass right through them. “Why would you? I barely have any reason to use my semblance; let alone in the more complex ways.”

“You don’t use it when making clothes?”

“Haha, I’m not entirely sure how it would help. Unless I wanna get out of my clothes and into something new in an instant. Not a real trick to show others. Unless…” she blushed at her lewd teasing, refusing to finish the punchline. “Never mind.”

“Okay?” He had a feeling he knew where that was going but chose not to pull that grenade pin. “Speaking of clothes, that brings up a question. Why aren’t our clothes falling off now?”

“Control. Anything I touch can phase like me. My clothes are touching me, so are you. I can keep it strictly to myself though with control and timing. I can also start it and end it on any spot on my body; which is why we aren’t falling through the street.”

“That sounds hard.”

“Little bit. Really flexing my semblance like a muscle right now. Still, I’ve done harder, like not breaking surface tension.”

Nick did a double take. Did he hear that right? “Surface tension? Like...for water?”

Veronica nodded. “Yeah that’s the one. Well I’m not actually walking on water. It’s more of me beginning to fall through the water with my semblance, and shutting it off quick enough to push me back up just above the surface. Took a lot of practice but I got it most of the time. Waves suck.”

“Don’t you burn through your aura quickly?”

“Well it’s like flicking a switch on and off. Also I’m quick about it; not to mention not fighting anything in the water. I’m bound to fuck up them.”

“Still sounds like an extremely large amount of work and multitasking. You got real talent. I’d get a headache.”

“Says the king of multitasking.” Veronica chuckled, “It’s less thinking and more of reaction; knowing how to feel the shifts to the things connecting you.”

Her explanation was interesting. Veronica had an understanding of her semblance to a complex level though she didn’t fight. And here was Nick, struggling with a candle exercise for a semblance that didn’t interact with physics or molecules. “A reaction huh? Maybe I should try that more often? It might help with-”

“Valerie.”

“What? No my-” His hand was squeezed a little before being brought up to point towards the Schnee gate. Nick’s eyes went wide. Valerie stood by it with her mother’s car, staring just as surprised. “Oh…” Nick said.

The three stood quietly, not prepared in the slightest. Valerie was the most shocked. She was prepared for an awkward conversation with Nick by the door. Not catching him outside in a suit; next to Veronica. Nora, who was in the car, wanted to take initiative but found her lips tucking themselves in.

“Oh boy. Maybe convincing Val to see him was a bad move on my part.” She thought. Ren was gonna have a field day whenever Nora got back home.

Done with the shock, Veronica finally spoke. “Umm I can give you two a minute, if you need it?” All the events that happened tonight made her feel very pleased. Veronica did not want to taint those moments and knew it would be for the best to remove herself from this before she said anything...emotional. She turned to Nick and smiled awkwardly. “I’ll see you inside?”

Nick could only blink while he thought about it. Veronica was a bit quicker to the draw though. “No, no, it’s...clearly you two are in the middle of something. I was just leaving anyways” Val said, a hint of irritation and even a bit of sarcasm crept into her voice. It might not have been that big of a deal but for some reason it made Nick tense up.

“This is only happening because of you.” He said instinctively, catching everyone off guard. “I don’t see how you can be upset about a thing you caused. I did invite you originally.”

“Don’t see how that has to do with anything.” Valerie lied, clearly offended. “You can do what you want.I only came here to-”

“It’s always your terms.” He interjected, grumbling a bit. “You tell me you want space and we’ll see each other at the tournament, but then show when you feel like talking. If I did that you’d be pissed.”

“Hey! I came here to try and smooth things over.”

“Yeah well maybe I don’t want things smoothed over right now? I...I have nothing to say to you right now. We’ll talk at the tournament.”

Valerie let out a subtle gasp. Her brows furrowed and she bit down on her lip harder than she meant to. “Forget it. If you wanna be made then be made. Tournament it is.” Valerie didn’t waste another breath, getting back into the car so it can drive off.”

Veronica was in disbelief. Did that really just happen? In now way did she think the conversation was going to be good, but she at least thought there was going to be one. She might’ve thought this best if it wasn’t for Nick visibly sulking next to her as he started walking her up to the manor. The solemn look on his face did nothing but make her feel bad. Not to mention a little guilty.

“Hey...I know this is a dumb question but are you okay? If I influenced that in any way during dinner, that wasn’t really...what I mean is...”

“I know, and don’t worry. That wasn’t me being caught up in my emotions. I just really want to think about all of this for at least a couple days. Besides, I made a deal with Eliza. I might not keep it if Valerie tries patching things up.”

“You’re plotting on her? That’s...wow. Now I know for sure that you’re pissed.”

Nick rubber the back of neck. “For once I think I’ll get greedy, act the way I want. Does that make sense?”

“Make sense? It’s my language. Fair warning, your best quality is that heart of yours.” She poked his chest. “Keep it safe, or I’ll be the one getting greedy by knocking the optimism back into ya.”

“Oh is that right? Haha, maybe try praying to me first, then I really know you must mean business!” He teases.

Veronica gave a playful shove. “Like I’d know how to start one? I think I’ll stick with the tough love approach.”

“Tough love huh?” Nick opened the front door. His eyes never left the girl as she walked in, seemingly content. Veronica eventually looked back at him and gave a head tilt.

She blinked, “What?”

“Nothing.” He chuckled. Nick was starting to think that just maybe, he understood Veronica’s choices and beliefs a little more than he used to. If he learned anything from tonight it was just how differently they saw the world around them. “Well I guess this is the end of our date. Didn’t go as planned but I’ll admit it, I really liked spending alone time with you.” He said, rubbing the back of his head.

Veronica couldn’t stop herself from letting out an anxious chuckle.“Hehehe, what’s with the sweet talk all of a sudden? Trying to butter me up?”

“No, just being honest with myself. A date should end as well as possible.” Nick stepped towards Veronica and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Eager to not let this moment linger, Nick swiftly left for Summer’s room to see if she was back. Without thinking about it tonight, Nick had left two girls red and speechless. One of them standing in the main hall with a smile growing wide; while the other watched the rain fall during a quiet ride home, frustrated and jaw clenched.

Nora took care to drive slowly. Getting home quickly would only mean Valerie would march to her room. Nora let out a sigh. “Whether it’s me or your father, one of us is gonna make you talk about this. So-”

“What’s there to talk about? I’m upset and he’s upset, because we want different things. So we’re taking a break. Simple as that.” Valerie leaned against the cold glass.

“And what is it exactly that you want?” Nora asked. She was given no answer. Not that she was expecting one. “I love you, but if you don’t know the answer yourself then how can you expect Nick to not upset you? Life is like any sport you play. Gotta know the rules if you wanna do well. Only way to figure that out is knowing yourself.”

“I know myself pretty well.” Valerie huffed.

“Really?” Nora dragged out. “So tell me, do you like Nick, romantically?”

“No.” She said instinctively.

If Val could see Nora’s face then she would’ve been upset that she was rolling her eyes, not believing her daughter. “Okay, but just so you know, taking a break is not what most friends say about another.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. She turned to her mother to see her focused on the road like she hadn’t said a word. Val went back to looking at the window. “Good to know.” Valerie controlled the urge to huff. Talking to Ren might’ve been less painful.

xxxx

Nick walked into Summer’s room to find it sisterless and a little cold. “Guess she’s not home yet.” He closed the door behind him as he went further in. Nick made sure to keep the light off but turned on the heater. A cold room was the last thing this night needed. His chill hadn’t kicked in all this time so Nick had no real reason to worry about Shiva, yet his nerves would feel better actually seeing Summer come home safely. Pulling up a chair to sit in may have been a bit much but he did it anyway. Overbearing or not, Shiva would never be a subject he’d take lightly. Not like he had in the past when he was younger, naive of the danger that thing had. He could his body ache at the thought of it. Pain fades and the body heals, but it also remembers. Not like he needed a reminder. Not when the memories rear their ugliness often in his dreams.

A scroll rang loudly, bringing Nick out of the dark thoughts. He reached in his pocket to see it was in fact Summer who was calling.He wasted no time answering. “Where are you? I thought you’d be back by now?”

“That didn’t sound like hello.” Summer grumbled. “Relax, I'm close by. I actually called to ask for a favor. You’re home right?”

“Yes?”

“Cool. Can you open my window?

Nick walked over to her window and opened it. In the distance he could spot his sister and Eliza outside the gate from the right side. “Done. What-”

“How’d you do that so fast? Were you already in my room!? You aren’t snooping are you!?” She yelled.

“Quiet before you get caught. No, I wasn’t snooping. Pretty sure whatever secrets this room holds is one that would scar me. Though I’m curious about your journal, wherever you hid this time. Perhap under your nightstand?”

“Do you really want to rummage around a young woman's nightstand?” Summer could hear her brother let out an overtop gagging noise. “Grow up.”

“Say it to my face. You better hurry before I decide to close this and watch you hit the glass like a pigeon.”

“Fine, ya baby.” Summer hung up. “Thanks for walking me home, as well as helping me stay dry.” She looked up to see the small dome of water floating over her from Eliza’s magic.

“Exactly what was the plan if I had said no or not shown up at all?”

“Glyphs aren’t just for platforming and dust ya know? Not that it matters. I knew I’d see you tonight.”

Eliza scoffed, “Tah! That confident in your predictions about your brother?”

“Well yes, but that’s not it. It’s not a secret you practice at the pier. It’s also terrible luck on your part you almost shot a captain with a bolt of lightning. One time.”

“W-What!? B-but how would-”

“Is it a Marigold thing to be attracted to my family like a magnet? That captain is my cousin. He says your aim could use work. Bye!” Summer made glyphs to trampoline over the gate and platform through the air and through her window.”

Eliza couldn’t believe it. Why was this her life!? It had to be a joke. Atlas or Mantle, you’re bound to be in Schnee territory. It would’ve been fine if she wasn’t practicing moves to fight one! Now she needed a new training spot. Who knows what they might now. “Damnit, now Nick’s offer is even more to my best interest!”

“Sup bro. How was your date?” The rock n’ roll twin kicked off her shoes and took the black wig off before falling backwards onto her bed.

“Well Valerie was at the front awhile ago.”

Summer sat up. “Okay, that’s not what I expected. Did I miss a fight? No wait, I’m pretty sure I’d hear Veronica scream bloody murder because there’s no way her dress would stay flaw-” her rambling was cut short when Nick suddenly sat beside her and fell on her lap. “Woah. Hey, are you still sick!?”

“No, just tired. The past week has been a little...draining. To be honest I don’t think I even have the energy to shower right now.”

“Well you probably smell better than me right now so I’m not complaining.”

“How was the rave?”

“Fun. Got Eliza to dance a little. The crowd worshipped my performance.” She chuckled.

“What did you sing?”

“Nothing special. A few Linkin Park songs; an experimental original. Oscar thought it would be a good idea to take a few of my journal entries and vent it out through music.”

“Hmm, anything you’ll share to your actual fan base, or me?”

Summer looked at her ceiling to let out a composed sigh. “I don’t think I’m quite ready, or the song for that matter. It and myself are...a work in progress. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just know your fans think you can’t do wrong and there’s no world where I won’t support you. Family and all that.”

“Love you too.” Summer patted his head. “Sorry if I’ve been causing you trouble. Well, more than usual. Tomorrow is a new day.”

“That’s the spirit. Push yourself but not too hard. That’s my territory. Speaking of which, I’ve been racking my brain with ideas. You can talk to Shiva in that headspace whenever you like right?” He felt her hand stop. Nick looked up to see Summer look apprehensive.

“I can...but it’s not a thing I look to do. Plus tonight has been good. I really don’t want that to-”

“Summer, do you trust me?”

Nick’s words were calm and real. Summer didn’t know what he had in mind. It wasn’t like Nick to invite danger. Her eyes looked to the floor to the orange glow of her heater. Like usual it appeared that her brother had already taken strides for her and everyone’s sake. Just how far would he go, ever making herself feel like she’s at a stand still? Maybe tomorrow could start today. Just a little bit.

“What’s this idea of yours?” She said cautiously.

“Nothing too crazy. You’re just gonna take a page out of Veronica’s playbook.”

xxxxx

You would think a person would know what goes on in their head. Unfortunately, that’s hardly ever the case. Summer never got a full understanding of what went on upstairs in her mind. Then again that would only make sense. She was in therapy after all. Though no amount of emotional talking could explain why her headspace imagery was inconsistent at times. A void of nothingness, her own room, those were the usual shapes that took place. However, this time she found herself back at the frozen lake. Going back and triggering an episode must’ve left a lasting impression. At least her trauma brought variety. The only separation from the real place was the ice ceiling and a distinct lack of cold nipping at her skin. Her psyche though, it was definitely feeling something.

She began walking through the white hell of her own making until she found her target, Shiva. The being was skating across the lake like how Summer once did. “Shiva.” Summer called out.

The woman of ice and snow looked over, surprised. She stopped right in the middle of the lake. “Well, well, well, come to properly thank me? You’d be in a grimm’s stomach by now if it wasn’t for me. You and that idiot girl. Tell me, is she in pain from our encounter?”

“I’m not here to thank you or chitchat.” Summer bluntly stated. “This is an in and out thing.”

“I’ll take that as a no then? Pity. I wouldn’t mind seeing her cry and despair. I bet her tears are uglier than yours. Though I'll say that this look you have going on isn’t gross. Honestly it helps to see you better in this place. You’re always so pale when you’re talking to me. Afraid I might hurt you?” A smirk spread across her face. “Oh I do hate you so.”

“Feeling is mutual. I came here to tell you that from this point on things are gonna change.”

“Pfft, heard that before. You’re all talk.”

“Am I?” Summer reached her hand out. Right before her eyes, the shape of a shovel formed. Hiding her surprise, she focused on Shiva’s own shock. “My mind, my rules. If I can subconsciously make this hell then I can shape it to an extent. Summer tossed the shovel at Shiva for her to catch. “Keep that safe for me.” Summer’s body began to slowly fade from this space.

“And what exactly is this for?”

“Your grave. Feel free to dig it yourself.” Her final words before disappearing completely while witnessing a smug smirk vanish before her eyes. Right as she faded, Summer could hear one last remark.

“We’ll see who buries who.”

Summer opened her eyes to find herself back in her room. Good, she hadn’t moved an inch. “Well I’ve thoroughly pissed her off, but it actually felt good to be the one harassing her. Thank Ni- huh?” Summer failed to realize she’s been talking to herself. Nick was fast asleep already! “Unbelievable. What if I would’ve messed up?”

“Zzzzzz.”

“Quite the convincing answer.” Summer returned to rubbing his head. He felt a little warm but nothing serious. Taking breaks needed to be at the top of his list from now on. Only way that would happen is if things weren’t hectic. It was time to step up. “I’ll do right by you. I promise. Just...give me a little more time.”

Her eyes became heavy. It appears the day’s events weighed on her more than she realized. Both twins fell into slumber there for the entire night, finally getting some rest.

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Don’t Breathe | 3.0

»Genre: hitman!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was told to get rid of everyone who witnessed the conversation between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month ago, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3.0 - pt. 3.5 - pt. 4.0 - pt.4.5

A/n: it’s literally been a long a** while, but it’s here💙 ps will edit later probably

“Okay, ma’am, can you explain to me how you found out she was missing one more time? I just want to verify that the report is consistent with what you told us previously.”

“Sure,” Suzy squirmed in her seat, feeling squeamish due to the busy police station. “I went to her apartment to check on her because her upcoming article was missing and she never forgets to log in her articles. She wasn’t answering my calls or texts, I got worried. When I knocked on her door, I didn’t get an answer, but that’s when I saw that the door was unlocked. I walked inside and everything looked normal but she wasn’t there, and her necklace was on the floor,”

Her mouth goes dry the more she recalls the emptiness of your home, the sheer horror she felt when she saw your most prized possession on the ground.

“She never goes anywhere without that necklace.”

“Alright ma’am, have you seen or heard from her on any social media in the last 24 hours?”

“No, I haven’t…”

She smiled. “Okay. Our officers will do everything they can to find her, alright? So don’t worry too much, she might’ve left her phone off or something, things like that happen all the time.” The woman laughed a bit, nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t talking about a human being who could be scared for her life. 

“Alright, thank you…”

She left the station, heart heavy. And she couldn’t figure out why, but something about the woman’s words made her feel worse.

You woke up really early, around 4 or 5 in the morning, and you were trying so hard to quietly try to open the window but it was bolted shut. You tried the door, but even that was locked from the outside. After an hour or so, you gave up and went to sleep.

But you’re up now, and you’re trying to escape, again. 

You screamed at the top of your lungs but you know you weren’t heard by a soul. He had cuffed you again while you were asleep and it was extra tight, you felt like your wrists were being crushed. You were furious. You were mad at that monster, the restraints, and the stupid bed he left you on. You started to think, how will I be able to escape? What did I do wrong? Is this really the life I have to live now?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a wobbling doorknob and you freeze, watching it open slowly. It’s him of course.

“Why are you screaming?” He looks annoyed and you curl into the corner, brows furrowed. 

“Why do you think?” You spat, yanking against the cuff instinctively as you have the strongest urge to scratch him.

“Listen,” He approaches the bed and you lean into the corner as he takes a seat on the edge, “I’m being very generous. I’ve given you food, left you in very humane living conditions...Do you want to go down to the basement like an animal? Is that what you want?”

“I want you to let me go.” 

“Well, that’s not gonna happen,” He stands to his feet and stares down at you, making you feel ten times smaller than you already did. 

“We need to talk about some things. I have someone coming over, someone who wanted you dead and thinks you’re dead. So, if you want to stay alive, you need to listen. I’m going to put you in my room and you’re gonna stay there until he leaves.”

“Who- Who wants me dead?...” You stutter.

“My boss, he gave me the job. If he finds out I took a hostage in instead of selling you to him or killing you, he won’t be happy.” He takes in a breath and looks you over, your wrists are all bruised up. “Are you going to cooperate and walk to the room or do I have to drag you?”

“Take these ropes off my hands and you’ll find out.”

He shrugs. “Ok.” 

You’re taken aback when he kneels on the bed and waits for you to turn your back towards him. Cautiously, you turn your back to him and he starts to loosen your binds. When you feel that your hands are free, you turn to sit on your butt and rub your wrists. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it...” It’s only now that you realize that he’s staring at you, and you make the mistake of meeting his gaze. His eyes are surprisingly soft and you hadn’t noticed it before, they’re captivating and you force yourself to look away.

“Come on, he’ll be here soon.” With that, he walks out of the room, assuming that you’ll follow him, you don’t.

He looks at you, waiting for you to realize that you’re being unnecessarily difficult. When you see the slight move towards you, you decide to get up and follow him. He takes you down the hall and after a few turns, he walks into a large bedroom, one that’s well kept and fresh-smelling. Once you’re both inside, he closes the door.

“If you get hungry, there’s a mini-fridge in the closet,”  He points to the closet, “If he finds out you’re here, we’ll both be in trouble.” With that, he closes the door—funny how he doesn’t lock its door, assuming you won’t try to leave.

This isn’t the best idea, having the person who thinks you’re dead in the house with you. But there was no way he could say no to Minho, that’s his boss and it would look odd if he canceled. While waiting for his guest, he orders some food. He placed the order at his regular take out place and went to the kitchen to wait.

What am I doing? This is the most reckless decision he’s ever made. In an attempt to reason with himself, he blamed his change of heart on the fact that he met you—he should have never run into you. The rules are simple, don’t make contact with the target, don’t get attached, don’t watch them for too long or you will get attached. He did all of that, and now he’s finding out why those rules were made in the first place. 

He hears a knock on the door and pushes those thoughts away.

When he lets his boss inside, any thoughts he had of you vanished and he became the person his boss knows him as. Emotionless, calm. 

“I wanted to talk to you about your last job,” Minho takes a seat in his living room, in his usual seat in near the window—he always said the view was priceless and to let him know if he were ever willing to sell, “I heard from an informant at the police station that she was reported as missing, do you know anything about that,” He takes a sip of the tea Tae always gives him.

“No, I don’t,” He deadpans, taking a seat and turning the music down with a low command to the speaker, “the girl is gone.”

“They found a necklace at the scene, the woman who went to check on her, I think it was her boss or something, said she doesn’t go anywhere without it,” Minho relaxes, exhaling in thought, “it’s getting a little messy.”

“That comes with the job sometimes,” the doorbell rings and Tae is thankful for the speedy delivery, the growing tense air was beginning to suffocate him. After putting the portion he bought for you in the fridge, he brings the food to the living room.

“But she’s not a high-profile target, she’s a writer,” Yet, people are worried about your disappearance.

After a few minutes of sitting on his massive bed, you choose to disregard his instructions and crack the door to try to listen to what they were saying. Gosh, the food smelled good.

“What did you do with her?”

“You know I don’t like to tell, but she’s taken care of,” Taehyung opened up his food, “this will blow over eventually.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Not much I can do about that,” 

Minho laughs, wondering why some useless girl would be the issue they have to face with a case as sensitive as this one. “You should have sold her to me, I’d make good use of her. And teach her a lesson on minding her own business, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have had to go back to the job. She was your first female and your youngest target yet, I went through your headcount file.”

“Yeah, she was around my age,” 

“She was cute too, would’ve done well at House Lucia’s,” That dreaded place, “but I know you don’t like that place but it’s better than the other options.” Minho pulls a letter out of his suit and sits it on the coffee table.

“That’s your next job, Park’s gonna join you.”

Taehyung cringed, anyone but Park.

“Why Park?” He opens up the envelope and examines the case.

“He’s skilled with squeezing information out of people. Besides, it’s not an eliminate the target case. Go to the Gala, Park will handle the mistresses and you find the guy. Do you accept it? It’s a 75k payout.”

“Yeah, when is it?”

“Tonight,” Minho gets up, “he’ll be here tonight. Attire is formal and he’ll have your invitations. I enjoyed lunch, as always,” Tae walks him to the door and his boss goes to the backseat of the car that came for him.

“Same here,” He bids him goodbye and closes the door he breathing a sigh of relief.

“You can come out, I know you’re listening.”

Shoot.

You creep out of the hallway and stand at the banister, looking down at him. 

“I bought you some food, you can eat it in my room,” He walks to the kitchen to get it out of the fridge and when he walks upstairs, you’re already back in his room. 

You eye him as he enters the room, glancing at you when he sits the food on the end of the bed. He kneels down and suddenly he’s cuffing your ankles together, you frown, not responding fast enough to move

“Why are you-”

“I’m gonna let you stay in here while I work on some things, I don’t want you to run.” He stands to his feet and you sit on his bed, you wondered, how could he have known that you planned to run from him.

 “I’m bringing you back to the basement tonight, so enjoy this while it lasts.” 

It’s a Styrofoam plate, harmless enough. You hesitantly lift the lid to see white rice and other little sides, it looks good but you don’t want to eat it, not while he’s in here.

“How could I enjoy this? You have me chained up, how could anyone enjoy this...” You mumble. 

“Eat.” 

That’s all he says before sitting at his desk and turning on his desk top, ignoring you.

Eventually, you decided that you weren’t going to miss out on getting food. If you’re going back to the basement, there’s no telling if he’ll forget you again. 

So you eat, but you do it spitefully.

He scrolls through the hundreds of file his target database with the letter G until he finds the mans name. Gorka, Ulysses. The man is a big-time statesmen, he has his hands in a lot of underground stuff and it seems like the ex-wife did too, she’s the one who paid for job. He scoffs, the man probably has no idea she’s hiring people to end his entire empire—this is one of the interesting parts of his job, the research.

“Um,” You clear your throat and he looks back at you from writing something in his notebook, “I have to use the restroom...”

“Go ahead,” Pointing to his bathroom, he turns back and continues his writing.

You take small steps towards the his bathroom and you close the door behind you, locking it.

Even though he’s fine with the job, he’s never liked working with partners, disturbs his process a little bit. But he’s fine with being flexible, looks good on his resume.

When you finish washing your hands, you slowly open the bathroom door to see him looking through a drawer under his bed. It’s hard to see what he picked up, but you look a little harder and realize that it’s some of your clothes. You shudder, thinking of how he acquired your belongings when he took you from your house.

He looks back at you when you walk further into the room, your awkward search for somewhere to sit catching his attention.

“You’re in a better situation than you would have been,” He turns to you, hair dangling over his piercing eyes, “you’re lucky...”

You frown, unsure of where he’s going with that. How could you be lucky? Right before your big article, you get kidnapped and forced to live with your kidnapper. “Are you serious?...” You couldn’t believe what he just said. “How am I lucky?” 

No response. 

“Hey, did you hear me?” You raise your voice, standing to your feet. “This isn’t luck!”

Calmly, he eyes you.

“I want to go to the basement, put me in there.” Your request catches him off guard but he shrugs, turning back around as if you didn’t even say anything. “Fine, I’ll go myself...”

You try to walk to the door anyway, your shuffling not letting you leave as quick as you wanted to. Before you can even make it halfway, he’s closing the door with a slam and locking it. 

“Get on the bed.” His eyes lock on yours like a predator to prey—you have goosebumps.

“But I just want to go back to the basement, I won’t run.” You’re frozen where you stand, trying to determine his temperament. “Just leave me down there-”

“What did I just say?” His tone firms as he slowly approaches you.

“But- But you’re gonna put me down there anyway- Ah!” You gasp when you’re shoved back first onto the bed, holding you down by your arms as he kneels one knee between your legs. Eyes wide and heart-pounding, you whine, words not leaving your mouth.

“Do you know how lucky you are that you’re here? Had you been assigned to someone else, do you have any idea where you’d be right now,” He leans down, limiting the proximity between your faces but you turn your face to the side, trying to push your face into the comforter below you, “you’re a target, you’re not being treated like a target and you need to realize that. Stop acting out.” 

He let’s go of one of your arms in favor of turning your face to him. “Look at me.” 

“No, no-” Tears stream down your face and your nose glows red, your sinuses responding to your weeping. You use your now free arm to try to push his chest, he shakes his head at your poor attempt. 

He let’s go of your arm so he can snatch both your wrists and holds them to your abdomen with one hand. 

“You’re gonna stay in this room until I take you downstairs. If you act like this when I try to grant you some freedom, I’ll give you something to cry about.” Your breathing is shaky and you sniffle, eyes watery and wide. He wipes a tear from your eye with his knuckle and lets you go, walking back to his chair as if he didn’t just threaten your life.

Still in shock, you curl up on the bed and do the only thing you can do—you cry. He’s not phased by your fit at all, he continues to finish his work as your whimpers accompany his soft piano music on his Bluetooth speaker. 

This is really happening. 

Normally, you’d scold yourself for feeling sorry for yourself. You’d tell yourself that there are people who are suffering far more than you are—that you shouldn’t complain, you’re lucky. But you’ve never felt more unlucky, you’ve never felt more alone.

After a good two hours, he notices that your cries aren’t heard anymore and he looks at the bed, you had cried yourself to sleep. Poor thing, he thinks to himself. It’s about time for him to get ready to go, so you finally get your wish to return to the basement. He picks you up and walks you down the stairs, your out cold the whole walk. 

He hopes you’ll find it more comfortable, he made you a fluffy safe haven on the corner of the large space. While you slept, he set up the plushy floor cushion that he ordered last night so you wouldn’t have to sleep on a padding-less mat. It was pretty expensive but he didn’t mind the price, it actually complimented the basement nicely. Laying you on the cushion, he un-cuffs your ankles. Instead of the small ones, he uses a long-chained cuff attached to the steel on the wall behind the cushion and hooks it to your wrist.

He covers you up with a fluffy blanket, caressing the side of your face when you snuggle against the cover, sighing in comfort.

Admittedly, he wishes you’d look that comfortable with him one day, sigh in his arms. In time, he hopes you’ll be able to realize that everything he’s doing is to spare your life.

He slips his gloves off, tossing them in the bin outside the lavish room in the wide-open halls of the mansion. After adjusting his suit jacket, he looks down at his watch, it’s getting late. 

The party is still going on downstairs and now that the dirty work is done, he needs to find Park Jimin. A short walk past the many bedrooms and just when he thinks he should go look downstairs, he hears a giggling female. That means Jimin isn’t far. He approaches what looks like a powder room.

When he slowly opens the door he immediately turns his head, rolling his eyes, such class.

He takes out his phone and calls him, hoping that’ll get him to hurry up. With that, he takes a walk to the stairs and not long after, Jimin is fumbling out of the room, hair disheveled.

Our little secret, remember? Taehyung nearly throws up when he hears him say that to the woman who’s at least ten years older than him. He looks back at his temporary partner, watching as he zips his fly with the utmost class if that were possible.

“Hey, I got a little sidetrack, but I have what I need,” He walks beside him, a red glow on his cheeks, “you?”

“Of course.” Tae shrugs, “We should head out.”

“Already?” Jimin scoffs. “You’re no fun, Kim.” 

Shaking his head, the two of them leave the party swiftly, Jimin’s Lambo growling in the night as Taehyung sits restless, he left you too long. He wonders if Jimin can pick up on his eagerness to get home, he’s sure it’s not that detectable. These jobs were never his thing, alcohol, too many people, too many distractions. 

When Jimin drops him off but asks to come in so he can use the restroom.

“Down the hall, to your right.” Taehyung points, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it on the couch. For the life of him, he hopes you don’t start screaming, the last thing he needs is for Jimin to find out that you’re here.

It's painstakingly long few minutes before he breathes in relief, Jimin is walking down the hall, wiping his hands.

“It was a pleasure Taehyung, as always,” He leaves out of the front door with a wave.

Locking the door with the app on his phone, he waits for a few minutes. Just long enough to know Jimin had pulled out of the hallway and is halfway down the road.

Quickly, he goes to the kitchen to get you a snack and some water. He puts it on a plate and goes to the basement door, he presses his ear against the door to see if he could hear you moving around. Sniffling, he hears your sniffling and his heart drops a little bit.

He opens the door, the sound of his footsteps prompts you to wipe your face, he doesn’t get to see me cry again, that’s what you told yourself. You stare at him as he walks down the stairs, he’s wearing a dress shirt and dress pants. The dark blue silk shirt is rolled up to his elbows and a little unbuttoned, you assume he went somewhere fancy.

“Are you hungry?”

You shake your head no, not looking him the eyes.

“Well, I’ll leave it, just in case you change your mind,” He sits it on the cushion right beside you. For a moment, he stares at you for a bit longer than what most would deem comfortable.

“I bought this for you,” He’s referring to the cushion he so kindly chained you to, “hopefully you’ll sleep better.” Still refusing to give him eye contact, you bite at your lip anxiously, why won’t he just leave you alone?

He lightly touches your hand and you flinch away, a panicked glint in your eyes as you press yourself to the back of the cushion to be as far from his as possible. He backs away from you, a little confused. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” He furrows his brows, eyes landing on your wrists, still bruised from your previous attempts to get away, “You need something on those bruises, I have a salve that’ll help,” He stands from his kneeling position.

“I’ll be back,” With that, he retreats upstairs.

As soon as the door closes, you wait a few seconds but eventually, you reach for the water and take a small sip. For all you know, he could have put something in the water, but you choose not to care.

It’s not long before he’s open the door, skipping down the stairs in sweats and a t-shirt, the salve in his hands, and what looks like cloth bandage.

“You drank some water, that’s good,” He’s scarily observant. Naturally, as if he had done it a thousand times, he reaches for your arm but you don’t shy away. What he had said to you early today comes to your mind so you decide not to give him any reason to fulfill the threats. 

Sitting on the cushion beside you, he brings one of your wrists to his lap. You watch him gather some of the salves on his fingers before gently applying it to your skin. He does the same thing to the one hand he has chained and then wraps them in the soft cloth, careful not to make it to tight. When he closes up the jar, you bring your hands to yourself and you look at him, his face illuminated by the dim lights.

“I’ve never done this before,” He speaks suddenly, “I don’t know if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t...” You mutter, staring down at the metal circle on your wrist. 

“I don’t expect you to trust me, but everything I’ve done, it’s not what you think.” He turns to you, causing you to look away once again. “You’re a good person, it’s nothing you did.”

“Then let me leave,” You swallow, “I- I promise, I won’t tell anyone, just let me go home, my family will be devastated when if they find out. I heard that guy you were talking to, someone reported me as a missing person, that means someone is looking for me... ”

He sighs. “I can’t.”

“Why not? You don’t seem like a bad person. If something in you is telling you to let me go, why don’t you listen to it?” You quietly plead, hoping your desperate tone affected him in some way.

“If they find out that I let you go, if my boss finds out that you’re still alive-...I can’t let that happen, you know too much, he’ll kill you.”

“The article is destroyed, so the guy who wanted it gone has nothing to worry about, I don’t understand why I even matter...”

“You just do. You can’t bargain with me about this. If there was a way for me to let you free without anything bad happening to me or you, I’d do it, but there’s not...” He pushes his hair back, brows furrowed in what seems to be distress.

He sighs, “I’ve never been assigned someone so young, you’re so close to my age. And I probably could’ve completed the job, but when I met you, and I looked in your eyes...” His words trail off and he stands up. “I couldn’t do it.”

“I feel like I’m being punished...” You look away, hands finicky, “I don’t feel like I’m being saved or protected, do you have any idea how afraid I am of you? You’re a stranger who’s saying all the things that I don’t know anything about, and you’re keeping me locked up in a basement. What you’re doing to me, it’s wrong...”

He suddenly gets on his knees and kneels in front of you, taking your hands into his despite your efforts to pull away.

“I hope you’ll understand that this is the only way like I said...You might eventually learn to like me, but you don’t have to,” He looks up at you, his doe eyes looking incredibly sincere, very different from how you’ve been seeing him, “and I won’t make you.”

You bite your bottom lip, “I don’t want to be here...” 

Suddenly, he reaches a hand up and cups the back of your head. “it’ll be okay,” The size of his hand is now brought to your realization when his finger grazes your ear. He presses his forehead to yours and your eyes squeeze shut a the contact. When you feel your nose almost touch his, you instinctively jerk back and your hand responds on its own accord.

The sound of skin bluntly meeting skin is heard and you’re cowering back, immediately regretting your innate response. He lifts his hand to his now reddened cheek, he didn’t expect it to hurt so bad—you’re stronger than you look.

“Don’t- I just- Were you trying to kiss me?...” You stammer, a frown on your face. When you don’t fully elaborate, you settle on your own conclusion that he knows what you’re trying to say. He looks up at you finally, now standing tall above you. 

He grabs your wrist, tugging you forward. It hurts a little but you stay silent, “This is why I like you, Y/n, that fiery spirit,” He suddenly drops your hand, seeming as if he decided not to physically respond. His response leaves you speechless, it’s not what you expected, “keep it up, you’re tempting me...”

With that, he leaves the basement and flicks off the light. “Goodnight,”

After staring at the door for a good minute, you decide it’s safe enough for you to lay down. You’re not sure how to feel about him right now. But for some reason, fear and apprehension aren’t as intense as before. And you might be wrong, but he sounded like he was convicted about doing all of this to you. Maybe he was just trying to make you feel like you could trust him, it’s hard to tell. But if there’s one thing for sure, something in your gut tells you that he’s not bad, he’s not the monster that you thought he was...

“She’s missing, her supervisor called me, said I was on her old emergency contact list,” He holds his phone between his shoulder and ear, not in a million years did he think he’d be calling his ex-girlfriend's mother with information like this, “don’t worry too much, I’ll try to get in contact with her.” 

It’s been a few weeks since you two have talked, so when Suzy called him, his heart just dropped. Even after your break-up, almost a year ago, you two considered yourselves friends. The two years you shared together were great. You were thriving in your career, he finishing Med-school so he could begin his residency. Many nights were spent with you staying late at the office, or him pressing for finals—your lives just weren’t merging. That’s when you both decided you were better off as friends. But you still have platonic love for each other

“Dr. Kim, I switched shifts with Katelyn,” Sara, the new medical assistant at the clinic peeked on through the open office door, ”I’ll make sure she gets those messages,”

He nods, getting his keys so he can head out too. When he leaves, getting his car, he decides to shoot you a text, hoping you might respond.

Jin: Hey love, I know it’s been awhile, hope you’re doing okay. I got a call from your supervisor this morning, apparently I was still on your emergency contact list at work. She said she went to your house and you were’t there. She waited 24 hours and you still hadn’t shown up to work , contacted anybody. She went to the police station, reported you as missing. If you’re okay, please contact me or anyone, I’m a little worried

Taehyung lies in his bed, not bothering to slide under the sheets, his skin is warm to-touch. His cheek still stings, the feeling brings the image of your face to his mind, and he feels remorse. Never in all his years alone, did he think he’d long for someone's company, someone's gaze meeting his. This penthouse has always been a bit lonely, all this money and space, it can’t take the form of a person. A companion. 

He feels guilty. He doesn’t have the right to think of your face, your eyes, your gentle hands that can inflict such pain, your spirit, what right does he have to grow so fond of those things. He’s never kidnapped anyone, especially not someone he was supposed to have killed months ago. But he did it to you, to the one he missed, in the words of his boss. The guild’s warnings prove to have been true all along. Don’t keep a target as a hostage, don’t get attached—it’s happening. He’s starting to want to get to know you, to get you to smile for him, at least once—it’s damn selfish, he hates himself for it.

When he hears a buzz coming from the drawer of his nightstand. He sits up, confused for a moment until he opens it up, realizing he had put your phone in there. He picks up the phone and presses on the message. He reads the message, eyes narrowing at the endearing term he used. Curious, he unlocks your phones and goes through your text vigorously, searching for what he hoped wasn’t there. As he goes to your past old messages from months ago, he sees I love yous, I miss yous, dinner at 7 my place? Then the texts become less frequent, the tender tone is no more and there’s apologizing on both ends. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this guy is your ex, now he’s on the list of people who are worried about you. 

He drops your phone back in the drawer. There’s no way anyone could find you yet, he’s nervous. This is getting too close, and at this point, he shouldn’t, but he wants you closer.

[crime-bot]

! Creature Gets Lost in a Bootleg OmegaMart, More at Eleven !

A small, grey weasel of a dragon was in the dim and cool alley of a street. They were rummaging through a garbage can, making a little mess of clatters and clangs, but coming up with nothing edible. They paused to droop and lament over their misfortune. In the middle of the pause, and through the midst of discarded cans and empty bags, they caught a glimpse of yellow, clear as day. It must’ve been a banana! Or cheese! They gasped with some new vigor ignited and reached their scaly arm in to get it, but when they got hold of the thing and pulled it out it was just a plastic lemon. They grumbled and angrily threw it at the ground. It bounced away and stopped, resting near the alley’s wall opposite of them.

Their stomach growled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” Greyscale said, “I’m trying to find something! Can’t you have any pa-”

They looked up as they hollered and noticed some smoke in the sky, above the surrounding brick buildings.

“Oh, what now, a fire-?”

They had to admit, they’d be intrigued by the idea of a fire somewhere, and at least that’d take their mind off their stomach. What else could smoke mean, after all? They knew the saying: where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

They lept to a pipe that scaled the side of the alleyway and climbed it to the rooftop only to discover the smoke was coming from a particularly not-up-to-code shipping truck, but what wasn’t what caught their eye.

Behind it was a large building with the words “DELTAMART” displayed proudly over a set of clear doors, standing tall and sure in the light of day. A grocery store! That’s just what they needed!

“Actually, I don’t think we’ll have to wait for much longer,” Greyscale said.

They lept and bounded down from roof to windowsill to dumpster. Right as they hit the ground, they made a dash through the parking lot desert, behind the truck, and right right up to the doors, then abruptly stopped and clung to the wall in an attempt to stay out of the eyes of anyone from inside.

They did a double-take, looking for anyone nearby. No one was around. They poked their head around to peak through one of the glass doors of the building that towered over them, a looming mass of bricks and corporate design.

There were some people walking around inside, carrying overflowing cornucopia baskets and pushing carts full of different treats, tools, and other products, but that wasn’t what got them the most. The aisles they could see were filled to the brim with food, and a couple of visible setups of fruits and vegetables looked so delicious and tantalizing in their array of colors that they sparkled to the dragon like precious gemstones.

Greyscale drooled a little with wide eyes.

They anxiously waited until there were barely any people near the doors, and anyone that was there appeared too thoroughly occupied to notice anything sneaking in.

They whispered, “the coast is clear!”

The creature sprang from their hiding spot and scrambled ins-- wait, no, nevermind, they just bonked headfirst into the glass door.

A first-time customer in a nearby checkout aisle got startled out of her waiting stupor and looked over to the sliding doors. Nothing was there.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I hear everything,” said cashier #23,457, mid-scan of a bag of milk with one of his hands.

Understandably, that monotone answer concerned the customer, but she tried to brush it off. She just needed some milk for a recipe quick, and this was the closest store to her house.

“So-- Um,” she pressed on, “what about that thud from outside?”

“Ohh, haha, yeah I did,” he admitted, “Someone probably just walked into one of those doors again.” He handed the customer a grocery bag with her bagged milk inside and said, “Anyways, have a good day!”

Warily, she took the bag.

“You’re... not going to check on th-”

“H-H-Have a good day!” He said.

Now truly weirded out, she quickly said, “alllright thenIwill!” and walked out as fast-yet-also-not-running as she could.

It’s safe to say she’ll make the effort to not come back.

Seeing their chance, Greyscale scurried in under an exiting woman’s line of sight before the glass doors closed behind her.

At last, they made it into the glory of fluorescent lighting and vibrant food! In the midst of their wave of triumph, they continued to make the effort to stay hidden, taking cover behind some shopping carts.

The store was very nicely kept, they had to note. The white and navy blue checkered floors were spotless, and all the aisles and displays of different sorts were a combination of white, and/or blue, with some yellow, too. From where they were hidden, the whole place smelled cold and vaguely sterile, but they didn’t complain about it. They knew that was just how supermarkets were.

They took a great big breath in preparation and ran from the cover of the shopping carts, still with the effort of being undetected. As they perused in their own only slightly feral way, they dove behind grocery aisles, clambered up shelves, and hid in crates to stay out of workers’ and customers’ perceptions.

During this act of stealth and agility, they noticed an aisle with no people in it full of candy from atop a set of shelves.

“Aw, how sweet of fate!” they mused.

The creature made a B-line for it, jumping across gaps between short distance of aisles, and snagged a small bag of candy that had fallen to the checkered floor. They tore into it and began to eat a mouthful of the tart, brittle sweets inside.

Among the midst of the corporately pleasant music playing throughout the store, its jingle chimed in.

It sang, “De-De-deee de DelllltaMart, you have NO ideea what’s in STORE for YOU-u-u!”

They noticed the jingle and stopped their snacking to chuckle.

“You’re right about that,” they said, “I wonder what other good stuff this place has!”

They focused back on their bag of Candy Spiders (Now With 70% More Spiders!), just in time to notice one of the confections moving amongst its kin with its bone-pick legs.

A shocking moment of registration passed. They yelped at the realization and threw the bag away from themself as far as they could.

They sputtered, “Did-- did that--? No-”

They paused and slunk back up to the bag, warily.

The bag was motionless.

Slowly, cautiously, they batted it with their paw. They reeled it back away from the bag, as if it might jump up and bite them. Still, nothing inside moved.

They blinked a couple times and began to doubt what they thought they saw.

“Huh, h-ha, maybe this candy’s expired..” they said.

Greyscale left the bag behind to wander about some more(and put some distance between them and the Candy Spiders, but they didn’t want to fully admit that), and checked the rest of the products out.

They trotted through the deli area, passing by a stiff employee who was still in the process of regaining energy from his charging deck, fixated on the selection of meats. They even tested grabbing a slice of ham, and he didn’t notice one bit!

Once they were done with that, they visited another place that no one was in at the time. It didn’t have anything meant to be edible, but it sure was beautiful. Countless flowers were displayed in rainbows of colors, and the air was chilly to keep them all preserved for longer. Greyscale stayed there, smelling the roses both figuratively and semi-literally, until they had enough of that. They walked out of the section and past a sign that read, ‘HYBRID FLOWERS’. One of the tulips opened its eye.

After that snack and slice of ham they had, Greyscale was undoubtedly more content with their level of hunger, but they wanted to try to make the most of this place. After all, when they’re amongst a bounty of food, it’s good to get as much as they can before they go. They put their two front paws up on the ledge of a refrigerated bin full of organized fruit and poked their snout in, looking to choose which might be tastiest. Should they have a pear, or maybe an apple? Oh, but the peaches looked good, too!

Out from under the side of a display pyramid of apples behind them, a glitching, writhing tentacle rose to inspect its produce.

Ah, yes, every apple was shiny and in order... It had the pigeon grease to thank for that. It was about to retreat back under the apples, but something caught its attention. What it noticed was grey, and.. It wasn’t shaped like a customer either. It was rummaging around in a nearby refrigerator bin full of fruit strictly for customers.

Greyscale felt a couple of taps on their back and jumped, then turned to face-

“aAh-!!”

Nope! Nope, nope nope! They scrambled into and out of the freezing bin of fruit and away from the shifting, glitching-- thing in front of them. It lunged, and they turned and ran only to skid to a halt before smacking into a glass display case of ears.

Oh nonono, they shook the shock from that off and sprinted left into an aisle, only to see one of the store workers pulling can after can out of his mouth to put on the shelves.

They quickly turned again to climb up a shelf from the opposite side of the aisle as fast as they could. They really, really, really shouldn’t be here-

They tried to escape, find a way out, but the more and more they ran and jumped and turned, shifting from running on the ground to balancing on top of aisles, the more the grocery store grew and stretched into a labyrinth.

“NononononoIcan’tbetrappedthere’sgottabeaneXIT-”

They stopped briefly, shuffling and turning in place and trying to catch their breath, looking for anything that could possibly function as a sign to point them out. They launched themself from where they stood again only to smack into a pair of legs they hadn’t noticed.

The owner of those legs, a tall, nicely dressed woman, looked down at whatever had bumped into her.

Greyscale screamed and ran as soon as they realized they got noticed yet again.

“Huh…” she said, “one of the fish they’re selling must’ve got out again.”

She shrugged and continued to read the label of some canned wood she grabbed from a shelf of assorted canned inedibles.

Still thoroughly spooked, Greyscale bolted through the open door of a storage room to hide, but it only led to an expansive area of ventilation pipe trees and tubes protruding out of the ground and sky and distant walls in a variety of angles, all painted in a mess of glowing neon patterns.

The little dragon darted about the dark and dizzying manufactured forest, too worried about getting caught by any foe to realize the nature of the location surrounding them until they finally looked back. They began to slow down to a trot when they didn’t see anyone.

“There’s…” they huffed, “no one.. there…?”

Upon that realization, they slowed down even more, but that wasn’t enough to keep them from losing their footing on a pipe nestled into the glittering ground.

“HuhuUuAH-!”

Before they had a chance to save themself, they were swallowed into further oblivion and shot down the pipework with a series of clunks and shouts, thumping, denting into each abrupt turn going deeper, deeper, faster, faster until they were finally spat out to the end.

Greyscale was flung from the mouth, still held at the whim of momentum, and tumbled to a stop, toppled over themself. The result of that disorienting ride was a dizzy, discombobulated dragon, complete with stars going around their head as it bobbed about, trying to get their bearings despite their eyes having trouble focusing on anything for the time being.

They knew it was bright, or-- maybe it was dark? They couldn’t tell, they could still only see stars and an ever-shifting background. Their ears picked up on a further dizzying soundscape of moving, shifting, falling, corporate music, but the more they strained to focus on and determine a sound the more and more difficult it felt to tell any sound apart from another. It was a surrounding, pattering swarm of noise, and as their vision cleared and they tried to stumble up, they only fell back down onto the soft, squishy.. mahogany(?) surface they had been spat onto by the pipe.

Wearily, they picked their head back up and finally witnessed the shifting, unending world surrounding them. Cans floated through the air, worlds of their own, great candy spiders spun threads and webs of sugar on even more pipes that ripped out of the ground, checker patterns slid across surfaces, and everything seemed to pulse with an underlying life.

They were then aware, horrified, of the unavoidable fact that they were now utterly, hopelessly lost.

Amidst the cacophony of sights and patterning and a ground they couldn’t get a hold of, Greyscale thought they heard a familiar yet muffled jingle, far away in the distance yet echoed everywhere throughout these caverns.

“De-De-deee de DelllltaMart, you have NO ideea what’s in STORE for YOU-u-u!”

Their heart sank.

“Oh no-”

[randomwordprompts]

If It's Magic | Chapter 11

Summary: Let's meet some new characters!

Taglist: @wakandan-flowerz @bakarilennox @yaachtynoboat711 @wakandas-vibranium @brwnsugababe @storibambino @thadelightfulone @reaperdeldrunk

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing regularly, so feedback is always great.

The sounds of a big band playing old standards was the background music to the idle chatter that floated around the Manhattan ballroom. With various doctors, lawyers, and city officials scattered throughout, one might think that the Lector children stood out like a sore thumb. But, thanks to Hannibal's published studies being known globally they didn't get a second thought for being there in his place. All of that aside, the siblings were on a mission. Francois met up with their information source on the inside, who took them to meet the mark in question.

"Dr. Black, there are some people that would like to meet you."

Pausing the conversation with his wife, he turned to face the group with a smile that was so practiced it was believable if you didn't know any better. Jacob Black was a handsome man that had clearly aged well, his salt and pepper hair styled to perfection.

Dr., this is Francois, Jonathan, and Amira Lector. They’re here on the behalf of their father, Dr. Hannibal Lector?”

“Ah yes, Dr. Lector! I’ve read many of his studies and am a bit of a fan of his work. It’s nice to meet you three. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves?”

Francois spoke to the doctor of how happy they were to be attending in their father’s stead and the usual spiel of small talk that came about at events such as these. As everyone was talking and getting to know each other a bit more they were joined by another person. A young man who looked to be about the same age as Jonathan, slim and blonde with Jacob’s jawline and Mrs. Black’s eyes approached. He smiled at the small group before speaking.

“Hello mother, father. Who are your new friends?”

Before Jacob could introduce them Amira spoke up, her hand extended towards him with a warm smile.

“I’m Amira Lector and these are my siblings, Francois and Jonathan. We’re here on behalf of our father, Dr. Hannibal Lector. You must be Joseph, your parents were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he replied as he took her hand and kissed the back of it.

She smirked coyly before going, “Anything bad you can prove wrong...or right.”

Jacob and his wife exchanged a knowing look behind their son’s back, recognizing the blatant flirting he was doing. Before Joseph could go any further Jacob decided to speak once more.

“Son, this is Amira’s first time here. Why don’t you show her around?”

“I’d be more than happy to if that’s what the lady would like.”

Amira stepped closer with their hands still connected.

“The lady would love to. Let’s start with a dance?”

Joseph’s brows rose at her forwardness but happily led her to the dance floor as the band began to play Frank Sinatra’s “Witchcraft”. He pulled her into his arms with ease and a smile that has probably charmed the panties off many of the daughters in that very room, but Amira found herself amused at how open his aura was. She knew he’d be easy to get info from once she got him to drop his “just a nice rich boy” act. With that in mind, she decided to take the direct approach.

“So, I think we’re far enough for your parents not to hear us. I go to the New School and heard there was this guy selling goods that looks a lot like you. What’s up with that?”

Joseph almost stumbled while they danced but caught himself before smiling at her forwardness.

“What’s up with what exactly, doll face? I have friends that go there, but I need to know what kind of goods you think I’m peddling.”

Amira leaned in so that their lips almost touched, her front pressed tightly against his before whispering, “I heard you have access to the best coke, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t give for a taste.”

Joseph audibly swallowed as her scent invaded his nose in the most delicious way, that combined with the softness of her body and voice casting a bit of a spell over him. His body immediately reacted and she noticed, subtly stroking her thigh along his crotch as they danced. Before he lost his mind she pulled away a bit, an innocent smile on her red lips as they continued to dance.

“When you put it that way, I think I just might have something for you. Meet me in the coat check in about 10 minutes and I’ll have something sweet just for you, beautiful.”

As the song ended they parted ways and she returned to her siblings to catch them up. She found them chatting up Dr. Black and some of his colleagues, the thought of how proud Hannibal would be to see his children rubbing elbows with these prestigious people brought a genuine smile to her face as she approached.

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt you all,” she started before turning to her siblings, “I have some writing to finish for my psych class so I’m gonna grab a drink, freshen up a bit, and my siblings can escort me back to my dorm?”

Francois and Jonathan understood what she meant and let her know they’d have the car brought around. Amira left the group to meet up with Joseph while her siblings continued to converse for a bit longer.

Once at the door of the coat check room she gave two soft knocks to the door and was quickly greeted by the young man, who invited her in with that same charming smile.

"You know, I wouldn't have expected such a beauty to be into this stuff. But how much are you looking to buy?"

Amira shrugged, "We all have our vices, Mr. Black. But I think an eighth is enough to start. How much?"

"Only 100 for an eighth, but I've got other things as well. You ever tried heroin with the coke?"

"You mean speedballing? Heard of it, never tried it."

Joseph grinned with a devilish glint in his eyes, clearly having either tried it or seen its effects before.

"It's pretty damn good from what I've been told. Since I like you, I'll give you some heroin on top for an extra 50 just so you can try it out."

Amira hummed thoughtfully before reaching into her clutch and pulling out 200 dollars without batting an eye, Joseph holding a bag he kept stashed in the room in case he got any high-end "customers". He pulled out the pre-packaged and measured drugs, handing them to her as she handed him the money. She placed the drugs into her purse and thanked him before leaving the coat check room, looking around to make sure no one saw her. A vibration from her phone alerted her to a call from Jonathan.

“Hey, you good?”

“Yeah, I just got the candy. You brought the car around?”

“Yeah, me and Fran are in the car now. We’ll see you in a few.”

“Alright, on my way.”

With that, she slipped down the stairs towards the lobby as Joseph came out of the room behind her, heading back towards the party. Once Amira reached the lobby, she gave the doorman a smile and another to the driver that opened the door of the town car in which her siblings awaited her. As she got comfy and settled, the driver began to take them to their next destination.

“So what did you get?” Francois asked, lighting up a pipe filled with weed.

Amira pulled the drugs from her clutch and handed them to Jonathan, who inspected the packaging carefully.

“Coke and heroin? What the fuck did you do to get him to give you both?”

“He offered it for an extra 50 bucks and wanted me to try a speedball.”

Francois sat up, “What is a damn speedball?”

“It’s when you inject coke and heroin together. Very dangerous since they do the opposite shit to the body, but the high is said to be unreal.”

Jonathan shook his head after hearing her explain it, “Well, either way, he put what's gotta be his burner number on here so I think that part is for you, short stack.”

Amira pulled out her phone and put the number into it, saving it while reading some texts she missed while at the party. During this time they ended up back at the dorms as the car came to a stop. Jonathan sat back and slipped the drugs into his pocket before speaking again.

“Okay, so we’re gonna take these to the lab for some testing to see how pure it really is. We’ll get back to you in like a day or two with the results, you just see what other info you can get from Joey in the meantime.”

Amira nodded, “For sure, I’ll keep y’all updated if I learn anything. I’m sure he’ll be happy to get a call from me, given that he was imagining what was under my dress the whole night.”

“Of course he did, I made the dress.” Francois snorted.

After exchanging a bit more information and some goodnights, the three Lectors parted ways. Amira got out of the car and walked into her building, a smile spreading across her face as she spotted a familiar figure waiting for her in the lobby.

“I see you got my text,” she said.

“Of course, and looking at you now I’m so glad that I did. You look good enough to eat, Mira.”

Xavier walked up to her and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers in a slow kiss. Amira slipped her arms over his shoulders and returned the kiss eagerly, pressing herself even tighter against him. When they finally broke the kiss she giggled seeing traces of her lipstick on his lips.

“You look pretty edible yourself, but I’m kinda tired tonight. Let’s go up to my dorm and just chill tonight?”

“I’d love that, mon petit. Want me to order some food from Night Owls while you change?”

Amira grinned, “You know me too well. Make sure you order some drinks too.”

“I know you well enough to know not to order food without drinks. Now let’s go so you can change before I try to wake your fine ass up.”

She snorted out a laugh before turning to lead him towards the elevator, looking forward to spending some time with the towering demon.

[howdidyoufindthis]

A small, grey weasel of a dragon was in the dim and cool alley of a street. They were rummaging through a garbage can, making a little mess of clatters and clangs, but coming up with nothing edible. They paused to droop and lament over their misfortune. In the middle of the pause, and through the midst of discarded cans and empty bags, they caught a glimpse of yellow, clear as day. It must’ve been a banana! Or cheese! They gasped with some new vigor ignited and reached their scaly arm in to get it, but when they got hold of the thing and pulled it out it was just a plastic lemon. They grumbled and angrily threw it at the ground. It bounced away and stopped, resting near the alley’s wall opposite of them.

Their stomach growled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” Greyscale said, “I’m trying to find something! Can’t you have any pa-”

They looked up as they hollered and noticed some smoke in the sky, above the surrounding brick buildings.

“Oh, what now, a fire-?”

They had to admit, they’d be intrigued by the idea of a fire somewhere, and at least that’d take their mind off their stomach. What else could smoke mean, after all? They knew the saying: where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

They lept to a pipe that scaled the side of the alleyway and climbed it to the rooftop only to discover the smoke was coming from a particularly not-up-to-code shipping truck, but what wasn’t what caught their eye.

Behind it was a large building with the words “DELTAMART” displayed proudly over a set of clear doors, standing tall and sure in the light of day. A grocery store! That’s just what they needed!

“Actually, I don’t think we’ll have to wait for much longer,” Greyscale said.

They lept and bounded down from roof to windowsill to dumpster. Right as they hit the ground, they made a dash through the parking lot desert, behind the truck, and right right up to the doors, then abruptly stopped and clung to the wall in an attempt to stay out of the eyes of anyone from inside.

They did a double-take, looking for anyone nearby. No one was around. They poked their head around to peak through one of the glass doors of the building that towered over them, a looming mass of bricks and corporate design.

There were some people walking around inside, carrying overflowing cornucopia baskets and pushing carts full of different treats, tools, and other products, but that wasn’t what got them the most. The aisles they could see were filled to the brim with food, and a couple of visible setups of fruits and vegetables looked so delicious and tantalizing in their array of colors that they sparkled to the dragon like precious gemstones.

Greyscale drooled a little with wide eyes.

They anxiously waited until there were barely any people near the doors, and anyone that was there appeared too thoroughly occupied to notice anything sneaking in.

They whispered, “the coast is clear!”

The creature sprang from their hiding spot and scrambled ins-- wait, no, nevermind, they just bonked headfirst into the glass door.

A first-time customer in a nearby checkout aisle got startled out of her waiting stupor and looked over to the sliding doors. Nothing was there.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I hear everything,” said cashier #23,457, mid-scan of a bag of milk with one of his hands.

Understandably, that monotone answer concerned the customer, but she tried to brush it off. She just needed some milk for a recipe quick, and this was the closest store to her house.

“So-- Um,” she pressed on, “what about that thud from outside?”

“Ohh, haha, yeah I did,” he admitted, “Someone probably just walked into one of those doors again.” He handed the customer a grocery bag with her bagged milk inside and said, “Anyways, have a good day!”

Warily, she took the bag.

“You’re... not going to check on th-”

“H-H-Have a good day!” He said.

Now truly weirded out, she quickly said, “alllright thenIwill!” and walked out as fast-yet-also-not-running as she could.

It’s safe to say she’ll make the effort to not come back.

Seeing their chance, Greyscale scurried in under an exiting woman’s line of sight before the glass doors closed behind her.

At last, they made it into the glory of fluorescent lighting and vibrant food! In the midst of their wave of triumph, they continued to make the effort to stay hidden, taking cover behind some shopping carts.

The store was very nicely kept, they had to note. The white and navy blue checkered floors were spotless, and all the aisles and displays of different sorts were a combination of white, and/or blue, with some yellow, too. From where they were hidden, the whole place smelled cold and vaguely sterile, but they didn’t complain about it. They knew that was just how supermarkets were.

They took a great big breath in preparation and ran from the cover of the shopping carts, still with the effort of being undetected. As they perused in their own only slightly feral way, they dove behind grocery aisles, clambered up shelves, and hid in crates to stay out of workers’ and customers’ perceptions.

During this act of stealth and agility, they noticed an aisle with no people in it full of candy from atop a set of shelves.

“Aw, how sweet of fate!” they mused.

The creature made a B-line for it, jumping across gaps between short distance of aisles, and snagged a small bag of candy that had fallen to the checkered floor. They tore into it and began to eat a mouthful of the tart, brittle sweets inside.

Among the midst of the corporately pleasant music playing throughout the store, its jingle chimed in.

It sang, “De-De-deee de DelllltaMart, you have NO ideea what’s in STORE for YOU-u-u!”

They noticed the jingle and stopped their snacking to chuckle.

“You’re right about that,” they said, “I wonder what other good stuff this place has!”

They focused back on their bag of Candy Spiders (Now With 70% More Spiders!), just in time to notice one of the confections moving amongst its kin with its bone-pick legs.

A shocking moment of registration passed. They yelped at the realization and threw the bag away from themself as far as they could.

They sputtered, “Did-- did that--? No-”

They paused and slunk back up to the bag, warily.

The bag was motionless.

Slowly, cautiously, they batted it with their paw. They reeled it back away from the bag, as if it might jump up and bite them. Still, nothing inside moved.

They blinked a couple times and began to doubt what they thought they saw.

“Huh, h-ha, maybe this candy’s expired..” they said.

Greyscale left the bag behind to wander about some more(and put some distance between them and the Candy Spiders, but they didn’t want to fully admit that), and checked the rest of the products out.

They trotted through the deli area, passing by a stiff employee who was still in the process of regaining energy from his charging deck, fixated on the selection of meats. They even tested grabbing a slice of ham, and he didn’t notice one bit!

Once they were done with that, they visited another place that no one was in at the time. It didn’t have anything meant to be edible, but it sure was beautiful. Countless flowers were displayed in rainbows of colors, and the air was chilly to keep them all preserved for longer. Greyscale stayed there, smelling the roses both figuratively and semi-literally, until they had enough of that. They walked out of the section and past a sign that read, ‘HYBRID FLOWERS’. One of the tulips opened its eye.

After that snack and slice of ham they had, Greyscale was undoubtedly more content with their level of hunger, but they wanted to try to make the most of this place. After all, when they’re amongst a bounty of food, it’s good to get as much as they can before they go. They put their two front paws up on the ledge of a refrigerated bin full of organized fruit and poked their snout in, looking to choose which might be tastiest. Should they have a pear, or maybe an apple? Oh, but the peaches looked good, too!

Out from under the side of a display pyramid of apples behind them, a glitching, writhing tentacle rose to inspect its produce.

Ah, yes, every apple was shiny and in order... It had the pigeon grease to thank for that. It was about to retreat back under the apples, but something caught its attention. What it noticed was grey, and.. It wasn’t shaped like a customer either. It was rummaging around in a nearby refrigerator bin full of fruit strictly for customers.

Greyscale felt a couple of taps on their back and jumped, then turned to face-

“aAh-!!”

Nope! Nope, nope nope! They scrambled into and out of the freezing bin of fruit and away from the shifting, glitching-- thing in front of them. It lunged, and they turned and ran only to skid to a halt before smacking into a glass display case of ears.

Oh nonono, they shook the shock from that off and sprinted left into an aisle, only to see one of the store workers pulling can after can out of his mouth to put on the shelves.

They quickly turned again to climb up a shelf from the opposite side of the aisle as fast as they could. They really, really, really shouldn’t be here-

They tried to escape, find a way out, but the more and more they ran and jumped and turned, shifting from running on the ground to balancing on top of aisles, the more the grocery store grew and stretched into a labyrinth.

“NononononoIcan’tbetrappedthere’sgottabeaneXIT-”

They stopped briefly, shuffling and turning in place and trying to catch their breath, looking for anything that could possibly function as a sign to point them out. They launched themself from where they stood again only to smack into a pair of legs they hadn’t noticed.

The owner of those legs, a tall, nicely dressed woman, looked down at whatever had bumped into her.

Greyscale screamed and ran as soon as they realized they got noticed yet again.

“Huh…” she said, “one of the fish they’re selling must’ve got out again.”

She shrugged and continued to read the label of some canned wood she grabbed from a shelf of assorted canned inedibles.

Still thoroughly spooked, Greyscale bolted through the open door of a storage room to hide, but it only led to an expansive area of ventilation pipe trees and tubes protruding out of the ground and sky and distant walls in a variety of angles, all painted in a mess of glowing neon patterns.

The little dragon darted about the dark and dizzying manufactured forest, too worried about getting caught by any foe to realize the nature of the location surrounding them until they finally looked back. They began to slow down to a trot when they didn’t see anyone.

“There’s…” they huffed, “no one.. there…?”

Upon that realization, they slowed down even more, but that wasn’t enough to keep them from losing their footing on a pipe nestled into the glittering ground.

“HuhuUuAH-!”

Before they had a chance to save themself, they were swallowed into further oblivion and shot down the pipework with a series of clunks and shouts, thumping, denting into each abrupt turn going deeper, deeper, faster, faster until they were finally spat out to the end.

Greyscale was flung from the mouth, still held at the whim of momentum, and tumbled to a stop, toppled over themself. The result of that disorienting ride was a dizzy, discombobulated dragon, complete with stars going around their head as it bobbed about, trying to get their bearings despite their eyes having trouble focusing on anything for the time being.

They knew it was bright, or-- maybe it was dark? They couldn’t tell, they could still only see stars and an ever-shifting background. Their ears picked up on a further dizzying soundscape of moving, shifting, falling, corporate music, but the more they strained to focus on and determine a sound the more and more difficult it felt to tell any sound apart from another. It was a surrounding, pattering swarm of noise, and as their vision cleared and they tried to stumble up, they only fell back down onto the soft, squishy.. mahogany(?) surface they had been spat onto by the pipe.

Wearily, they picked their head back up and finally witnessed the shifting, unending world surrounding them. Cans floated through the air, worlds of their own, great candy spiders spun threads and webs of sugar on even more pipes that ripped out of the ground, checker patterns slid across surfaces, and everything seemed to pulse with an underlying life.

They were then aware, horrified, of the unavoidable fact that they were now utterly, hopelessly lost.

Amidst the cacophony of sights and patterning and a ground they couldn’t get a hold of, Greyscale thought they heard a familiar yet muffled jingle, far away in the distance yet echoed everywhere throughout these caverns.

“De-De-deee de DelllltaMart, you have NO ideea what’s in STORE for YOU-u-u!”

Their heart sank.

“Oh no-”

[spac3bar7end3r]

Tell Me That I'll Be Alright

Modern Wizarding World, Draco Stays in Muggle Part, Pre-relationship, Short fic, potion master Draco, auror Harry

For the prompt: “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

2873 words

read on Ao3

‘For today's weather, the wind is calm. It will be sunny throughout the day. There is a chance of a little reunion happening. The person you don’t expect to see will walk through your door. It’s your choice to decide to close the door or open it once more.’

Luna’s message is cryptic. She is always cryptic, that’s for sure. But today’s message seems specific in a vague way (how can that be?) Normally it would be something like: your lucky person is the man who wears green, or something similar to that.

He loves it though, and it sells well both for muggles and in the wizarding world. It’s Luna’s own business, sending daily cryptic texts to subscribers. He once saw a muggle who has religiously studied her texts like verses in the bible.

If Luna said, he’s going to have a reunion today then so be it. Let’s hope it is not someone who wants to kill him. The weather is too good for a sparring today.

Draco Malfoy put his phone back in his pocket and locks his flat’s door before checking the time on his mobile phone. The young wizard smiles to himself. He has more spare time before work than usual.

           He put his keys in his the other side of his pants’ pocket. The sound of the keys jingling echoes through the hallway. He looked up to nod at one of his old neighbour who is also going out of their resident. Draco smiles back when the other sends a smile his way like he always does.

He hums to himself while walking down the street. Maybe today is a great day to order coffee from the shop across the street. He deserves it. He has time to indulge himself in muggles’ fancy drinks (and he will!).

           Draco orders a hot latte and a plain bagel. He smiles to the barista with a familiar face. Draco sees this bloke a lot when he becomes this shop’s regular (His first time here was a bit embarrassing because he cannot pronounce macchiato. What a dumb word.) The barista smiles flirtatiously, but Draco pretends like he doesn’t see it. He takes an effort to make small talk and puts the tips in a jar then goes out with his drinks and heavenly-smelled bagel in hands.

           He unlocks the door when he reaches his office the muggle way, opening it and waves his hand, sending his scarf flying to the coat rack next to the door. The Closed sign hanging on the door flips itself and now showing Open instead. He turns on the light and the wireless before throwing his body on his chair. The smell of hot coffee and the gently sound of muggle’s music makes him feel lively for a second but then his mood shifts when Draco notices a letter on his desk, his brows furrowed at the pretentious, ugly wax seal and the department behind the symbol of the seal.

Comparing to the first time he received a letter from Hogwarts, this is like a 180 change. It is a letter from Gawain bloody Robards.

           ‘Dear Potion Master Draco Malfoy,’ written the letter, and Draco has to look up from the letter to sneer with himself for dramatic purpose.

And then he continues:

           ‘The Department of the Auror of the Ministry of Magic urgently needs your expertise on an important case since we believe your skills and knowledge will assist our works tremendously. We will send one of our officers to your office tomorrow. He will tell you all about the case.

We hope you will regard us in the same way that the Ministry has been regarding and assisting the Malfoy family. I believe it is quite a crucial time for us to support each other for the best of the wizarding world in this time and age.

Warm Regards,

Gawain Robards

Head Auror’

“Warm regards my arse.” Draco quickly looks through the content of the letter then throws the paper to the fire without care. He picks his coffee up and drinks, his mood now soiled. Since the letter was sent to him yesterday (Draco guesses it must be right after him getting out of his office. Robards is sly like that. That prat might have sent it knowing Draco wouldn’t be able to reject it in time.

Then that means ‘one of the officers’ is going to turn up here sooner or later. Draco takes a deep breath, not sure if he can school his expression well when seeing the people from the ministry. Those bastards always sneer at him because of the former Death Eater thing. Of course, Draco sneers back, but it doesn’t mean—

A sound of someone opening the door interrupts his thoughts. Draco lowers the volume of the music then looks at the visitor.

“Welcome—” Draco says to his potential customer but his voice cracks at the end. His gazes fixed on the person who just enters who looks as surprised as Draco (or maybe more).

It’s Potter.

‘The person you don’t expect to see will walk through your door.’ Luna’s message rings in his head. He stares openly at the figure standing at his door.

It’s Potter.

Of course, it’s Harry Potter. Why not?

           “Malfoy, you’re wearing a beanie.” Potter blurts out with wide eyes. Draco raises his eyebrows, touching his beanie consciously then he looks at himself from head to toe: Graphic shirt with top buttons undone, muggle jeans and Doc Marten boots. Pansy called it ‘A typical, Hipster Muggle Look.’

Seven years since the war and this is what this blunt prat decided to say to his old classmate? Draco decides to also look at Potter thoroughly. Potter is not the only one who has eyes. He looks at The Gryffindor’s dirty boots, his old jeans that have more tears than to be a fashion statement, his dark blue t-shirt and a dark jacket in his hands… The outfit screams Potter the War Hero that he’s seen before on papers (except his body that well… fitter, more muscle on his body than when he was a gangly kid — but this is not what he should scrutinise at the moment, isn’t it?)

“Yes, I’m aware, Potter. Since it is on my head and all. Your point?”

“I thought the potion master has to be like—”

“Like what? Snape? Slughorn? Potter, need I remind you that this is 2019? Do you think that a potion master has to wear a robe, putting a cauldron in the centre of their workplace and still use owls to contact each other? Please, only people at the ministry do that. Tell them to email me next time.”

“But the ministry recommended you. I thought it would be an old bloke wearing a robe, acting like a ministry agent or something.” Potter explains, “Your manner is still kinda the same, though.”

“I’d bite my own tongue before I behave like those old bastards.”

“I think the current you is quite nice. I, er, I mean, I prefer you than those wizards and witches.”

Potter stammers and Draco tries not to overthink what the other said.

He tries to channel the old Draco Malfoy from his school years, chin up and all, “Actually I thought the ministry wouldn’t really want to ask me,” He twists his lips, directing a cocky smile at Potter, “But I guess they have no choice. I am an exceptional potion master, and they can’t get rid of my pretty face even if they want to.”

Potter has a small smile at the corner of his lips “I guess that’s true.”

Draco doesn’t know which part that Potter agreed with him. Potter is playing with the hem of his shirt awkwardly and just stands at the door. Draco coughs, waving the auror to his desk.

           “Nice to reacquaint, Potter.” Draco looks directly into the green eyes. The ones that he’s never thought he would be able to have a chance to stare at again. “Put your jacket on the rack and come sit here.” He points to the chair at the other side of his desk before getting up and brewing tea for his old rival.

* * *

‘It’s your choice to decide to close the door or open it once more.’

           Draco’s mind dwells on Luna’s words. What does that even mean? If her random prediction is accurate, then it means Draco needs to do something about…this? What is this anyway? And has he ever open the door to Potter, to begin with?

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” Potter says while he lightly puts the teacup on Draco’s desk.

           “And what face do you want to see? I’ve lived around muggles for seven years, Potter. I guess I am great at feigning nonchalant to surprising shits now.” Draco thinks of all the weird muggle stuff he has encountered over the years.

           “…”

           “So are we going to talk about the ‘important case’ that Robards mentioned in the letter now?” Draco raises his eyebrow. Potter nods, swallowing before he grabs something from his pants pocket.

           “We found this in the belongings of a squib in a muggle part of London. We have to work together with the muggle police. They think it was some kind of drug, but we also think it also has some kind of magic properties.” He puts the tiny bottle on Draco’s desk.

           “Is there anybody at the ministry—”

           “It seems like some chemical that the muggle seems to know of a lot. I heard you—"

           “Doing research on muggle drugs and potion-making. Yes, I was. Did they drink this or inject themselves with it?” Draco opens the bottle and lightly smells the transparent liquid inside. They are not that different from the bottle of pure water.

           “They drank it. The symptom is a daydreaming-like behaviour, but we also have one frozen wizard who looks like he was cast with the Full Body-Bind Curse. We still have not found a permanent cure for these symptoms.”

Draco nods, opening his top drawer and grabs the notepad. He jots down something quickly as if he’s afraid of forgetting it.

           “I am well-acquainted with a muggle who’s in law enforcement. I could find some more details without unnecessary paperwork. Oh, but if you have any important details like the locations, other noticeable symptoms, forward it to me directly via email.” Draco grabs his phone and sends a text to said muggle before he forgets. He doesn’t want to contact this bloke without unnecessary because no matter how useful it is, this muggle is quite clingy, but he also wants to get rid of Potter as soon as possible.

           He looks up to find Potter staring at his fingers. Draco stops, tilting his head as if asking a silent question when Potter notices him stopping.

           “Uh, I, just, I’m not used to you using muggle stuff.” Potter coughs, blushing. “You even used emoji.” Potter nods towards Draco’s fingers, and with a small voice, he adds, “Is that an eggplant emoji? You used eggplant emoji? To that muggle?”

“Those were old texts.” Draco doesn’t know why he needs to quickly explain that to Potter (Lie. He actually knows why.) He puts down his phone and continues, “I might be able to find a cure. Maybe in two or three days. Do you want me sending the report or just—”

           “I can come here for that.” Potter interrupts.

           “Good. Because I hate having to getting in touch with the wizardry world.” Draco smiles darkly.

Potter slowly nods before looking around the office, looking for another topic to talk about.

           “Nice office.”

           “Thanks. I didn’t want the old-fashioned potion master vibe, so I tried to match it with the surrounding.” Draco nods towards the scenery outside the window.

           “How is it here? I want to come here a few times but haven’t had a chance.”

           “It’s alright. If you want some hipster muggle stuff, you’d like it here. You already have the look for it, I guess.” Draco raises his eyebrow at the auror.

Potter laughs, saying “Luna will absolutely love this place. I also notice a shop selling plants here. I’ll have to tell Neville about it.”

           Draco smiles. “I contact Longbottom from time to time. I remembered he did research on some magical plants. He’s doing business now or…?”

           “Yes, still about plants though.” Potter smiles. “I’m living in the same flat with him, and his plants.”

           “You’re living with Longbottom? In Fulham? I thought you live in House Black’s house or with Weasley—”

           “That was six years ago.” Potter interrupts.

           Draco thought he became immune to surprising shits now that he’s getting older, but it seems like he still reacts the same way when it is concerning Potter. He raises one of his eyebrows, slowly taking a peek at Potter’s left hand—the part where he tries so hard not to stare since Potter has stepped inside.

However, there is no object that he’s scared to see. No ring. No wedding ring.

           He thought Potter would have a happy ending after the war. Having a bunch of kids and living in a big house.

But it’s not like that. Potter’s eyes look sad. They seem like he saw something, even after the war. Something is hidden behind his green’s eyes that Draco doesn’t know what it is.

           “So you’re single right now?”

           “Yeah, I thought everyone knows that. The Daily Prophet and other editorials always write about my relationships like their lives depend on it. Witches Weekly also does that, putting me in a bachelor list every month or two.”

           “Congrats on getting to be on the list, Scarhead. Unfortunately, I don’t get to see your mug on the papers since I don’t read wizard papers anymore because they are shit. Well, except the Quibbler. Luna is great at her job.”

           “True.” Potter smiles lightly, “Do you subscribe to her daily prediction? I got an interesting text today.”

           “I do, and yes, it was quite interesting.”

           “Do we get the same text? How many people does she send it to? Is it randomised or something?”

           “I don’t know. What’s yours say?”

           “It says ‘don’t hesitate to go through the door.’ I don’t know what that means.”

           “‘It’s your choice to close or open the door.’ is what I got.”

Potter raises his eyebrows. He swallows slowly and says, “And you, are you seeing anyone?” Potter asks, and Merlin, Draco hopes that it is a real hope glinting in Potter’s green eyes and it’s not just Draco’s hopeless desire projecting his old feeling from his unrequited crush during Hogwarts years. (Yes, at least Draco is brave to admit that now. Plus, He’s good at Occlumency. Even if Potter’s learned Legilimency, he still wouldn’t get a glimpse. Draco is that good.)

“No…” Draco answers slowly, processing his thought.

“What about that Eggplant Emoji muggle?”

“Merlin’s sake, Potter. That was a text from months ago.” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Good.” Potter nods. “Good.”

“What were we talking about before? Right, work. Case. Potion.” Draco gets gloomy a little when his mind returns to this annoying task (but it actually got less annoying the moment he realised who he gets to work with.)

“Right. I may need more pieces of evidence for the case, and if I find something new—”

“Like I said, email me or text me.”

“Do I need to include emoji in my message?” Potter grins jokingly.

“If you want,” Draco answers with a challenging smile. Potter’s dark skin flushed a little. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but then he closes it again.

“Well, if it’s not urgent then you can tell me when you come to get a better cure for the victims in three days.”

“Alright. Cheers.”

“We can do it over lunch. So I can introduce you to the street here. I’m sure you’ll like Dalston.”

“Fantastic. I’ve never refused when it comes to food.” Potter grins. “That settles it then. See you in three days. Cheers.”

“I’ll text you the restaurant’s name.”

“Brilliant. See you.”

Potter stands up from the chair. He walks to his coat hanging by the door and puts it on. The sound of the doorbell chiming rings around the office when the auror opens the door.

Apart from that messy dark hair, Draco notices Potter still has awkward habits he did in Hogwarts, like the way he walks, or the expression he made when he’s embarrassed.

Before the door closes, Draco shouts at the top of his lungs, “It’s a date, Potter!”

Potter splutters, face blushing. However, the auror nods enthusiastically, agreeing. He waves awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with his hand then quickly leaves.

Draco Malfoy smirks. He stands up and looks at the back of the auror who’s vanishing in thin air a second later.

‘It’s your choice to decide to close the door or open it once more.’

Draco made his choice. It’s depended on Potter now whether he will enter Draco’s open door or not.

Draco hopes he will.

Spoiler Alert: Yes, Harry will definitely enter the door. No hesitation.

And it doesn’t’ have anything to do with Luna’s prediction.

[wrightiverse]

Chrysanthemums

When he was drunk and maudlin, Bill Close had a phrase he used to explain why he’d never become a star: timing is everything. If he hadn’t done a certain audition right before lunch, when people were hungry and distracted. If he’d been playing the night the agent was in the bar, instead of at home babysitting. If he’d been five minutes earlier here, two hours later there, a few seconds in either direction, he’d have the life he was actually supposed to have. Bad timing. Good timing. Didn’t quite pull off the timing. Timing is everything. Glenn buys all that as a kid, but he eventually realizes that Bill only had it half right. It’s not just the bad stuff that comes down to being in the right place at the right moment. Sometimes, everything aligns to give you much more than you deserve. (Posted this on AO3 originally but we’re all in sad Close boys hours this week anyway so I may as well bring it over here. Full version below cut has references to a car accident, pregnancy, and a certain canonical death that I’m sure you can guess. It was also written before we realized that Wrightiverse Nick was trans but fuck it, why go back and have Glenn and Morgan misgender baby Nick when I don’t have to. Nick is much younger when Morgan passes in this than in the show’s canon now but canon is optional, free your mind.) 

When he was drunk and maudlin, Bill Close had a phrase he used to explain why he’d never become a star: timing is everything. If he hadn’t done a certain audition right before lunch, when people were hungry and distracted. If he’d been playing the night the agent was in the bar, instead of at home babysitting. If he’d been five minutes earlier here, two hours later there, a few seconds in either direction, he’d have the life he was actually supposed to have. Bad timing. Good timing. Didn’t quite pull off the timing. Timing is everything. Glenn buys all that as a kid, but he eventually realizes that Bill only had it half right. It’s not just the bad stuff that comes down to being in the right place at the right moment. Sometimes, everything aligns to give you much more than you deserve. *** It’s not exactly a fairytale love story. They literally meet in a dumpster.

It’s been most of a year since he told his parents to go shove their advice and their money up their respective asses, three months since the semester ended and he lost access to the dorm room and meal plan, a week since he ran out of cash, and at least 24 hours since he ate anything. Couch-surfing is keeping a roof over his head, and his friends are generous with food and booze and weed when they have any to spare, but that only goes so far. One year of college courses under his belt, no idea how to make a resume, no work history even if he did, no permanent address. The job offers aren’t exactly flooding in.

But to hell with it, Glenn Close isn’t gonna just lay down and die. He’s already cased a bakery a few blocks away and he knows they usually throw out the stuff too stale to sell around 11 p.m. He’d hoped not to have to use that info, but whatever. Someday this will make a great anecdote for his episode of Behind The Music.

Glenn hovers across the street until he sees a silhouetted figure toss a bag into the dumpster in the alley, then casually strolls over once the figure goes back inside. The sides of the dumpster are taller and have fewer handholds than he’d pictured, but he drags over some pallets and manages to climb in. It’s half empty and the bag has landed right on top, safe from the nasty trash juices that are soaking the cuffs of his jeans.

The first thing he sees when he tears the bag open is a plain bagel, and the first bite he takes is so good that he almost passes out. He’s so busy wolfing it down that he doesn’t notice the approaching steps from outside until another bag of trash flies over the top of the dumpster and bounces off his head.  

“Watch it,” he says reflexively. Then he freezes, not even chewing as he strains to listen for movement outside. Nothing. Maybe they just tossed the bag and walked back inside. He might get away with this.

“Yo, Templeton,” a voice says from outside the dumpster. “You gonna quit pretending you’re not in there, or should I close the lid?”

Glenn considers his options for a moment, but now that he comes to think of it… “Yeah, I’m realizing I don’t have anything to stand on in here. Little help?”

That’s the first time he hears her laugh. Even knowing he was the butt of the joke, he wants to hear it again. He gets his chance seconds later, when her head pops above the wall of the dumpster.

“Would you look at that? Somebody threw away a perfectly good dumbass.” Then that laugh rings out for the second time

Even his innate panache can’t overcome being hungry, chest-high in trash bags, and covered with flour. He’s humbled, and she’s amused, and that somehow turns into a connection that surprises both of them with how deep it gets and how fast.

If Glenn meets her at any other moment than that, he blows it by trying to be cool and charming. He lucked out. It’s perfect timing.

Morgan’s too good for him on any level you can name. Too cool for him, too smart, too tough, too beautiful. A better musician than him, both with the actual music and the business side. She’s the one who teaches him how to scrounge and hustle, how to read a contract’s fine print and argue with a booking agent who doesn’t want to pay up. Sometimes it feels like every other living soul on earth is elbow-to-elbow with them, fighting for the same scraps that they are, but it’s clear that Morgan’s the one in a million who’s going to make it. And he’s along for the ride, feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch alive every single damn day.    ***

***

Seven years hearing her laugh every day. Seven years getting to be the one who makes her laugh, sometimes even on purpose.

“I think we should get married,” he says one day, and she laughs in his face.

“You still think it’s more legit if the government knows about it, huh?” But she softens, because she knows what he’s actually trying to say, because of course she does. “I get it, baby. This is the real deal. In sickness and health, for better or for worse, and so forth. I’m not signing any paperwork, but you know we throw a good party. Let’s just do the fun parts. You down?”

It’s a very good party, and afterward she calls him “my husband” and they make plans to get rings. Later, if she’s tipsy and feels like teasing him, she calls him “my first husband,” and she laughs. Then she squeezes his face in her hands and gives him a kiss to make sure he understands that she’s only joking. He always knows she’s joking. He always lets her kiss him anyway.

***

Morgan spends a few days thinking she’s got food poisoning before realizing a stowaway has outwitted their precautions. Glenn’s always counted that as very good timing by Nicholas -  if that tricky little bastard shows up any earlier than he does, there’s no way Glenn even considers becoming a parent. But once they decide to go for it, it’s more fun than they’d have ever imagined. They build a lot of castles in the air together while they’re waiting to meet Nick. Glenn says he wants enough kids for a Partridge Family style band, and Morgan agrees as long as nobody plays the tambourine.

They discuss it endlessly, but finally decide a percussionist is the first priority. The closer the due date gets, the more it seems like their new bandmate agrees. Morgan grabs Glenn’s hand and puts it on her belly so he can feel the urgent kicks. “Check out this sick drum solo.”

Nick inherits his parents’ knack for knowing how to make an entrance. He’s so fashionably late that Morgan decides they should just party without him. It’s like ditching the friend who’s taking too long to get ready, except for the part where they can’t actually leave him behind. She and Glenn hit up their favorite venue that very night. The music thumps through their bodies like a pulse. The energy of the crowd makes them forget how long they’ve been waiting. And if anybody has any concerns about seeing a ridiculously pregnant woman dancing her heart out until her hair sticks to her face with sweat, they’re smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

Fear of missing out is apparently hardwired, and Nick graciously deigns to join them a few days later. Everything changes. Three a.m. feels a lot different when you know you’ll be awake again at 4:30, and 5, and probably 7, and maybe 8 for good measure, and…

“This new guy can’t hang,” Morgan mutters. She’s standing beside the bed, Nick tucked against her shoulder, patting his back and swaying. Glenn’s sitting up in bed, trying to stay awake out of solidarity, losing the battle.

“New guy is a lightweight,” he says. “And he’s pretty nasty. That dude does not know what a toilet is for.”

“Come on, man, get it together,” Morgan says softly to the fussing figure in her arms. “We can’t take you anywhere.” Baby Nick finally burps and spits up a little onto Morgan’s shirt. A few additional angry hiccups are all he can manage before he falls asleep.

“Did you hear that?” Morgan murmurs as she lowers him into the crib. “He said he was gonna fight me. Slow your roll, new guy, you aren’t ready for this heat.”

She collapses back onto the bed next to Glenn. “I’m bluffing. He’s kicking my ass.”

“Me too,” Glenn says, “but at least we outnumber him.” ***

***

Not long after Nick’s second birthday, Morgan notices that she’s a couple of days late. It’s not a big deal, it usually doesn’t mean anything. Glenn makes a joke about the Close Family Quartet, and Morgan says she’ll grab a test when she gets groceries that weekend. But whether their lead guitarist was about to debut or still waiting in the wings, she made an amateur mistake and left things a little too late. The band broke up first. That’s show business for you.

People always want to know what happened. Glenn never gets into details. They must make up their own pictures in their head: a rain-slick curve taken too fast, a semi truck jack-knifing across the highway. It makes more sense for something like that to happen when you already know you’re in danger.

It’s the middle of the day. He’s going maybe five over the speed limit, keeping pace with traffic. He’s not high or drunk or tired or even distracted. They’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A dog runs into the road, someone swerves to miss it, someone else tries to get out of their way. Barely a fender-bender, except that their car gets just enough of a push to end up in the intersection.

Early on, he thinks a lot about how a few seconds here and there could change things.

The dog runs into the street a little later, and then the oncoming traffic isn't trying to beat a yellow light.

The dog runs into the street a little earlier, and they drive home with a scraped bumper.

But that’s Bill’s half-assed way of thinking about it, and Glenn knows better. It’s true, it could have been different. It could have been much worse.

He drives a split second slower, and the other car meets theirs with a direct hit, crumpling the back seat as well as the front with far more force than Nick’s booster seat can deflect.

He drives a split second faster, and the clipped bumper spins them into the next lane, and he never makes it to the hospital at all, and Nick doesn’t have anybody left.

Glenn knows now what his dad was talking about in those grumbling laments. It’s like trying to put together two tracks that are just slightly out of sync. Where do you snip out a piece to make things fit right again? What if you’re already balanced on that tipping point with the fewest misfortunes and the most lucky breaks? What happens if you start messing with that?

He can’t second-guess. It happened the way it happened, and he’s still here, and Nick’s still here, so he still has a job to do. He’s going to be there for Nick the whole way, along for the ride, feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch alive because he gets to be here at all. It could have gone another way. Timing is everything.

[ask-de-writer]

IDOL TIMES (1 part), a Classical Fantasy

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Classical Fantasy

IDOL TIMES

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1988 words

written 2003

copyright 2013

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity, cosplay, stories, music, plays or skits or anything else is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

“The thieves of Istar are a bunch of lowlife cowards,” declared Rumol, as he snagged a beer from a passing server’s tray. The server noticed the theft, so he tossed a copper fluket onto the tray.

“That’s the kind of talk that gets folk from Kelin beat to a pulp in Istar,” replied Durson mildly from the next bench. “We’re as brave as any thieves that you will find.” He reached over and took a swig from Rumol’s beer. “Now, suppose that you clear up that claim that you made.”

“Simplicity itself,” retorted Rumol, retrieving his beer. “Look about you. You see thieves on hard times. The whole country is in a depression. Nothing to steal that’s worth the theft, you say. Nonsense! The temple of the Chained One stands ripe for the plucking! It’s a whole orchard of treasures and you are starving! I rest my case.”

“You tell us nothing new. Where does the cowardice come from?”

“Why,” said Rumol indignantly, “if you know about a prize like that, and you don’t take it, what other reason can there be?”

“You might try prudence. We are not as stupid as you think us. The Chained One’s temple is guarded day and night by vigilant priests with pike and spear. The treasures cannot be had - bribery has been tried and failed.”

“Perhaps you have not noticed that the temple is only locked, not guarded, on the night of the full moon. The priests retreat to tightly locked quarters. There is a large round hole in the nave roof. It is the perfect time to make a small expedition, using simple skills, for great reward.”

“You are out of what passes for your mind! The Chained One is unchained on that night! Other thieves have tried what you suggest. None has returned. The Chained One is always in a different position after the full moon.”

“It will be safe,” scornfully stated Rumol. “See this?” He held up a chip of stone, smooth on one side. “It came from the Chained One̓s reverend rear, this afternoon. Common stone, very well worked, it is true, but stone nonetheless. If folk disappeared, they must have left a priest hidden inside the temple. We need only take a crossbow and pick him off through the hole in the roof.”

“None of us will help you,” replied Durson. “You still haven’t explained how the Chained One moves.”

“Preserve me from fools!” exclaimed Rumol. “The figure is probably jointed. The priests sneak back through a tunnel and rearrange it.”

“And the live pony that they leave for a sacrifice?”

“You just heard me say that they have a tunnel. They lead it out and sell it, or save it to use again.”

“Well, you have a glib answer for everything. We have lived here all of our lives. We will not risk it.”

“Then you confirm my first statement - you are cowards. I will see to the treasures myself. Don’t expect any share from me,” declared Rumol. “The local guild can do without my dues if I can’t get help.”

Rumol stood, a bit unsteadily, and strode out of the tavern. A few blocks down the street, on the way to his lodgings, he ran into some “friends”. Guild enforcers. One took his arms from behind, while the other faced him. “Heard some talk about a little rat not payin’ his dues,” he said through his Guild mask. “This may help you to reconsider.” He hauled back his arm for a mighty blow to the stomach.

Rumol erupted. He let the man who was holding his arms support him while he lashed out with both feet. As he connected, he straightened his back and smashed backwards with his head. Both men went down, taking Rumol with them. The fall broke the grip of the man holding him; he got up quickly and, leaving them on the ground, ran to his room.

He paused only long enough to gather his few possessions and go out again, without, of course, paying the landlord. “I’ll avoid the guild’s enforcers by camping in the jungle outside the city for the next few days, until the full moon,” decided Rumol.

Two days of shooing serpents out of his sleeping roll and swatting bugs made him wonder if any job was worth this.

The night of the full moon found Rumol, dressed in black, alongside the Chained One’s temple. Sunset and moonrise were nearly the same time and sun was just gone. He had to hurry. He had attended the ceremonial Unchaining only two hours ago. What he had seen had confirmed most of his plans.

Checking his equipment, he made sure that he had his small crossbow, a grapnel, rope, jimmy and a variety of bags for packing loot quietly away. Swinging the grapnel, Rumol heaved it at the top of the wall.

If there were any gods (Rumol had his doubts) they were with him. The hook caught on the coping at the first cast. He was up the rope like a serpent up a vine. Pulling the rope up after him made him reasonably safe from the city watch. The moon began to rise in a nimbus of orange glow at the horizon as he crept in a leisurely way across the roof to the large round hole. Spaced about it were plinths, each supporting a representation of a major moon phase.

Testing these for security, Rumol looped his rope about one. He tied it by wrapping the rope twice about the shank of the grapnel and letting the rope fall between the hooks. Simple, secure, and to be unfastened in an instant, if need be.

With owl’s eyes Rumol searched the temple for hidden priests. Seeing none, he let down the rope, with the bags tied to it as a decoy. Still nothing. Taking no chances, he cocked his crossbow and carried it in the crook of his left arm, as he lowered himself to the floor. The pony whikkered hopefully.

Rumol strode over to where the pony was tied, for his one minor last-minute change in plan. He stroked the pony’s nose and gave it a carrot. That attended to, he set about his work.

All of the altar-ware had been put away in stout cabinets. A few minutes’ work with his jimmy laid the cabinets open to his gaze. There, before his eyes, was the wealth that those fools were afraid to come for. So far, the job had been absurdly simple. Carefully packing each gold or silver vessel into its own smaller sack, he then put them all into a large bag. He left the candlesticks. They were brass.

His next target was the vestry where the jeweled robes, miters, censors, and other priestly gear were kept. The several services that he had attended told him which door to attack. It had only a small spring lock which broke at once under his educated assault. The cabinets where the priestly goods were kept fared no better. Soon, all were looted and their contents resided in Rumol’s bags.

As he emerged into the nave, he saw that the moonlight was partway up the idol. Its two lower eyes glittered green. Emeralds of that size would never happen, but they might be peridots or beryl. Any faceted stones that large would be worth a king’s ransom.

Never one to leave a job half done, Rumol began to climb the idol. Placing feet on huge haunch, thence to paunch, forearm and then to shoulder, he finally straddled the mighty muzzle. The Moonlight clearly showed the two lower eyes to be set in a cement that matched the stone perfectly. It was modeled to resemble eyelids. In a few moments the moonlight would reach the third eye, too. Rumol set to work on the lower right eye.

Just then, the moonlight came to the third eye, and the muzzle tilted as the great head shifted. The eyes blinked. A deep soft voice rumbled, “Please get that thing out of my eye.”

Hanging on for his life, Rumol squeeked in fright, “Let me down! I didn’t know that you were alive! I’ll just get my things and leave you in peace.”

“You do that,” the deep voice said. Great paws set him gently on the floor.

Quickly, he gathered his loot and began to climb the rope. The huge paws seized him gently but irresistibly, and separated him from the rope. “You said that you would take your things and go. Those things are mine.”

Rumol almost squeaked in fright, “Don’t eat me! Please!”

“Eat you?” the idol answered in surprise, “I would never do that! Where ever did you get that idea?”

“Everybody says that you eat a pony - and any thieves - every moon.” Rumol shook his head, “I didn’t believe them.”

“Well, the pony is my dinner, that’s true,” the idol held him closer to its eyes which were now thoroughly lively, “but I don’t often get a guest to talk to. The priests never stay anymore. They know that their spells keep me from escaping this room as long as my body is stone, which is not likely to change anytime soon.” The idol paused in thought and a devious expression came and went from its massive visage.

“You went to a great deal of trouble and danger to get these things, didn’t you?”

Enfolded in the mighty paws of the idol, Rumol contented himself with a nod of agreement.

The Idol set him down in front of the altar. It carefully emptied out all of Rumol’s booty. “I see that you have even taken the lunar divination die of silver and ivory. If you will stay and talk, I will give you a chance to win some or all of the of these things. Let us play for what you have taken. Each of us will roll in turn. The one whose phase is closest to full wins. Waxing phase is higher than waning. The blank new moon always loses. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

The game progressed swiftly. Sometimes the advantage was with Rumol, sometimes with the idol. Eventually, chance alloted all the loot to the idol. Rumol stood dejected.

He brightened when the idol proposed, “One more pass? All or nothing?”

“Certainly. You’re the best winner that I have ever known. Anyone can be a good loser. Graceful winning is the test.” Taking the die, Rumol threw a waxing gibbous moon. The idol promptly made its throw. A full moon came up. The idol took Rumol gently and said, “You lose. As you have nothing else to give, look into my third eye.” Rumol did as he was bidden; he really had no choice.

Rumol felt a great disorientation and confusion; there was the impression of something dark going up, near him. His right eye hurt. He felt hungry and felt a stiffening all over. There was an intense urge to get up on the altar. As the moonlight faded, he got stiffer and the urge to get onto the altar got stronger, until he could not resist it any longer. Gazing longingly at the pony, he got up on the altar. With the last of the moonlight, consciousness waned on the thought that he was going to be very hungry by the next full moon.

The next morning the priests were surprised at what they found. A young acolyte exclaimed, “This is terrible! The Chained One has refused the pony! Look, there he stands. I pray you, lord priest, what does it mean?”

“Use your eyes, young man,” the priest replied sonorously. “See you not the bags, the jimmy, the broken cabinets? Another fool has tried to rob us.

“Now, while we priests replace the chains, you acolytes clean up the mess. Be sure that things are put away properly and then run get a carpenter to fix these cabinets.”

-THE END-

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[queenpersephonesgarden]

something worth remembering

Wangxian Week Day 3: Mementos

The markets of Qinghe are lively in the golden light of afternoon, the air buzzing with the voices of peddlers and customers negotiating prices while children shrieked with laughter and dodged between the legs of their parents to run off with a newly acquired toy to show their friends.

Wei Wuxian wandered the streets with wide-eyed excitement, little rattle drum clutched firmly in one hand, and kept moving through the bustling crowd, determinedly not daring to look behind and risk catching the eyes of the great white shadow following in his wake.

He…. Doesn’t want to restart their last conversation where it left off, not when there’s so many interesting things to see in a town as bright as this one. It’s not the sort of place that should be sullied with questions about things that had happened well over ten years ago.

He doesn’t want to discuss something as trivial as the way that his first life ended, doesn’t want to bring out such dark memories on such a lovely day.

He doesn’t want Lan Zhan to look at him like he’s just stabbed him in the ribs when he dismisses his questions. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if he could take seeing that again.

Can be read on AO3

A colorful sign with an elegantly painted pipa decorating the top of it catches his eye, and he swerves automatically toward it as he always does when something captures his attention.

He’ll take any sort of distraction at the moment, and for once this one isn’t even wasteful!

Lan Zhan slipped in just behind him as he entered the shop beneath the sign. “Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him with a bright smile, slipping his little rattle drum into his robes before gesturing grandly at the walls bearing a multitude of different instruments. “Rejoice, Hanguang-jun! I figured it’s about time I replaced my trusty dizi with one that has properly carved holes that won’t shriek when I play it!”

A blink. Lan Zhan inclined his head in brief nod. “Not a bad idea.”

…hmm.

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you saying my playing sounds bad?!” he demanded.

No answer. Lying is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, a voice that could belong to a teenage Lan Zhan reminded him snidely.

“I’ll have you know that that performance was not an accurate showing of my prowess! Besides, it was my exceptional music skills that saved your little disciples on Dafan Mountain, you know!”

Lan Zhan hummed noncommittally.

“Jingyi insisted it was a miracle that his ears didn’t start bleeding. I cannot disagree.”

Betrayal!

Wei Wuxian sputtered in indignation, clutching his dizi close to his chest, suddenly half-afraid it would be snatched out of his hand without warning.

“Hey! This was the only instrument I could get my hands on in the middle of a burning forest! And I’d love to see how well you’d play a guqin that was rush-made after a decade of no practice! Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan serenely inspected a row of stringed instruments on the far wall, completely ignoring the offended squawking from beside him. The nerve of the man!

Turning away with an offended huff, he met the eye of the clearly amused saleswoman behind the counter and tried his most winning smile.

“Do you happen to sell dizi as well, guniang?”

The woman’s lips twitched the slightest bit at the overly-respectful form of address, but she nodded. “Are you looking for something ceremonial, gongzi? My husband takes commissions if you were looking for something specific,” she said, calmly rooting around underneath one case.

“I’m okay with something more practical. Simple bamboo is fine,” he assured her. There would be no sense in getting a complex, highly decorated dizi that would see more use on a battlefield than in a banquet hall.

The woman pulled out a few different options, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t feeling particularly picky; as long as it was lightweight and had a similar pitch to what he was used to, he didn’t mind much for how it looked.

When he made his selection, a rather familiar money pouch was set on the counter beside his choice. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to find Lan Zhan studying an erhu not far away, doing a rather good job of appearing nonchalant.

Valiantly resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the non-apology for the slight against his musical skill, Wei Wuxian paid for the dizi and tried to ignore the suppressed laughter in the saleswoman’s voice when she thanked him for the purchase.

Stepping back out into the afternoon sunlight with two distinct weights in his hand felt oddly triumphant.

“Now look at this! I have two weapons! This way, if anyone smacks the dizi out of my hands in some vain attempt to stop me from fighting, I can just pull the other one out! Can’t you just imagine the look on their faces?” Chuckling maniacally, Wei Wuxian twirled both dizis independently in each hand, a delighted grin lighting his face.

Lan Zhan did not dignify his plans with a reply, but Wei Wuxian liked to think that his lips might be tilting up the slightest bit at the edges.

They continued on for several paces as nonexistent muscle memory made twirling the instruments more difficult than it should be, before a memory decided to smack Wei Wuxian directly upside the head.

“Oh yeah! Lan Zhan! We should have gotten one for you while we were in there!”

Elegant dark brows furrowed slightly. “… A dizi?”

“What else?” Wei Wuxian spun right around and began heading back the way they’d come. “I’m sure they’ll have at least one that could meet your impeccable standards if we ask to see more of the fancier ones like the saleswoman suggested-”

“Wei Ying.”

He slowed down from his hurried pace to glance sideways. “Yeah?”

“I do not play the dizi.”

Wei Wuxian paused. “…Ah? But I saw the really nice one you had in your room- er,” he nearly stumbled, remembering that the dizi he’d found had been hidden quite well underneath the floorboards of the Jingshi, in a compartment Lan Zhan more than likely did not wish to be found. “Well, I happened to catch a glimpse of it. Somewhere.”

Lan Zhan stared.

Wei Wuxian forced himself not to acknowledge the blush slowly rising to his cheeks. “A-anyway, you’re not the kind of person to collect frivolous things like I do, so I figured you must play, right? Or maybe you collect them for the Library Pavilion, or something? The Lan family collects instruments to use in their cultivation, right?”

Lan Zhan was silent for a long moment as they started to walk slowly down the street again.

Wei Wuxian definitely did not fidget with his brand new dizi, inspecting it for the first time to check for flaws in its design just in case he needed a convenient excuse to cause a fuss in the middle of the market.

“….. It was not for the Library, no,” Lan Zhan admitted eventually, eyes scanning the crowd around them but not really seeing any of the people walking past.

Realization was a slow thing, the far away look in Lan Zhan’s eyes as they dropped to the pair of dizis in Wei Wuxian’s hands settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Some complicated knot of something painful and happy and confused twisted up inside his throat, but Wei Wuxian determinedly did not allow any tears to form, not here in the middle of a crowded street, dammit.

Swallowing hard, he didn’t leave himself any time to second guess; he plopped the poorly made dizi into Lan Zhan’s unsuspecting hands. His fingers instinctively tightened around the sudden weight, pale gold eyes falling to look at the dizi in mild surprise.

“Didn’t you just say-”

“Think of it as a present!” Wei Wuxian twirled his brand new, far shinier dizi between his fingers with only a slight delay in the movement, grinning wide. “I don’t really need two! But now instead of a random dizi, you can have a memento that belonged to me! A little something to remind you of me!”

Lan Zhan’s steady gait stuttered to a stop in the middle of the street.

Wei Wuxian walked forward a few more paces before pausing as well, glancing back again in surprise. “Lan Zhan?”

Large, calloused fingers cradled the dizi close, like it was some treasure made from the rarest, most precious jade rather than a clumsily carved affront to anyone with even the vaguest musical talent.

Lan Zhan studied it for a long moment, eyes almost painfully lost, and something in Wei Wuxian’s chest ached. His eyes slipped closed as he took one deep breath and held it for a moment, raising his head minutely.

When pale gold rose to meet silver, Wei Wuxian felt his own breath catch at the tender warmth making them shine.

“I do not require a trinket to remember Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said firmly, reaching up to softly tuck the dizi into his sleeve. “But the gift is appreciated.”

It was a long time before they continued on their way down the street, because it took a while for Wei Wuxian to remember how to breathe.

--

A/N:  Yeah so you know how in s2e1 WWX is rooting around in the Emperor's Smile stash and finds a dizi hidden in there? My heart broke, so now this exists. ~Persephone