#doesn't help that I've worked over thirty hours so far this week

[myalchod]

Me: Okay, I think I need to kill [redacted] here because of timeline things and also they can't be around for this argument because ripple effect but that feels like super rushed timeline-wise. I guess I don't have to kill them at all, either, but I don't knoooooooow. @unreliablenarratorink: I mean, you could or you could not, but also here is a logical reason why you don't have to do it yet even if you do decide to kill them. Me: OH. Fair point. And also that suggests a way to keep Saul out of the picture for this scene too, which is probably better. Me: Right. Good. I can leave that where it is for now. Me: .... apparently that means it's time to write the next scene just so it can make the whole damned situation worse! Seriously, Farah, you can stop anytime.

(Guess we'll see if I hate it when I'm more awake tomorrow? 🤣)

[dinogoofymutated]

I absolutely adore how you write Kurt,

Could you write something for Kurt being concerned for an overworked reader?

And or a reader that struggles with sleep?

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN! Reader The amount of comfort that this man gives me UGH! He's just so caring and sweet, but I worry about him :( He's been the therapist friend in basically every episode in 97' and he deserves some comfort too so I added basically the reverse version of these headcannons at the end as well! Sorry I didn't end up writing anything for sleep, I've written a fic with some sleep struggle themes here but I might end up writing some seperate headcannons for that later! TWs: Themes of burnout/exhaustion. Mentions of the Genosha attack and Remy's death/funeral, religious themes. As always, reader written while picturing Fem! But no pronouns mentioned. I'm doing my best with adding German dialect while Kurt speaks but I'm not super knowledgeable, so let me know if there's something I need to change!

Kurt makes it his absolute mission to make sure you're always taken care of. Food, emotional support, laundry, dishes, Hell, he'd give you the sun and stars if you needed them. He just cares about you so much, and he never wants you to feel like you're alone in this world.

This being said, when he feels that you're overworking yourself, he's not afraid to let you know.

When he first starts to notice it, He'll check in on you more often. He'll pull you into a hug and give you kisses and he'll only leave when you reassure him that you're perfectly fine.

If you're still overworking yourself after this, he will outright tell you that he loves you, but you need a break. You can't go on like this and he's concerned about you. He doesn't purposely give you the sad puppy eyes, but seriously, how could you think about saying no to that face?

He really likes to brush his hands through your hair when he's trying to help you relax. He'll move your head into his lap on the couch and hum you softly to sleep. He might take you to bed, but he won't wake you up unless he absolutely has to. He won't go as far as to turn off your alarms, but he just wants you to rest.

However, if you know you're overworking yourself but still refuse to let yourself stop, or take a break, he's going to be a little more "aggressive".

    Your computer screen is giving you a migraine, you feel like you want to tear your brain out of your head, and plainly? You just can’t sit still. You had been in this spot for about six hours straight. The last time you actually got up was to eat dinner, and even then you had only relaxed for what, thirty minutes? You can’t really remember.

    You sigh deeply, leaning back in your chair as you massage your temples. Working for the budding country of Genosha was certainly not for the weak. You needed to have this paperwork finished and faxed before the end of the week so that talks of Genosha entering the U.N. could continue. It was such a hefty amount, but it was necessary. Everyone else had done their part, and all you had to do was make corrections, edit, and make sure everything was in top shape. You’d been working on it for about three days straight, and with the finish line in sight, you didn’t want to stop now. 

    Oh, but your head hurts so bad, and you feel like you're starving. You look from your computer to your copy machine and the huge stack of mostly finished paperwork on your desk. You just want it to be over with, you decide it’s best if you just push through.

    “You haven’t moved from that spot since lunch,” You hear Kurt state. He comes around the side of your chair to brush some stray locks away from your forehead, and you do your best to give him a smile, although it’s obvious the expression is pained.

    “I didn’t hear you come in.” Your voice comes out a little gravelly from being silent most of the day. Kurt’s hands begin to gather your hair and caress the back of your neck lovingly. His hands feel good, grounding. You close your eyes to appreciate the feeling and miss the sight of Kurt’s frown.

    “Let’s get you to bed, Liebchen. I can tell your head hurts.” Kurt’s tone is gentle, although displeased, and it makes you feel guilty when you shake your head and pull away, leaning forward as you restack the paperwork on your desk.

    “I can’t. I’m almost done with this whole U.N. thing and the sooner it’s over, the better.” You mumble stubbornly. Kurt shakes his head at you, pulling your rolling chair away from the desk before you can get your hands on something else. You don’t even have the energy to express your shock as Kurt takes the papers out of your hands, using the table to straighten them before placing them in their proper place. He tuts at you as he does so, and continues to save your files and power down the computer despite your protests.

    “My apologies, love, but I won’t let you rot in this room for another moment. I understand how important this work is to you. Giving Genosia a voice that the world can hear is a very noble cause, and yet it is still a cause that can wait till tomorrow, Ja?” You open your mouth to attempt to protest again, but your head hurts so bad, and you are so tired. Kurt takes your hands to help you out of your chair, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls you into a gentle hug.

    “Okay. But-” You don’t finish your sentence before Kurt is tucking your face into his shoulder, sparing you the view as he Bamfs you away. When he lets you go, you’re standing in your bedroom. You’re thankful that he spared you the sights, knowing that it would have just made your head worse- but it didn’t change the fact that you hadn’t been remotely done in the office.

    “-I still need to lock up, Kurt.” You start to say, but he’s gone in a puff of smoke before you can even finish the sentence. When he makes it back a few minutes later, Kurt sends you a cheeky smile, lifting his tail to show you the keys he must’ve snagged from your pocket earlier. 

    “Did you-”

    “Lock the file cabinet? Yes. And I turned off your lamp, and closed the curtains before I locked the door.” Kurt kisses your temple as he sits you down on the bed, beginning to take your shoes off. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you taken care of.” You feel like your heart might explode with the overwhelming fondness you’re feeling right now. When he’s done with your shoes, he carefully helps you undress and change into pajamas, something he knows you struggled with when you were as exhausted as you are now. He makes sure to tuck you into bed before he himself goes to change. It doesn’t matter how much pain you felt at this point, when he crawled into bed you couldn’t stop yourself from curling up close to him, pressing tired kisses to whatever part of him you could reach. Kurt simply chuckles, pulling you into an embrace as he whispers sweet encouragements for you to sleep.

    “Kurt?”

    “Yes, Meine Liebe?”

    “ ‘Think you could Marry me?”

Now just because Kurt will do everything in his power to keep you from reaching the point of burnout, doesn't mean that he himself will stop from reaching that point.

Kurt is a genuinely good person, right to the core. He likes helping people, he likes to care for others, but he doesn't always ask for help when he needs it. It's not that he doesn't have emotional intelligence for his own feelings, he just tends to soothe himself by assisting others. Even then, to an extent, that's not healthy coping. There is only so much someone can carry alone.

After the attack on Genosha, there was a lot of work that had to be done- and Kurt, being a familiar and dependable face in the many religious communities, was needed constantly in a tumultuous time when many turned to religion.

It's been a struggle for the two of you, much of your time together being cut short in one way or another, and the longer you spent away, the more worried you became.

It all came to a head after Remy's funeral.

    Remy’s funeral was… Rough. To say the least. No one was coping very well, especially not Jubilee. You had walked out to the cars with the group after the last of the dirt had been laid, making sure to give her a tight hug. The X-men were the only real family she had ever had, and now she had lost a brother. You had let her sob for a moment, listening to her cries and the sounds of doors, opening and closing. 

    When everyone had loaded up and was ready to head out, you noticed that Kurt wasn’t there. You told everyone that you would catch up. You had a feeling you knew where he would be.

    You find Kurt in an empty church. He’d shed his outermost robes at some point, and was sitting silently on a pew. His eyes are closed and his hands folded, praying. You don’t disturb him as you sit down, simply reaching a hand out and placing it on his knee, squeezing it to let him know you were there. When he finishes, he places his hand over your own, opening his eyes as he looks down. His tears are flowing freely, and he leans into your touch when you wipe them from his cheeks.

    “I’ve been told that there is strength in a man that freely mourns, but… It’s silly. I can’t help but wish that I was stronger.” Kurt’s almost whispering as he speaks. You feel a lump form in your throat, your stinging eyes welling with tears for the countless time today. It hurts so unbelievably to see someone you love hurting so much, knowing that there is so little that you can do to make the pain go away, even if the loss is shared.

    “It’s not silly. I think that a lot of people feel the same- especially right now.” You say. You take hold of his left hand, tracing the cool metal band on his finger. You compare it to the one you wear, and find yourself thankful that the hand that bears his is still warm. You think of Rogue and Remy. The life they could’ve had together, if only they had been given more time. 

    You lean your head on Kurt’s shoulder, and he rests his head on top of your own. 

    “You don’t have to carry it alone.” You whisper eventually. Kurt says nothing, lacing his fingers between yours. “I know we haven't had a lot of time together lately, but as long as I’ve known you, you’ve carried so much on your shoulders- but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’m here for, remember?” Kurt laughs lightly at your words, squeezing your left hand before lifting it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

    “You are a gift that I’m not entirely sure I deserve, my love,” Kurt says. You scoff at him, frowning now as you look up to meet his eyes.

    “Lying is a sin, Kurt.” You say playfully. His smile is blinding, and you gasp as Kurt Wagner of all people rolls his eyes at you. 

    “Even if it was a lie, which it isn’t, as long as I have you near, Schatz, Heaven will be in reach.”

[heartthrobin]

making merry, oh my little fairy (2)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 5.3k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), hella pining, tooth-rotting fluff, destiel is canon, town being mean to reader, some shaky police jargon, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, canon-typical warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: part 2 of my little fairy series! it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks and part 1 was pretty unpopular so i've been hesitant to post it but then i realized i write for myself and not for recognition! so enjoyyyyy. remember to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: you flew around Sam's mind with your pretty little wings all night and all day, it doesn't help that you're popping up around every corner of this case. he's trying not to think about it.

part one part three part four

They'd sat in the car parked out front maybe longer than they should have. Sam noticed you peak through the curtain at the twenty minute mark, he only noticed because he could feel your curious gaze.

It disturbed him enough to allow Dean to fly down the neighbourhood road noisily at too many miles an hour.

Naturally, sleep became a stranger.

Dean was long passed out on the questionably lumpy motel bed and Sam was still at the desk. The white light off his laptop made his eyes itch.

A dryad is a tree nymph, commonly inhabiting oak trees, and generally born into the form of beautiful women. Many dryads were considered to be originally human or children of the nature Gods and it is widely believed that they take on the physical characteristics of the trees they protect.

Your eyes returned to him again, if not for the hundredth time that day. The way the greenery reflected off of them at him. The strength of your legs, how they were wide and grounding like the tree that engulfed your house. Your movements, your walk, how you floated like how the leaves shivered in the forest beyond your garden walls.

Sam had given considerable thought to his soulmate, as most people did.

He was turning thirty-one in a few months time and it had occurred to him that maybe you were on the other side of the world. Maybe you were dead. But people had warned him that he'd know if that were true. He'd feel it, like a gaping wound in his soul.

Castiel had appeared to Dean in a flash of light. In a heroic swoop of love, and Sam thought maybe that could happen to him too.

His thumb was warm where it ran over the scar down his arm.

He wondered if you thought the same.

If you dreamed of his arrival the way he'd dreamed of yours.

It was a silly thing, to dream of meeting your true love. Far too trivial in the life of someone like Sam Winchester when the fate of the world, of good versus evil and heaven versus hell was always in the palm of his hand.

But your figure was burned into his corneas like a blinding torch.

It scared him. Not an easy feat for the man who'd seen it all.

Sam had asked Dean a few years back.

Can someone live without their soulmate?

Dean had shrugged. "Sure, plenty of people do."

Sam had sunk back another sip of his beer at the time, they were somewhere in Florida.

"What if they'd already met them? Can they decide that they don't want to be with them?"

Dean chuckled at that. "I doubt that works out very often."

It was already long after Dean had met Castiel. Long after he'd survived his "my soulmate is an angel and a man what the fuck--" stage.

"What makes you say that? I'm sure some people have a strong enough willpower."

Dean had answered him by referencing some movie, one that Sam knew he loved and it took a bit of pestering for Dean to admit he knew the quote by heart.

He'd blushed nearly red and shrugged, accompanying it by another long slug of his beer.

"It's like at the end of the movie--" When Harry Met Sally, specifically, "When they're at that New Years party and Billy Crystal goes up to Meg Ryan and gives that whole speech, and he says that line."

Sam was grinning by then. "What line?"

Like he hadn't seen the movie enough times to know.

"You know, he when says ... when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Sam had long made peace with the fact that even if you did ever come around, that it would be better to leave you be. To leave you in the safety of a life different to his own.

At least he had.

In the slim hours since leaving your doorstep he'd found himself choking over the thought of never seeing you again. Of his eyes never laying again on your face that gazed so happily up into his own, like you felt his warmth in a cold winter.

He was plagued, possessed, by the thought of never knowing more.

Never knowing the way you liked your tea, how you looked first thing in the morning, or worse, how your lips would feel slow and warm against his own.

He wanted to know your favourite song, and your worst fear. He wanted to know where you came from, how you found Fernglade, Washington. What's your favourite book, do you like to read? Would you like it if he read to you instead? Maybe you would, you'd be tucked against his side in bed and he'd tell you about his favourites. His favourite movies and the way he drinks his coffee and the shampoo he used. Maybe you'd play with his hair, braiding little flowers into the ends--

Sam groaned. His face fell into his hands.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not now.

But he supposed there would never be an adequate time for your arrival.

And god, you weren't even human.

Cross species soulmates weren't impossible - improbable, sure (about as much as being hit by lightening) - but not impossible.

It was only Sam's luck, the Winchester's luck, that they'd both been struck.

Castiel was an angel, but the concept seemed to fade off Dean quickly at the time.

Dean himself had been little help on the matter during the blurry drive back to the motel. "Hey. I mean, all things considered, fairy sex must be crazy."

Sam closed the tab on Dryads: A Modern Day Delve into Greek Mythology. Another page blinked up at him.

When the sun was still setting and Dean was still seated across from him, he had managed to do some work.

It distracted him, barely, but he managed to somewhat narrow the list of potential suspects.

The filters helped. Creatures that steal children. Creatures that live in the woods.

In all the webpages and in some text from John's journal he'd found a common thread. A thinly veiled one, but a lead regardless.

Goblins are generally found living in communities in burrows of forests across Western America. They are known to be mischievous and malignant spirits which often feed on small animals or easy prey and hunt during the warmer months before hibernating in Winter.

Children are easy prey, Sam thought.

Some subspecies were believed to be able to shift into the form of naughty children and sneak into nearby villages to prey on young humans.

It was the last thing his eyes ran over before he slipped the laptop shut. He crawled to the bed, wishing more than anything that his mind would cut him a break, before sliding under the sheets: seeking respite from the crisp autumn Washington

-

"Rise and shine, Sammy."

The hangers reeled noisily against the rod where Dean had ripped open the curtains and the stark light brought Sam to gasping consciousness.

Sam pulled the pillow up over his face, grumbling into it.

He made out the sound of Dean setting a coffee mug on the side table.

"What time did you get to sleep?"

Answered by another indiscernible whine, Dean sunk into the chair at the tiny table in the room. "Fine, fine ... but did you find anything helpful? Besides fairy porn probably."

It earned him a well-aimed smack in the face with a pillow.

Dean laughed jovially, "Okay, okay."

Sam rose up into a sitting position with a moan. He ran a hand over his face, the other grappling for the already cooling coffee mug on the table.

"Goblins." He muttered around the rim.

Dean paused his own sip, face falling into incredulity.

"Did you just say "goblins"?"

Sam nodded. He didn't elaborate.

"Listen, I know it's a conversation you probably don't wanna have ... but are you sure we're ruling out your little garden fairy from this equation? I mean, it really doesn't look good for her--"

"You're right. I don't want to have this conversation."

Dean shrugged. He fiddled with the coffee mug against his hand.

"It's not her." Sam added quietly.

Nodding slowly, Dean watched his brother with tentative eyes. "Have you thought about that? What you're gonna do?"

Sam rose from the bed, stripping off his shirt. "I don't know man. I don't even think she knows."

It had been a thought that occurred to him at some point in the previous night, that you didn't know. That it was probably selfish to keep it to himself.

"Right, well anyway," Dean reached into the tupperware you'd gifted them the previous afternoon. He'd already cleared out his own and was starting on a pastry from Sam's box. "I was thinking we should go speak to the third vic's mom. Kelly Williams. We haven't spoken to them yet and maybe they can tell us more."

Sam nodded. "Sure. You got an address?"

"No, but she's working a stall at..." Dean picked up a leaflet from the table that Sam assumed he'd found on his coffee run before he was up, "The Fernglade Sunday Market. We can find her there."

"Fine."

He disappeared into the bathroom, Dean heard the shower turn on.

"And you can tell me about this goblins story on the way there!" He called after him.

The door slammed shut.

-

"So you think goblins are coming into town and stealing kids out their back yards?"

The morning was warm and the market made it more so. It was out on a farm a couple roads down from the boys' motel.

There were little set-up stalls as far as he could see over lush green grass, selling cakes and jewellery and home-made soaps. Couples strolled hand-in-hand and children chased their parent's ankles.

Sam shrugged. "I mean yeah, it makes sense. Dad mentioned about the trees, Y/n mentioned about the forest too."

Dean nodded, his eyes rolling over the scenery. "Sure, but goblins? I've never heard of that anywhere, I mean, how do you even kill it?"

"Them." Sam corrected. "They live in groups."

Dean sighed. "Well that's gonna be fun."

Somewhere down the row, a man was singing behind a set up microphone with a guitar in his lap. A small crowd had formed to watch him.

Sam's stomach had begun churning with that feeling that made his organs feel like jelly again. He shrugged against the collar of his shirt.

"Right, well, there's Kelly Williams' stall." Dean glanced again down at the pamphlet, "Rings and Things ... how creative--"

But Sam's eyes had found on another stall. One further down from Kelly Williams', a little set-up of vases and stain glass sculptures. Rather ... they found the woman standing in front of it.

Of course it was you.

Standing against the breeze in another, unsurprisingly, light green dress. It was ruffled and shimmering and glittery and short. It made Sam's airways tighten to a shut.

You seemed intent on avoiding wearing anything that draped any further than just over the curve of your ass, and Sam prayed to anyone listening that it would stay that way.

"Sammy?"

Dean's face shrunk in confusion, he followed his brother's line of sight. He began to laugh, clearly finding you, and jostled Sam with a hand on his shoulder. "Well, isn't this just your luck."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths again. Dean shoved him in the side.

"Go talk to her, I'll speak to Mrs Williams."

Jumping back into semi-consciousness, Sam shook his head, "No, no, it's fine. We'll go--"

"Stop being a baby, Sam." Dean shrugged him off. "You're gonna have to talk to her eventually. And I hope you do a better job than you did yesterday, because that was a train-wreck."

"Thanks."

But Dean's figure was already retreating.

"Asshole." Sam muttered under his breath.

Eyes found you again, they strained against the sunlight. He could make out your face from where he stood: it was twisting, falling into a creased brow that Sam didn't like the look of.

His legs began moving before he had chance to instruct them and it only took a couple paces of his long structure to find your side, heart thumping violently in his ears.

Your eyes lifted from the table, there was an elderly lady sitting in the shade of the cover and looking unimpressed.

"Sam." You smiled up at him and he swore in that second he could listen to you saying his name forever on repeat and never grow bored. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hey." He sighed, it was louder than he anticipated and he could feel his cheeks growing warmer. "W-What are you doing here?"

You stuttered, "Well, I was just looking at this cute little crocodile--"

His eyes found where your hand was motioning over the woman's table. He was unsurprised to find it littered with stained-glass sculptures of animals. Lions and fish and elephants among others.

But the woman interrupted before you could find the end of your sentence.

"I don't sell to kidnappers."

Her elderly face was curled up in disgust. Sam was taken aback by her directness.

He was more taken aback by your polite smile at her.

"That's fine. I'll be on my way." You nodded kindly, looking back up to Sam. "Wanna take a walk?"

Sam's bones had begun aching with fury in the small seconds since he'd arrived. His brow-bone was heavy set against his eyes.

He glanced over at the crocodile you'd referenced. It was about the size of a shoebox, glassy in bottle green tones and grinning a mouthful of sharp teeth up at him. He could already see it sitting happily on a spot between your books and photo frames, maybe up on the mantle above your fireplace.

Brushing softly against your elbow with his hand, a movement that sent a stone cold shiver up his whole body, he shook his head. "Just one sec--"

He turned to the woman, sticking his finger in the direction of the lifeless creature.

"I'd like to buy that crocodile please."

"Oh, Sam, you don't have to--"

But the woman was unmoved, "No. I'm not selling anything to anyone associated with her."

She stuck a shaking finger in your direction and Sam suddenly wanted to rip the stall to pieces.

"We should just go..." Your voice was small and he fought hard against pulling your frame into his side.

Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for his FBI identification: flipping it out into the daylight for the woman to see. Her eyes widened behind thinly framed spectacles.

"I said I'd like to buy that crocodile." His voice was stern, heavy laden with his trembling aggravation. "How much is it?"

The woman's face flickered between emotions, before settling on vexation. "Forty dollars." She mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forty dollars." She replied more clearly, face turning red in embarrassment.

Sam slipped away his badge and dug for his wallet in his pocket, he flipped between the notes and handed her two twenty dollar bills. The woman was quiet while she wrapped the creature, avoiding your and Sam's eyes in the process.

She handed it over with a scathing, "Get away from my stall."

"With pleasure." He turned to you, your face was a cherry red shade. "I'll take you up on that walk."

You stepped away, offering a small sheepish "thanks" to the woman scowling at your and Sam's retreating figures.

"Here." He handed you the crocodile gently, and you took it with tentative hands. "Get a lot of that?"

But you shrugged off his question, grabbing for your purse. "You really didn't need to do this, Sam. Let me just pay you--"

Sam stopped, taking your forearm into his hand - the tingle it sent up his body again didn't go amiss - and he huffed. "Please, please. Don't. It's a gift."

The sun was shining off your dress and it made your face seem lighter. "Sam, really, I can't ask you to--"

"Please?"

You paused, lashes blinking carefully up at him and god he could really kiss you right there--

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Smiling again, easing the tightness in Sam's chest, you nodded. "Fine."

You held the crocodile up to your face, "What are we gonna name him?"

"We?" Sam laughed and you laughed back at him.

"Sure, he's ours now." You tucked it under your arm again.

Ours. He was fragmentally taken away with the thought of something belonging to them, to us. A house, a couch, a dog (or a fox if that's what you wanted)--

"Anyways, where's the other one?"

Sam was brought back to the conversation.

"Oh, uh, Dean?" his eyes grazed over the stalls, pointing over to where Dean was talking with the tall Kelly Williams behind a tray of seashell necklaces. "Talking to one of the victims."

"Right, I almost forgot." You fiddled with your bag over your shoulder. "He decided whether he's killing me yet?"

His mouth tilted teasingly. "What makes you think that I've decided I'm not here to kill you?"

You shrugged, teeth flashing in a gut-wrenchingly beautiful smile. "Well, you bought me this, and ... you don't seem the type."

"The type?"

"Nah, you're too sweet on me already."

Sam's stomach did a somersault in his chest. "I--"

"Besides, you couldn't do it here. Too much blood, too many witnesses ..."

Sam's hair flicked over his shoulder where he tossed his head back to laugh. "Right. You've thought about the logistics already."

"Sure have." You nodded. "Any headway on the kids?"

"Some." He shrugged. "There's this fairy--"

"Dryad."

"--living in this petting zoo in this cottage on the outskirts of town..."

"Fine." You conceded. "I won't ask."

"No, but we have--"

"Ah, look at you two. Getting along like a house on fire."

Sam hadn't noticed his brother's approaching footsteps. Dean clapped a jolly hand over his brother's arm.

You smiled in greeting. "Good morning Dean."

He nodded. "'Morning Tinkerbell."

"Dean."

Chuckling you nodded. "Good one. Haven't heard that before."

The sun was hot on Sam's shoulders, Dean was making it hotter with his conspicuous side eye.

"What's that you got there?" He motioned over the figure under your arm.

You lifted it up proudly, "It's my crocodile. Sam got it for me. The lady wouldn't sell it to me."

"Oh, Sam got it for you, huh?" Dean smirked, relishing in the admission.

"Yep."

The glitter in your eye was making Sam's knees buckle.

"W-We should get going ..." He shifted from his one leg to the other. "Work to do ... and stuff."

"Right," you agreed, fixing the strap over your shoulder again. "I should also head home, not very welcome 'round here anyways."

Confusion glazed briefly over Dean's face but he said nothing on it.

"Yeah, stuff to do." He nodded.

You began your walk past them, finding Sam's gaze. "Thanks again, Sam. I'll see you boys around."

His eyes followed you where your crystals were clinking around your neck. "Yeah. No problem."

Barely out of your earshot, Dean turned to Sam. "A crocodile, huh?"

"Shut up."

-

It wasn't another two days before Sam saw you again.

The boys dove head first back into research, Mrs Kelly Washington hadn't much more to add beyond the fact that she heard another child's voice in the moments before her daughter's disappearance.

"I mean, there was some mention in the lore about goblins being able to turn into kids. Naughty ones at that."

Dean sighed over his bar-top lunch. He took another swig of beer.

"Okay, so what, these ... goblins are coming into town as children and grabbing the kids from their yards? Maybe they'd met somewhere before then, at school or the park?"

Sam shifted the salad around his plate, bored. "Yeah, maybe."

There was a depressingly thin amount of information in John's journal on goblins and the website lore was too broad to even begin sifting through it before another child was taken.

"Well we know that eight kids are taken each time, right?"

Nodding, Sam took an unenthusiastic bite of tomato.

"That means there's still two kids to be taken. I mean, there's only been six victims and autumn is two weeks away from ending, if the story is true that they hunt before winter."

The boy's didn't have to wait long. They were less than an hour clear of the dilapidated bar they'd stopped in for lunch when the call came over the police monitor in the car.

"Units, this is dispatch. We have a suspected 134 at 98 Calvary, requesting assistance."

Code 134. Kidnapping.

Dean found Sam's eye across the front seat before taking a screeching turn into the next street.

Cavalry road was just a few streets down and the scene was as they'd expected. Burning red and blue cop cars littered the street and Dean pulled the Impala into a space between them.

There was a scuffle of officers, in the corner of the driveway a man holding a sobbing woman to his chest. The parents.

Dean and Sam flashed their badges at the nearest deputy.

"What's the situation?"

The officer huffed, tightening his grip on either side of his belt. "We think the kid was taken, Frankie Moore. Disappeared about two hours ago, the parents only called in the last twenty minutes. They thought he'd just run off."

Dean nodded and Sam watched over the scene around him.

"Any witnesses?"

The cop shook his head, Taylor, his badge read. "None. Right out the backyard, just like the others."

"Did the parents see anything, hear anything?" Sam pressed.

"Not from what we can gather from them right now, they're pretty out of shape." Taylor motioned back to where the Mrs Moore was desperately pushing out sentencing between racking sobs. "But we've got a suspect, they're out fetching them right now."

Dean glanced over the officer, "A suspect?"

Sam's hands were starting to itch. He twisted them against his the cuffs of his sleeve.

"Yeah, neighbour saw them out in the forest about an hour ago. Called it into dispatch. They never took it seriously until this call came in."

Somewhere behind them a short siren yelped from one of the cars.

"Did they have the kid or what?" Dean's face was laden with confusion, the story twisting around his brain.

"No, but they've been taken in on suspicion. Talk of the town and such." Taylor responded and Sam's heart sunk to his knees.

There was a click over the officer's radio. "Suspect is in custody."

He pulled it closer to his mouth, "Copy that."

Sam tugged up on the end of his sleeve, revealing his wrists in the afternoon light. They were turning a pinkish red. Handcuffs.

"Dean."

Dean's back stiffened at his brother's tone, eyes finding his wrists. He sighed. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam's brain was turning muddy. "The suspect, is she a woman?"

Taylor nodded. "As far as I know, yes."

-

There was nothing else said.

Sam fled the scene as if the perpetrator himself. He flew into the passenger's seat with the force of an attacking bear.

Dean chased after him, slotting the key into the ignition: setting the car alight.

"Sam, I know what you're thinking--"

Houses flew past the car, streets and pedestrians, but Sam had no space to consider them.

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

But Dean was persistent, knuckles white around the wheel. "She's your ... your soulmate, I get that, but our leads are thin. Have you considered that she could really be doing this?"

The station came into view at the end of the road. Lights from the cars were flashing in Sam's eyes. His head spun.

"She's not a monster, Dean."

"But she is, Sam! She is! She's not a human."

Dean pushed down on the brake in front of the sheriff's station and Sam was out the car before it had fully pulled to a stop.

He threw the doors open. Officers were flocking around like seagulls over an abandoned hot dog.

Sam grabbed the arm of the nearest one, firm in his grip.

"The suspect, where is she?"

"Uh, they've just moved her to--"

The doors swung open again behind him and the rumbling of the station was overpowered by a loud low whine. It was followed by an equally distressed yelp.

Sam turned to find a row of officers, leading one after the other like ducks, each with a rattling metal cage of a different animal. Your animals.

Goose was yipping wildly in the confines of the box. A woman holding Lydia followed him. They come in procession: the rabbits, the ferrets, the ducks, the budgies.

"What the fuck!" An officer close to the door jumped out the way where Lydia hissed angrily at him from between the bars.

"No, please!"

Sam spun on his heel. His hands felt heavy with helplessness. It was your voice, echoing across the station and reverberating in his brain.

"Please, just leave them! They're not gonna hurt anyone. I haven't done anything--"

His feet chased after the sound. Sam found a long corridor near the back of the room, there were two officers tugging on either of your arms. Your eyes were bouncing wildly between each of the officers where they disappeared into the evidence room with your pets.

Your gaze found his own. "Sam!"

"Y/n." He was bounding down the corridor, long stretches of leg, but the officers were adamant in their grip.

"Sam, I promise I didn't-- it wasn't me. I swear--"

There was a loud huff and a heave and you stumbled backwards into a closed holding cell. Your hands wrapped between the bars.

"I know," Sam was breathless. "I know you didn't--"

Suddenly there was hands on his chest. "Sir, you need to get out of here."

"I need to speak with her--"

"Sir you can't do that. You need to speak to the sheriff."

Sam's chest was rumbling with a frenzied desperation. He couldn't pull his eyes off the fragments of your figure behind the bars.

The officers shoved him again. "Sir--"

He ripped himself off their grip, hair flushed back against his reddening face and he turned back down the corridor.

Dean was already at the sheriff's desk.

"--suspicious behaviour--"

"What the hell is going on?" Sam's voice rumbled across the room. "On what basis are you holding her?"

The sheriff was a small man and he looked smaller under Sam's furious stature.

"It's like I was telling your partner here, agent," He was patting a handkerchief over his balding head. "Y/n Y/l/n is being held on the basis of suspicious activity."

"What exactly is your definition of suspicious activity?"

The sheriff shrugged, "Well we got a call in of her roaming around the forest--"

Sam could feel his fists tightening at his sides, "What are people not allowed to go into the forest in this town or does that make them all kidnappers? You have no evidence--"

"Sammy, calm down." Dean's hand found Sam's chest but he shrugged him off.

"Release her. Right now."

But the sheriff shook his head. "Unfortunately, not even FBI have the power to do that. State's laws say she can be detained for 12 hours pending investigative procedures."

"Investigative procedures--?"

By then, Dean had him by the arm. "Okay, okay. Let's go cool off--"

He tugged Sam towards the door, surprising both himself and Dean by allowing him to do so successfully.

The cool dusk air rushed over his face. Sam took a deep breath.

"They have no evidence, Dean--"

"I get that, but you need to calm down. You're not helping the situation by threatening the sheriff."

An officer passed them with another cage. Three hedgehogs.

Sam ran a hand over his face. He took a deep breath.

"You don't even believe she's innocent, Dean."

There was quiet for a long moment.

Sam fell into a bench bolted against the side of the building. His hands found his face again. After a moment, Dean crouched into the spot beside him.

"Look." He sighed. "If you believe her, I believe you. Alright?"

Sam's eyes were watching his shoes. He nodded, only half believing his brother's claim.

They sat like that for nearly an hour with evening settling over Fernglade around them and the autumn crisp seeping into their suits.

After a long resounding silence, one that had stretched on past Dean's wide yawn, Dean rose to his feet.

"Sammy, we should go home. Get some headway on this goblins angle."

At that, Sam shook his head. "I'm gonna stay."

"What, until she's out?"

"Yeah."

Dean's eyes were dripping in pity and it made Sam's blood boil.

"That's--" he raised his watch into his eyeline, "She's still got another ten hours. It's only six o' clock now."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Sam--"

"Dean."

Another cold silence.

Sam pressed his hair back with a wide hand, conceding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I'm gonna stay. You head back to the motel, do some work and get some sleep. I'll be fine."

Dean considered him, but he made no further argument and Sam thought momentarily it was maybe because he knew he couldn't budge him in the same argument with Cas.

"Alright. Fine." Dean nodded, tugging his jacket closer against the cold. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sam watched his brother's retreating figure all the way until the Impala had disappeared down the next street before going to stand.

The doors swung open with a whine, the station had cooled to a quieter buzz than when he'd first burst in. The sheriff had disappeared into an office off in the corner of the room.

Finding the nearest officer, Johnson, behind a short wooden desk, Sam approached him.

Officer Johnson glanced warily up at him from the papers he'd been filling out. He'd probably been witness to his first outburst.

"Uhm," Sam cooled his voice to a deferential timber. "The animals at the back, what's gonna happen to them?"

The officer set his pen down, "Well I'm doing the paperwork on them now. They'll be released if and when she does."

"If?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, if they don't find anything they'll let her go. Only got twelve hours."

Sam shifted his weight, running his eyes over the station. Somehow it was colder inside than the bench he'd just abandoned.

"Right."

The image returned to him again of your tiny green dress, the satin sleeves that reached down over your arms - he wondered for a moment if you wore them to cover all his scars - and the shiny ends that left your legs a prize for the bite of the freezing air that nipped at him even through all his layers.

He dug his hands into his coat pocket, pulling out his badge and his wallet and his phone to slip them into his pant pockets. Then he shrugged out the jacket.

Sam held it out to the officer. "Would you mind giving this to her?"

The officer took it with tentative hands, he gave it a glance over but made no move to stand.

"There's nothing in it." Sam huffed. "It's freezing in here, and unless you want her to die of hypothermia before morning, I suggest you do what I've asked."

He was considering it, Sam could tell by how his eyes flickered over the office door behind which the sheriff was hiding, but eventually elected to stand.

"Fine."

-

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[sunnystudiesmaybe]

Working Through It (9/24/24)

School has officially been in session for over 4 weeks now! It still feels like the second week to me.

School and Work

I need to study for my first accounting exam, catch up in English, and complete this week's science homework. I'm only taking 9 units. I also work. The thing is that my lab (1 unit class) takes up three hours of my schedule technically, taking place literally during the last hours my work is open (office). I would have that day for more work I'd think, but I've made myself a schedule that doesn't involve having to go to work on Fridays so I can take a mental break and push forward.

Mental Health :,)

My mental health hasn't been great. Fortunately, I've not fallen too far behind. I'm gonna focus on doing work when I can. I've been having some short episodes (lasting a few hours). I'm in a really poor state right now still. I'm struggling to contact my care team. However, I'm still trying to push through.

Sleep and Now

Right now, as I write this, it's 4:29 AM. I woke up about thirty minutes ago because I slept very early, but I like these quiet hours. I think I'll try to stay up and have a sleep schedule like this if I can help it. I'll do my homework in the mornings after I wake up I think.

I'm also drinking this tea latte and have decided I don't like it cold lol. I've had it warmed and enjoyed it previously. It'll be perfect for the upcoming weather.

[namuneulbo]

week one hundred and thirty two

had my last class for the term on monday! since then i've just been working on the essay exam thingy. it's both fun and frustrating. it's fun until i have no idea what to say to reach the word count.

tuesday i went shopping with mom! it was a fun day and we had burgers and i got a shirt. i really tried to pay for the food and the shirt but she still wanted to pay for it. i felt bad but i'm still glad about getting a free shirt. it's so pretty but the weather's too hot for it right now so i can't wear it.

we went on a lot of walks while my mom was here. i had to miss out on a few of them to work on the essay but the few i went on were nice. my sisters boyfriend lead the way and he took us to so many hills and it was so tiring TT we saw a hot air balloon up close and that was really cool. i've barely even seen one from far away before.

on friday i somehow ended up finishing my essay stuff for the day suuuuper early. i don't know how i got such flow but it went by so quickly and i had the rest of the day for myself. guess how i spent it? doomscrolling. ah, i love 2024.

also had a wash day on wednesday but i got there a bit late so i rushed the machines and then ended up having to stop the white one midway but turns out that's not a great idea because they were SOAKING wet. like dripping. wow. innuendo. anyways... i tried putting them in the dryer but it didn't help and they were soaking still after the dryer. i think it might've never turned on because of how wet the laundry was. so i went back with the soaking laundry and scrunched out all of the water and hung it to dry but turns out taking your laundry out mid-clean and letting it poorly air dry makes it smell horrific. well, slightly. it had like a slight constant pee smell. i don't know how. i was stressed out trying to find what caused the smell and ended up sniffing every fabric in my room. i changed my duvet and pillowcase and went to bed but still smelled something so i changed sheets and boom. no smell. glad it's over.

i'm getting really pissed off on people on dating apps. WHY do you reply six hours late MINIMUM per message. i suddenly feel like a creep answering messages within 10 minutes. i've matched with this one guy who's super harveycoded and he's canadian and cool and stuff but he replies SO FUCKING SLOW.

also matched with a super hot person and we bonded over games and now they ghosted me like damn.

also looking for an actual relationship rather than casual is ROUGH. like sorry i absolutely cannot get invested with someone and not catch feelings. like why do i feel insane for still missing l? he probably doesn't even think about any of the things we did anymore. it's weird in a way having someone be your first everything and you not being their first anything.

peepeepoopoo blahblahblah get over him, girl.

sotw: e-40, the click, d-shot, b-legit and suga t - captain save a hoe

[homo-rashi]

Kinktober 2023 | Crossdressing

Original Male Character x Original Male Character

Akihiko doesn't want to let go of Yuu’s hand. Ever. He cannot believe how lucky he is. That time he randomly stopped into a convenience store instead of the cheaper market down the street during his lunch break, which was supposed to be a one time thing. Grab something quick to eat and get back to the office. But he noticed immediately when he entered, the young shop worker's eyes sticking to him like glue. 

He knew once again, he was being mistaken for a woman. Being in his thirties, being rather small and having long hair, it's embarrassing. His friends from university often take every opportunity to tease him, even going as far as calling him Aki-Chan when it's just them. So it's safe to say, it's a common occurrence, what's not a common occurrence, is a young man, realizing he is in fact, also a man, and let the same intrigued looks stay in his eyes. 

Akihiko hadn't planned to come back. The shop worker had to have been young. Too young for him. But then he told himself there were a few universities nearby…and you have to be out of highschool to work, even part time. He drew his line, If he was under 20, it was a no go. 

Then he kept going. Even after finding out the shop workers' names, Takeshi, Yuu. Even after finding out he is a nineteen years old college freshman. Somehow he convinces himself that he didn't break his one rule because the students birthday he found, is in a few weeks time. They traded Whatsapp handles. His friends teased him about robbing the cradle. He didn’t care. It's legal, they are both adults, both adults who, to Akihiko’s suspicion, were confirmed, are both in fact into men. It didn’t take long for Akihiko to shoot his shot after Yuu’s shy coming out. 

Now, on their way out to the countryside, two hours outside of Tokyo. Akihiko can finally hold this boy's hand, and he is never letting go. 

“Our stop is next. I used to come here all the time for their onsen when I was in university. Hopefully the few restaurants I liked are still open.” Akihiko certainly didn't plan on taking Yuu to Hakone for their first date, but if he wanted his date to feel comfortable, and he really, really does, He figured dinner and a movie in Tokyo could wait.

The train pulls into the older looking station. It's certainly lost its color in the years since Akihiko was a frequent visitor. The yellow paint on the curbs and the Sakura mural are barely there anymore, from over ten years of neglect. 

“I've never been to Hakone! But I've heard it's beautiful in the spring.” Yuu says, bringing Akihiko’s attention back to the present. He squeezes Yuu’s hand, it being a reminder those terrible days of his life are not his current, but the beautiful boy before him is. 

“Hakone is beautiful but you give it a run for its money.” Akihiko says, watching Yuu turn pink, like the plum blossoms threatening to bloom behind them, proof winter is on its way out. 

To Akihiko's luck, the small cafe he remembered being only a short fifteen minutes walk from the station is still there, the same older lady and her husband running it. He gets them both a seat by the window, that way they Yuu is able to take in all the new sights and people outside, while keeping them both out of the cold. 

“It's not that I particularly have a love for the english language, it's just-” Akihiko can't help but finish Yuu’s sentence, 

“Reading translated words, especially ones known as literary masterpieces, just isn't the same?” Akihiko smiles, watching Yuu blush into his cup of non-alcoholic amazake 

“My friends think it's weird I'm majoring in English, but have no plans to live abroad.” Yuu shakes his head.

“You seem like you’d have a lot of friends.” Akihiko smiles, while the last thirty minutes of talking about academics brings him nothing but joy, and a lot of nostalgia, he happily take the opportunity to change the subject

“Not really, I-” Yuu pauses. Ahikiko watches his shift uncomfortably for a moment, worried he picked a touchy subject, he picks up the menu neither of them had paid any attention to yet, besides to order drinks. 

“Have you ever had an onsen egg?” Akihiko asks, Yuu smiles and shakes his head. “Oh, you certainly must while we're here. Ill order us each one, and I remember their katsudon being really good here,”

“Oh, Actually, I’m a vegetarian- I don't eat meat.” Yuu cuts him off, and Akihiko wants to punch himself. Yuu told him that over text, when they ended up talking about why his favorite sandwich was the strawberry ones, it came up that it was because it was one of the only options without meat readily available. “Oh! But there is a tofu rice bowl that I can have!” 

With their orders squared off, Akihiko flags over  a worker ordering for them both. 

“Oh, and could I get another Amazake for my date?” Akihiko says to Mimiko-san, the older woman adorning bright red lipstick and a fur coat just as she did ten years ago.

“Oh my Aki-Chan? Is this a first date?! You don't show your face around these parts for years and show up with a handsome new man?” Akihiko blushes at his old nickname, but quickly falls back into the old dynamic he has with Mimiko. 

“You know me, always keeping my eyes open for my prince charming.” Akihiko winks, 

“Every princess deserves a prince, you know. Amazake refills on the house, and you better not wait so long between visits young man, I don't know how much longer my price will be able to work in the kitchen.” Mimiko gestures back to her husband, hunched over and walking with a cane out from the kitchen in the back, carrying a tray of food to some other customers. 

“Aki-chan?” Akihiko turns his head to look at Yuu, who just repeated his college nickname in the most teasing tone. 

“It's a long story.” Akihiko rolls his eyes, reminiscing about the past just can't seem to escape him today. 

“I've barely lived outside my apartment in tokyo., I have no stories, and we have all day.” Yuu leans forwards, His foot gracing Akihiko’s under the table as he crosses his legs, Akihiko looks at the young man before him, the brave young man who is out on a date with an older man he barely knows…He decides he can be a bit vulnerable, just this once. 

“When I would often come to Hakone, it wasn't just for the Onsen…” Akihiko leans forwards, shrinking the distance between him and Yuu, dropping his tone so as to not let anyone overhear his admission. “I came here, because nobody knew who I was.” 

***

Akihiko hurried off of the busy train station platform, waiting for everyone to clear away as the train pulled out of the station. Only a few people were left linering, waiting for the train on the opposite side of the platform. He made sure to wait a decent amount of time before slipping his backpack off his shoulder and hurriedly ducking into the mens restroom. 

He changed fast. He had to. Slipping his wig over his hair, not yet long enough to give him his desired look, but he is growing it out. Trading his jeans and t-shirt for a long sundress with a long sleeved shirt underneath. And to top it all off, some pink tinted lip gloss and purple blush on his fair cheeks. 

Akihiki made even quicker work slipping out of the mens restroom, realizing how odd it would look to anyone who did happen to see him going in, emerging five minutes later, but as a woman. Akihiko- or Aki, as he goes by when he is crossdressing, has yet to ever build up the courage to change at home and get the train into Hakone already dressed. He is too scared of being recognized, of being caught, so he settles for his quick change in the mens room even if it runs the risk of being beat up, or caught by a stranger. He would take that anyday over his parents, or his friends finding out. 

He spent the day going into little shops, mostly womens clothes and makeup boutiques. Nothing special, the ones he sees in Tokyo everyday on his commute to class, but he can't go into them when he is Akihiko. Now as Aki he can swatch all the eyeshadows and he pleases and tries on any of the plaid,pleated, skirts he has always wanted to try since high school.

***

“That is amazing! You actually were brave enough to go outside…dressed as a woman! I-” Akihiko giggles at Yuu’s shocked expression, 

“The things you do when you're young and dumb, I guess.” Akihiko shrugs, looking back, knowing what he knows and having seen what he has, it was dumb, he could have gotten hurt, attacked, outed…but he doesn't regret it.

“If it made you happy, you weren't being dumb, you were being true to yourself.” Yuu smiles up over his third glass of Amazake. Akihiko wishes this were not their first date, or he would have leaned over the table and kissed him.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

The Reaper and the Death Angel Part 11

The fire hasn't caught yet, but it's getting there.

Part 10

Contains: Drug overdose, Gemma being Gemma, Jax can't express himself, follows the plot of the pilot, discussion about combat, war and killing in war.

Your song for this chapter, you don't need to listen to it.

2.4K Words

Comment if you want to be tagged

Abel is here.

"I need an ambulance, there's a woman here who is 30 weeks pregnant, hemorrhaging, signs of IV drug use and a suspected methamphetamine overdose."

Gemma walked through the open door to find you crouched over Wendy's body, you looked up at her, terrified.

"If the ambulance doesn't get here in time we need to prepare for the worst."

At that moment, Gemma had never hated Wendy more.

Gemma watched you work over Wendy while you waited for the ambulance.

"I need to write her vitals down, find me a marker, not a pen." It was the first time she heard you leave off please and thank you. She ran off and a few seconds later, came back and handed you the uncapped marker.

You were moving at a hundred miles a minute, you were writing numbers on Wendy's arm then feeling her stomach. Your head lifted up when you heard the sirens.

"Go flag down the ambulance. I'll go with Wendy, you go get Jax." Gemma did what you told her, your whole demeanour made it clear she should listen.

The paramedics walked in and you were talking to them, she had no idea what you were saying but it sounded medical. She saw on EMT look at the writing on Wendy's arm then back at you.

"You served?" You sort of shook your head.

"Eight years, civilian attachment to Recon."

The man gave you a nod of acknowledgment and went to help get Wendy on the stretcher.

"Tell Jax as little as possible, I would have been able to tell you more about Abel's condition but I don't have my kit here. He needs to get to the hospital as soon as he can, there may be decisions he needs to make."

The doctors were waiting at the door when the ambulance arrived, they pulled Wendy out of the back and took her right to the OR. You pulled the intake nurse aside to give them her medical history.

"She has been a meth user on and off. She hasn't been in contact with the Father in weeks and as far as we know, she only started using recently but judging by the track marks, that might not be true. The Father hasn't received any medical bills for important check-ups either." The nurse wrote this all down and asked some more questions.

"I'm acquainted with Dr Jessie Dale, she's the best neonatal surgeon in the state. I give her a call and see if she can help, when I hear about the baby's condition all get her to called the treating doctor." The nurse nodded and walked away, you imagine to tell the doctor what you told her.

Thirty minutes later the treating doctor, Dr Nameed, came out to speak to you.

"Are you Dr l/n?" You stood up and offered him your hand to shake.

"We performed an emergency C-section, the baby has a heart defect, congenital and gastroschisis. We give him 20% at best." he handed you the chart and you looked it over.

"Dr Jessie Dale will be calling you in a hour or two to discuss the case, she won't be able to come in but she will consult until either the parents ask her to stop or the baby no longer needs care." The doctor looked relieved but didn't say anything, but he left you to sit outside Wendy's room to wait for Jax and Gemma.

****

Jax and some of the other guys came running in a little while later, Jax practically ran into your arms before looking behind you into Wendy's room.

"The baby?" You put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not good Jax. She has been using heavily for weeks, her doctors haven't heard or seen from her and haven't been doing any prenatal care. Abel has a genetic heart defect, but he's also got gastroschisis, a tear in his abdomen, that and the preterm birth are from drug use. It's far too early to say if he has any intellectual deficits." Jax looked so frightened and sad.

"Right now his odds are about 20%, I've put a call into a professional friend of mine, one Dr Jessie Dale, she's the best in the state. We will know more when she calls his doctor."

Gemma came up next to you and handed Jax something.

"I found one of these thumbs bag in her stuff, Hairy Dog." Jax looked over at the guys and started to walk off.

"Don't do anything stupid Teller, your Son needs you here with him." Jax didn't even hear you.

****

You waited with Abel for hours, somewhere around 6:00PM, Gemma came by to relieve you. "Go home y/n." You looked up at her with tired eyes.

"Dr Dale is optimistic, she thinks that if they fix Abel's heart and abdomen now he might stand a better chance. The surgical team will be here soon." You got up and gave her a hug before returning home.

You were sitting at the kitchen bench when the doorbell rang, when you checked the security camera, you saw it was Jax.

"Can I come in?" He looked like a mess and you could smell blood on him.

"Sure, why aren't you with your Son?" he couldn't find the words to reply.

"Do you need me to put on some oatmeal?" He nodded softly, just as you turned away he spoke.

"I killed a man tonight." You ran your hand over your head.

"We can talk that it if you like? Maybe I can give some insite." He gave you the same sad nod. He sat down at the bench, looking like his brain was too far away from him.

"Did you do it for purpose or for pleasure?" He looked at you funny.

"Purpose, he was shooting at me. Why would I kill someone for pleasure?" The reasons occurred to him just after he had finished speaking.

"It was kill or be killed, you did what you had to do. There's no reason to feel guilty about it." Your tone was short and straight to the point. Jax was a little taken aback but it.

"I would have thought you would find killing wrong no matter what. I mean, with your job being about identifying murder victims." You shook your head.

I got your letter today

And I miss you all so much, here

I can't wait to see you all

And I'm counting the days, here

"I was embedding in one of the most violent units in the US military, I was given a gun and a K-Bar just like the rest of the guys, I got my hands wet all the time. I've killed a lot of people Jackson, the only reason I can sleep at night is that each person had to die to save my own life or the lives of my teammates." You put the bowl of oatmeal in front of him.

I still believe that there's gold

At the end of the world

And I'll come home to Illinois

On the day after tomorrow

"I wasn't even working with them the first time I killed someone, I was eighteen and working at a dig site. This twenty-something comes in with a machete telling me that he'd kill me if I didn't leave now, then he lunged toward me. I gave him every chance to walk away and he didn't take it, so I did what I had to do."

Jax was listing intently.

And it's so hard and it's cold here

And I'm tired of taking orders

And I miss old Rockford town

Up by the Wisconsin border

What I'll miss, you won't believe

Shovelling snow and raking leaves

And my plane will touch down

On the day after tomorrow

"After that it was as easy as breathing, if I had to kill someone, I did. My hesitation the first time could have gotten me killed, now if I can't run or disable them, I do what I need to do."

I close my eyes every night

And I dream that I can hold you

They fill us full of lies, everyone buys

About what it means to be a soldier

"I bought the lie that I would be helping people by working with an active combat unit, I believed that if I tried hard enough, if I was the best, I would never have to hurt another person, but I did have to hurt other people."

I still don't know how I'm supposed to feel

About all the blood that's been spilled

Will God, on His throne, get me back home

On the day after tomorrow?

"I'm still human, I still see their faces when I close my eyes but I don't feel guilt. I did what I had to do and there were no other options. If you're going to stay in the Club while all of this is going on, you have to get used to it. You have to be sure that each bullet that comes out of your gun and each swing of that knife is necessary, or the reget will kill you, I've seen it happen."

You can't deny the other side

Don't want to die any more than we do

What I'm trying to say is, don't they pray

To the same God that we do?

Tell me, how does God choose?

Whose prayers does He refuse?

Who turns the wheel? Who throws the dice

On the day after tomorrow?

"They're people just like us Jackson, if you take a life without needing to you give away a bit of what makes you a person each time, sooner or later you won't have anything to give away."

I'm not fighting for justice

I am not fighting for freedom

I am fighting for my life

And another day in the world here

I just do what I've been told

You're just the gravel on the road

And only the lucky ones come home

On the day after tomorrow

"I said yes because I wanted to help people, and when the bullets started flying, I was just another grunt with a gun and the ability to kill without question. It stopped becoming about justice and freedom and become about getting me and my guys back home safe."

And the summer, it too will fade

And with it brings the winter's frost, dear

And I know we, too, are made

Of all the things that we have lost here

I'll be twenty-one today

I've been saving all my pay

And my plane will touch down (ooh, ooh)

On the day after tomorrow

"It was easier over there than at home, I knew exactly how to behave because there was only one factor in making a decision and that's will this get my teammates or me killed."

And my plane, it will touch down (ooh, ooh)

On the day after tomorrow

"You had to do it, you'll be fine." Jax had finished his oatmeal, he was looking much better.

"Now you're going to have a shower and get changed, there are some spare clothes you can wear. And then you're going to see your Son, it's not up for debate."

****

Jax washed and dressed in record time and you drove him to the hospital. You walked him up to the NICU and stopped to talk to the doctor.

"Everything went well, he's going to be here for a while but it's looking up from here." Jax visibly sighed, and then he wrapped you in a hug.

"Thank you y/n, I can't ever express how much you've done for me." You hugged him back, hard and encompassing.

"You've got a kid to meet, don't stand here hugging me." Jax pulled away with a short laugh and you walked him inside. As he crested the doorway, he started crying.

"He's perfect Jackson." Jax rubbed his eyes, and you put an arm over his shoulder.

It was a few days later when you saw Jax again, Wendy had somehow managed to get more meth into the hospital so he was busy going from her room to Abel's and then there was dealing with the Club.

"You guys are going to be just fine."

****

"Can I bounce something off you?" You nodded and he sat down.

"Is it about the guns being stolen?" He looked at you surprised but he didn't say no.

"We know it was The Mayans, but the guy I shot was a member of the Nords, we're pretty sure Darby, their leader, is in with Alvarez. He's wanted Charming for years and The Mayans have hated us since the 90s. Clay won't listen to reason, he wants to go at Alvarez hard. The rest of us want to resolve this before it ends up being another war." You crinkled your eyes in thought.

"Could that be why they shot Crazy Sal? His heroin sales could have been competition for the Nords. They take him out and the Nords promise to do the same when Alvarez calls. They probably looked after Darby when he was inside, which means he's indebted to them." Jax looked at you like you were the smartest person in the world.

"You need to let Darby know you know without telling him outright, I'm sure you can think of something." Jax thought for a moment and then laughed.

"Maybe we should ask you to prospect next, you sure seem to know what you're doing. Maybe you can get people's heads on straight." You shook your head at him.

"I don't think they'd let me in on account of my lack of a dick." Jax laughed.

"You always know what to say don't you?" He leaned his head on your shoulder.

"I try." You lifted your hand and ran it over his head.

"You know nothing that happened to Wendy and Abel is your fault, right? You did all you could for both of them, now all you can do is be a good Father to Abel and a good friend to Wendy." He lifted himself off of you and put a hand on your chin.

"Now I do." He was looking from your lips to your eyes and back again, you saw his tongue dart out the wet them.

They were so pink and plump

Just as he leaned in the kiss you, you heard someone call out and the spell was broken.

"Call me if you anything, yeah?" You nodded and pulled away from him, he grabbed your fingertips in his hand.

"Of course Jackson, thank you for trusting me with all of this"

As you walked away from him, a beautiful and terrifying thought crossed his mind.

Don't go, I love you.

I'm finally liking this series.

Part 12

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

You've Met With A Terrible Fate, Haven't You? || BEN DROWNED

Pairing : Yandere! Ben Drowned X Reader

Genre : Fluff, Angst, Yandere

Summary : Appears as a normal dude, but plot twist he's really not.

Wordcount: 4k lol

WARNINGS : This is fic is labeled as Yandere, for those who don't know what it means: "Somebody who is sweet and kind at first glance. But when it comes to their love (crush)they will act obsessive and violent." - Urban dictionary, poorly (but still disgustingly) described dead people, I know Ben originally doesn't kill but in the story he does, idk? Shit written¿ 

Also disclaimer this is my first time I've tried doing a yandere and it's obviously not my strongest point. Hope you enjoy either way.

You glance at the abandoned game console which your friend had dumped at your place earlier this day.

According to him, something was very, very, wrong with it. The Nintendo 64 was old, of course, but your friend mentioned not being able to pass the boss battle. He mentioned something along the lines of 'it keeps glitching and Link keeps dying'. In other words ' I know you're a hacker and I suck at this game, please hack it for me so I can feel less like a loser'.

You keep writing the email you're supposed to sent to your boss for another thirty minutes, before letting your curiosity lead you. 

Before you know it, you've plugged in the old console with more cables than originally planned because of how old it is, and with how modern your tv is. The first odd thing that strikes you is that there's only one account on it, and it's not labeled with your friend's name. 

Instead of 'Noah', it's labeled with 'BEN DROWNED' in bold passive aggressive letters.

Simply pushing it to the back of your mind, you start playing.

The second odd thing about the game is that the game has a specific date and it mentions how far BEN, or well, Noah is in the game. Yet when you click it, you have to start all over.

You shrug that off too, simply noting it as the game being old.

Before you know it, several hours pass, and you're finally at the boss battle Noah mentioned. Deciding to see if you can beat it first, you do not plug your laptop in at the Nintendo 64, and opt to play instead.

However just like Noah mentioned, you die as soon as you're close to winning and the game starts glitching.

It takes you barely ten minutes before you're fed up with it, and soon enough you plug your laptop in. You start up some programs and open up a few sites, quickly starting to work. Your fingers glide over the keys of your laptop as you type in the codes in order to hack the game, however after a few minutes, the game starts glitching heavily, and suddenly there's a sentence in bold red letters on the screen of your tv.

' YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT'

It says before the glitching becomes way too much, and some weird kind of red circle appears. Your eyes widen before unplugging the tv and game console, forgetting that your laptop is connected to it.

You miss the small glitches on the laptop screen.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - -

He gritts his teeth as the access to his portal is suddenly denied, the power cut early enough to avoid him.

His red eyes wander in the green coded space, looking for an exit, something that'll make sure he can get his hands on whoever this is. Lucky for him, there's a small white space what'll lead to the outside of it.

Once he's trough, he realizes he's still close to his victim. In fact, he's even closer now.

He smirks as he realizes.

Killing her is fair game now.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - »

You tap your chin as you look as the items on the shelf.

" Should I get the red one or green one?" You mumble to yourself.

" I'd recommend the green one. Green is always better." A voice from behind you startles you.

You whip your head around to look at the stranger who's talking to you.

Behind you is a male you don't recognise from anywhere. And as you start to study him, you realize he's quite handsome. He's got blonde hair, blue eyes and a rosy skin colour. He's wearing black ripped jeans, a dark green shirt, along with a black zip up hoodie, which is left open, he's got a few black ear piercings in his right ear, and has a gold chain around his neck, which disappears beneath his shirt, weighed down by a charm hidden away from your eyes. To top it all of, he's got a matching dark green beanie on top of his messily styled bangs.

" What? Did I say something wrong?" The blonde boy suddenly sweats.

You smile and shake your head.

" No, you didn't. I just tough I was alone here." You smile at him.

ØⱧ ₴₩ɆɆ₮ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮, ɎØɄ Ⱨ₳VɆ₦'₮ ฿ɆɆ₦ ₳ⱠØ₦Ɇ ₣ØⱤ ₳ VɆⱤɎ ⱠØ₦₲ ₮ł₥Ɇ ₦Ø₩.

" I take that you talk to yourself then?" The male spits at you.

You're not sure if that's meant offensive or not.

" Um, yeah? I tend to do that sometimes yeah." You say, looking down at your hands who're still holding the red silk scarf and green silk scarf.

Đø₦'₮ ฿ɇ ₳₣ɽ₳łđ, ł ₩ø₦'₮ ⱨʉɽ₮ ɏøʉ. Øɽ ₩łⱡⱡ ł?

The unknown male's eyes soften subconsciously, looking at you with an emotion you're not familiar with.

" My name is Ben. What's yours?" 

Ben? Haven't you heard that somewhere before?

You smile at him, oblivious to the fact that you're talking to a killer.

" I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you Ben."

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ »

His mind flooded with ideas.

There's so many options on what he can do to her.

Should he mess with her laptop?

Should he just kill her now?

Or should he become closer?

Maybe he should.

He looks at her trough the screen of the laptop, which is almost always open, today not being any different.

He watches her as while she watches something behind the laptop, from the sounds he can hear trough the mic, she's most likely watching tv.

Perhaps he should become closer to her.

Pull her closer only to have her blood staining his hands.

Oh yes, her blood shall soon become his.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦łvɇ₴

She doesn't realize it when her laptop suddenly starts itself up, nor does she know that there's a figure crawling out of it.

He stared at her with deciphering eyes, silently wondering how she isn't dead yet.

If this was anyone else, he'd had them killed already. Their blood would already be staining his face and she would already be screaming in pain and dispair.

Yet here she was, laying peacefully on her bed. Asleep, obviously not dead. 

He wonders exactly what he should do next. She doesn't know that he's standing right next to her. It almost makes him laugh.

She doesn't even know that he exists.

She doesn't know that he's here.

He glares at her before moving back into the world of codes and technology.

For now, she lives.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦łvɇ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ

" And then it suddenly started glitching and stuff. Weird isn't it?" You finish off your story as you look at your new friend, Ben.

After meeting in the grocery store, he had suddenly texted you. 

Not knowing how he got your number, you got concerned, and asked him. According to him, you had given it to him yourself. At first you didn't believe him, until he told you to check the time of his first message, which somehow was indeed around the same time you were in the grocery store. After that you just shrugged it off as that you forgot it yourself. After all, you knew yourself to be a person with the memory of a goldfish.

Today the two of you met up again, for the fourth time this week.

" Odd indeed. What did you do after that?" Ben asked, acting as if he's interested, even tough he's really not.

" I unplugged it. I think I'm gonna lay off hacking for a while." You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink.

Before he could even think of a response, there was an unknown woman at your table, also holding a cup of coffee.

" Y/N? Long time no see." The new woman greeted you with a smile, sitting down beside you on the booth.

Ben scowled at the newcomer.

Ⱨø₩ đ₳ɽɇ ₴ⱨɇ ₴ł₮ ฿ɇ₴łđɇ ₩ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₥ł₦ɇ ₩ł₮ⱨøʉ₮ ₥ɏ ₱ɇɽ₥ł₴₴łø₦

" Hey, Sara. It's indeed been too long. How are you?" You started chatting with Sara.

Meanwhile Ben's anger only grew.

" My names Ben." Ben suddenly dryly joined your conversation as he slammed his drink down onto the table aggressively, looking straight into Sara's eyes.

" Sorry. Didn't see you there. I'm Sara nice to mee-"

" Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave. We didn't invite you to come sit with us." Ben spat at her, looking at her with an intense look in his eyes.

Both you and your friend turned to look at him in confusion.

" Is something wrong with me being here? Did I offend you?" Sara asked, genuinely concerned.

Ben was fuming now, on the inside. Who does this girl think she is? First she comes to sit at their table uninvited, then she's capturing the attention of his new favorite plaything, and now she's questioning him? She has to go.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ

He heard her conversation with a male he certainly doesn't know trough her phone, using the microphone without her knowing.

According to what he knows, they're on a date. And according to her contacts, his name is Jaime. He can't find where they met, nor did he know why they met up.

But now that she's checked her reflexion one too many times, and made a pic of her full outfit to send to him, probably to mock him for not having her, ɏɇ₮, he realizes that she's on a date.

After some research by surfing quite literally trough the internet. It turned out this 'Jaime' person was Mexican, and had a soft persona. On his facebook page were pictures where he's working with animals or doing volunteers' work or overall just something where he's helping others. He found the black haired male pathetic, weak even.

In all honesty, even he himself didn't really find him a threat. Not when he looked like that and was overall just kind and bambi looking.

However, all his expectations are thrown out of the window when he hears them say their goodbyes.

" You know, I had a lot of fun tonight. You're really a nice person. In fact, I'd like to go on another date with you again." This voice was definitely that of a male's, probably Jaime.

" I agree. I had a lot of fun too." She said.

₣Ʉ₦? ⱧØ₩ ₵₳₦ Ł₮ ฿Ɇ ₳₦Ɏ ₣Ʉ₦ ₩Ł₮ⱧØɄ₮ ₥Ɇ?

" Good. Do you have a ride or would you like me to drive you home?-" He blocks out the rest of their conversation.

It appears that the good guy needs to go too.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆

" We should spend more time together." Ben says randomly as the two of you snuggle on the couch.

You giggle, your ears tinting red.

" We're already together all the time tough." You tell him softly.

" I know, but still. By the way, did your stupid date reply yet?" He asked, eyes focused on the tv in front of the two of you.

" No, and don't call him stupid." You pout, softly scolding him.

₲ØØĐ

He grins at you with mysterious eyes.

You shrug it off, knowing it's part of him. The two of you have been hanging out for a while now. Almost three months to be precise. And you two have gotten very close. What used to be keeping distance and keeping the line between acquaintances and friends, had turned into friends or something more. You two almost hung out every day, you were basically attached to each other's hip now.

After a few peacefull moments, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Right as you left, your phone rang.

He turned to look at the disturbing sound  his eyes widening at the name which is appearing on the screen.

 SARA

He stumbled over the couch to pick it up, an unpleasant feeling of suprise rising whitin him.

" Y/N?! You have to listen to me! Ben is not who you think he is! He's this-"

" I'm this what?" Ben smirked.

Damn you were taking a long time in the bathroom, not that he minded.

The other end of the line was dead silent.

" Don't worry. You don't need to say anything. I'll come home soon. And trust me, once I am, you will never be able to speak a word again." He spoke, an eerie calm in his voice.

" Goodbye, Sara." He said before hanging up.

" Sara called?" Your voice suddenly startled him.

" What? Oh, yeah. But she was in a hurry so she said she'd call you later." He smiled innocently.

You nodded and the two of you resumed watching the movie.

" Isn't there a way, that we could spend more time together?" He suddenly wondered out loud.

You sighed and turned to face him.

" I'm sorry Ben, but I have a job and I like spending time with other people too. So I'm afraid not." You told him softly.

An idea coded itself into his mind.

JɄ₴₮ ₮ⱤɄ₴₮ ₥Ɇ, ɎØɄ'ⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ ₥Ł₦Ɇ ₴ØØ₦

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ

You sighed in dispair in the night air as you walked home. Once again, you were rejected in a job interview.

A few days ago you were fired from the job you actually liked. You couldn't understand why either. You didn't do anything wrong, you were quite hardworking and always finished the documents in time.

Your supervisor looked afraid, terrified even when he told you to immediately pack your bags and leave, and ever since you just can't seem to get in anywhere. Not even the gas station wanted you in charge.

" Well hello there. What do we have here." A creepy voice suddenly sounded from behind you.

You turned around only to be greeted by a man with a creepy smile and even creepier, eye lid-less eyes. He was holding a knife, making his intentions obvious.

You didn't need to think twice about his intentions and whipped your phone out of your pocket with the intentions to call the cops and running.

The killer sadly isn't stupid, and has you on the ground under him whitin seconds.

Your phone's screen crack and slides to the other side, the dialed number not pressed on call yet.

" Don't cry sweetheart. It doesn't suit your pretty face. Don't fret, I'll make sure, you'll smile forever. " The killer tells you happily.

Both of you don't realize that your phone screen suddenly lights up in a green colour. Nor does either of you realize the figure crawling out of it.

The both of you don't realize, until the killer is off you and tackled down on the ground beside you.

" I've told you before. She's fucking mine. Go bother someone else." Ben's voice sounds suddenly.

You turn your head to look at him.

This time he does not wear jeans and a sweater. No  this time, he looks like he came straight out of a... Video game? He looks like Link, the main personage of the game which your friend Noah had dropped off at your place around six months ago. 

Ben never told you he was into cosplaying.

Your ears suddenly tinted pink as you realized, he called you his. Suddenly you felt a little giddy, the guy you like so much might actually like you back.

The killer underneath Ben growls out something you can't hear before throwing the shorter off him and leaving.

" Are you okay?" You ask him.

He turns to you with red eyes.

Red. Fucking. Eyes.

And that's not the only thing about his eyes that changed.

Instead of the usual white eyes have, his are now black.

And even there it doesn't end.

There's blood running down his eyes onto his cheeks, as if he's crying blood.

You take a step back.

What the fuck is this?

" Don't be afraid! I know I look a little... Weird, but it's all just part of my..... Cosplay." He explains.

You ponder over it.

He's never gave you a reason to not trust you right? Or did he? 

You ignore the instinct to run away from him, instead choosing to calm down and follow your heart, which is telling you to trust him.

" Come with me. You can stay at my place tonight." Ben tells you, holding his hand out to you.

You take it.

₲ØØĐ ⱠŁ₮₮ⱠɆ ₱Ʉ₱₱Ɏ

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ ›

It took longer than expected to reach his house. The whole road to his house is creepy. Ben appartly lives in this supermodern house in the woods.

Which is off already, the woods are known troughout the whole town as mystery. According to urban legends, there's creatures loving in there who shouldn't exist. Because of that, there's barely any people there. According to Ben, everything is all clear and safe, and you trust him with your heart.

You don't question him after his answer and instead follow him into the,indeed very,modern little house which is situated hidden behind the trees.

You get directly hit in the face with a copper scent as soon as you step foot into his house.

" Would you like something to drink?" He asks you as you enter his house, neither of you bothering to take your shoes off.

" Just water please." You tell him as you study the place.

The inside of the small house is more modern than the outside, with a big living space and an open kitchen. There's also three doors in the hallway.

One to the bathroom, one leading upstairs and one leading into the basement.

" Here you go." Ben returns, handing you a glass of water.

" Thanks, aren't you going to take off your make up and lenses?" You ask him.

His smile fades a bit, and for a moment you think you've accidentally offended him, but he nods with a pout before you can think about it twice.

" Yeah, that's probably a good idea. The livingroom is at the end of this hallway, feel free to make yourself comfortable." He smiles before going upstairs.

You stand still for a moment in the hallway as an eerie feeling suddenly starts crawling up your spine.

You ignore it, and instead start walking towards the livingroom.

Until the sound of something falling reaches your ears.

A sound that is directed from the basement.

Your first idea is to call for Ben, to alert him that you two probably aren't alone.

You don't do that however, because it could just be something falling off a shelf, right?

And so you decide to investigate it yourself.

As soon as you open the door to the basement, you're directly hit in the face with a very prominent copper scent. The same on you already smelled when you entered his house, except it's way too strong and there's something eerily familiar about it which you just can't pinpoint.

You silently push the door open, and turn on the lightswitch to the basement. Behind the door is a stony staircase, the rest of the basement is hidden away behind a wall. Curiosity takes over you, and you make your way downstairs before you can think about it twice.

As soon as you near the bottom, you spot blotches of red. The deep red substance is spread like a trail from he bottom stairs onto the rest of the room.

And then it clicks in your mind. It's blood. That's also the smell in the air. Was the intruder injured?

You step down the stairs while following the blood trail with you eyes.

You stumble back in fear and unpleasant suprise at the sight that greets you.

There's dead people down here. Most of which you don't recognise, but a few you do. 

You gasp as you look into a pair of wide blue eyes.

Sara.

She's sitting there, eyes wide open, with cuts all over. There's big ones in her rib case and near her organs, you can even see Intestines spread over the floor.

She's obviously dead.

But how come she's here?

Ben didn't do this? Did he?

Next to her is Jaime, who's eyes are closed but his chest is rising and falling.

He's alive.

You run over to him and shake him awake, not minding the blood that's now on your hands.

" Jaime! Please! Wake up!" You say desperately, tears now escaping your eyes.

" Y/N? Y/N! You have to get out of here. Ben, he's not who you think he is!" He tells you desperately.

" I'm not leaving you! Can you walk?" You ask him trough your tears.

" I'm chipped Y/N, you have to go. Get help. Ben's insane. He's a de-"

" Demon? Mass murderer? Failure? Dead? Is one of those what you wanted to tell her? How dare you lie to her! I'm none of those!" A voice suddenly booms trough the air.

You turn around while starting to shake. Jaime tries to hold you close to him with the little strength he has left. There Ben stands, still with red pupils and black eyes, dried red streaks still on his cheeks.

" Don't fucking touch her." Ben screams angrily, ripping you all but gently away from the male, causing you to tremble against him.

" Don't be afraid my love, he won't touch you again." Ben sushes you.

Is he really thinking that you're afraid of him?

" N-no. Let me go. Do-don't touch me." You tell him, pushing away from him.

He looks confused by your behavior.

" What's wrong baby? Please don't believe whatever lies he told you.-"

" What lies?! That you've killed my friend?! That you've killed these innocent people?! That you've chipped him?!" You yelled.

" They all deserved it Y/N! They're all in the way of our love!" Ben yells back desperately, stepping towards you.

" I don't even know these people!" You say, stepping back into the wall, knocking into a shelf.

You turn around to see what you knocked into.

Wait, is that the Nintendo 64?

" They all stared at you with sick twisted ideas! They really do deserve it." He tells you.

Suddenly it clicks in your mind.

" You're Ben from the game." You state.

He nods.

" Yes bu-"

" How?.."

" You clicked my game onto your computer remember."

" It was you wasn't it? You're the reason I've lost my job. You're the reason my friends all turned their back to me." You wishper, eyes now gathering in your eyes.

You've been so incredibly fucking stupid.

He's the reason your life has turned down the drain.

" Yes. But it's good right. Now we can finally be together." He says like a crazy man in love.

Which he is.

You start sobbing as you fall onto your knees realizing, all these people here. They've all died because of you.

" Hey, don't worry my live. We can now finally be together."

ɎØɄ'VɆ ₥Ɇ₮ ₩Ł₮Ⱨ ₳ ₮ɆⱤⱤŁ฿ⱠɆ ₣₳₮Ɇ, Ⱨ₳VɆ₦'₮ ɎØɄ?

 ᘜ ᗩ ᘻ ᘿ  ᓍ ᐺ ᘿ ᖇ.

[midnxghtsunwrites]

SMOKESTACKS | 16, NO MORE SURPRISES

previous post

warning: ⚠ domestic abuse ahead ⚠

FOR THE SIXTH TIME IN TWO hours, Nadine's phone blares its annoying ringtone. She could only assume that those calls are coming from the same people she's been avoiding for the past week. Nadine has managed to take the week off of work to avoid seeing Gemma and/or Jax.

Now, she's sat in a bar on a Friday night, sipping on a gin and tonic and bobbing her head to the music playing over the speakers.

She glances at her screen to see the familiar name pop up.

Jackson Teller.

She was in her feelings when she changed his name in her phone and she doesn't see herself changing it back in the near future. Honestly, she doesn't know what to do. It seems impossible to avoid these people considering everywhere she turns, someone associated with the club is in her face.

Of course, her friendship with Lyla was the only constant and based on the fact that the porn star brings up Jax in every one of their conversations, he knows it too. Does she want to just wait it out until they're tired of trying to reach out to her or does she try to make another getaway?

She just got here and she loves her job and her kids and she already can't imagine leaving them.

Guess she'll have to suck it up.

"I really can't tell if you're drunk or just vibing," The voice belongs to a black woman who'd been sitting beside Nadine for the better part of thirty minutes. She has an eyebrow raised and a glass of scotch raised to her lips, "Or both."

Nadine shakes her head in amusement, "Definitely both." Sticking a hand out, she introduces herself, "Nadine."

"Amelia." The woman shakes the teacher's hand, "Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"That is a great question," Nadine jokes as she sips her drink. She's barely tipsy, which is far from where she wants to be. The conversation continues to flow as the woman is drowned out by Nadine's phone blaring obnoxiously for the third time in ten minutes, the teacher ignoring every call.

Noting this, Amelia tilts her head in interest, "Boyfriend?"

The teacher scrunches her face at the thought, "Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Almost boyfriend?"

At Amelia's teasing tone, Nadine rolls her eyes in amusement, "Definitely not."

NADINE WAS DOWN THREE GLASSES of whiskey before she felt the effects of the alcohol on her senses. She giggles, fruitlessly as she tries to drink from her glass only to miss completely and basically pour it down her shirt.

Amelia bursts out into laughter, drunk to her ass. The women had been drowning themselves in tequila shots — for reasons they choose not to admit. Apparently, Amelia has lived in Charming her whole life — she's an OR nurse at St. Thomas's Hospital and extremely talented when it comes to her job.

Nadine didn't get much more than that.

"Oh, crap," Nadine snorts as the woody aroma from the alcohol wafts to her nostrils.

Amelia points in amusement, her eyes squinted as a loud laugh escapes her, "You smell like a bar!"

The teacher nods and leans back on her stool, almost falling on her back, "That's 'cause we're in a bar, silly!"

Staggering forward, Nadine peers through the mirrored wall behind the shelves of alcohol — the clear space allows her to look at the rest of the bar patrons behind her. She takes note of the large spot on her grey shirt and groans, exaggeratedly as she throws her head back.

Luckily, drunk Nadine still has some sort of logical reasoning, "I'll be right back — I gotta clean this up before it stains."

Amelia just tilts the rim of her glass of scotch towards the teacher and sends her a dopey smile, "Have fuuun." She sings, joyfully.

"I willll," Nadine mimics as she throws cash for the drinks on the bar counter.

Fortunately, the dark spot hadn't dried in the time it took Nadine to go through the line of women standing outside of the bathroom. A lack of stalls seemed to be the verdict for the long queue. Standing there in the bathroom, she hovers over the sink, wiping a damp paper towel over her tank top.

The stain is almost out — the woody smell being replaced by stale tap water. She should've just kept the stain there if that's the case.

Suddenly, it's like time stops. Chills run down her back and the hairs on the back of her necks rise. Goosebumps line her arms as she furrows her eyebrows. There's a sinking feeling in her gut — so deep that Nadine is knocked out of her drunken stupor and forced to grab on to the ceramic sink.

Almost as if she could predict it, there's a knock on the door. Nadine blinks profusely and calls to the person, "Someone's in here." That doesn't make the person on the other side back off — no, instead, the doorknob that was once locked is twisted and pushed open.

So much for locking the door. She ponders.

The figure that enters is tall — and so familiar. It's too dark for her to see a face but for a moment, Nadine assumes that Jax found her. She didn't put it past him considering he has so many connections that probably tipped him off and she doesn't put it past him to break down any barriers between them.

This leads her to her beginning sentence, "You don't have to check up on me, Jax. I just need time to myself."

As the figure steps closer, Nadine's breath hitches in her throat. Fuck. Tears fill her eyes as she looks upon the man that's caused her so much turmoil for two years. The man she fucking ran away from. Ezra Moore in all his mysterious obscurity stands just feet away from her.

She tries not to let her gaze shift to the pepper spray in her bag.

The man smirks, sadistically as he steps further into the room, almost steps away from his target, "This place should really get some better locks."

As his patronizing tone, Nadine jumps towards her bag on the sink, only to be shoved backward by her assailant. Her back lands against the filthy tiled wall and he holds her there, a grimey hand wrapped around her neck.

There were times when she loved to peer into those chocolate brown eyes — they used to give her a certain comfort. Now, they're the epitome of terrifying.

"What? You thought you could get away from me, you little bitch?" He growls, leaning so close into Nadine that the palm of his hand pushes into her larynx and the stench of cigarettes and nasty beer invades her senses. "No matter how far you go, what name you use, or if you change your phone — I will always fucking find you."

"Please —"

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells into her face, spit flying to land on her cheek (the way my COVID brain just threw up). "You know you can't run from me, Nadine." His voice lowers as he jerks her head to the side and leans towards her ear. His lips wrap around her lobe, bringing tears to her eyes. His grip tightens, taking her breath from her — "You've been a little slut since you left me, haven't you? Fucking Jax Teller? That little biker I've been seeing around here?"

She can't speak. She can't breathe.

Ezra doesn't care.

"Answer me!"

Whipping her head around swiftly, she shakes her head and gapes her mouth, wanting to speak but no words can make it past Ezra's tight grip. Seeing this, he loosens it for a split second so Nadine can muster a small, "No."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Don't fucking lie to me! That's all you've been doing since I met you." He forces her to look at him, frowning for a moment at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, "You're a fucking liar, you know that? And such an actress. Even right now — all these crocodile tears that you've been saving for me. For two years. All that fake love. Did you even love me?"

Nadine watches in pure horror as Ezra's voice breaks and tears begin to fly down his face. This man is insane, she sobs. Thoughts flurry through her mind as his grip loosens significantly. She's so taken aback that even her mind seems to be lagging. She wants to go home where the locks work.

"I did." She whispers, cringing as her voice cracks, "I-I do. I do love you, Ezra." It pains her to speak these lies, but she has to go and the only way to do that is to feed into his crazed actions, "I love you, baby. So much." She lifts a shaky hand to cup his cheeks, willing her tears away at the thought of touching her oppressor. "I'm sorry I left you. I don't know what I was thinking."

Her back stiffens when he falls into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He sobs, savoring the feeling as she runs a hand through his scalp. It was something she did years ago to help him out whenever he had a stressful day — she used to love doing it.

Now, she feels like she needs to take a shower in acid to scrub the feeling of him off.

Her neck is sore when he releases her — surely, she has bruises.

Now is her time to get away — with that thought, she swiftly thrusts her knee up in between his legs and pushes him off of her body. He falls to the floor with a pained groan, cupping his groin.

"You bitch!" He screams at her as she shuffles along quickly to make her getaway. She snatches her bag from the sink, grabs her pepper spray and unleashes hell on the man writhing on the floor. He screams bloody murder before Nadine exits the room, closing the door behind her.

Nadine tries to wipe away the messy mascara under her eyes before heading for the exit of the bar, ignoring as Amelia calls after her.

The teacher drove home in fear that her shaky hands would make her swerve into oncoming traffic. That and her blurry vision, eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. She's spent too much of her life crying over that man — she'll be damned if he gets anymore from her.

Taking extra precautions, she checks behind her every few seconds to make sure she isn't being tailed — even taking the long way home.

When she arrives at her apartment complex, she double checks the locks on her car before making her way up the stairs, her key already in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. When she sees another figure crouched by her door, the woman jumps. She doesn't want any more surprises tonight.

As she steps closer, arm extended with her pepper spray, her eyes catch sight of the familiar dark hair and the lit end of a cigarette. Nadine holds her breath as she realizes that that cigarette belongs to the woman she's been ignoring for the past week.

With a broken voice, Nadine freezes and whispers, "Gemma?"

smokestacks taglist: @saccreigns @gwenspacy @complacentviawattpad @rosenoirwrites @bettergetusetoit @mcj39623 @palmstreesallday @kmhappybunny @buttershea07

general taglist : @gwenspacy @saccreigns @complacentviawattpad @rosenoirwrites @random-ficreader23 @kyla-queen

let me know if you'd like to join any of my taglists! feel free to like, reblog, and comment! also, my asks are open — and im taking requests!

[doyelikehaggis]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scanny | Scott McCall x Danny Mahealani (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @childofsquidward

The collie laying on the table is patient and docile as Scott finishes slotting the cone into place around her neck. She just stares up at him with big eyes, nudging against his hand with her nose.

Laughing, Scott rubs her head. Her tail gives a little wiggle in response.

"You know, you're the only one I've seen who isn't bothered by this thing," he tells her, scratching behind her ear. 

She just gives a playful yip in response. 

The bell rings over the front door, alerting Scott to someone entering the animal clinic. Somewhat pointless considering he heard the heartbeat first. But Lola's ears immediately perk up, and her tail bangs against the table.

Scott grins at Danny when he appears in the doorway, holding two festive coffee cups.

"You've been missed," he says.

Lola's already standing on the table, barking fondly at Danny. He laughs, and moves towards her, fuelling her excitement.

"By which one of you?" Danny jokes.

Scott's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, but he falters, and Danny's already focused on Lola again anyway. Heat rushes to his face. He quickly tries to regain some composure. 

"Hey, girl! Oh, you look so good!" Danny coos. "Did Dr. McCall take good care of you?"

Scott tries to bite back a smile and fails. He's getting used to hearing his friends call him Dr. McCall, more as a joke, but something about the way Danny says it gives him this fluttering in his chest.

So, when he first saw him at the start of December, it was a surprise. He'd practically disappeared off the face of the earth for two years, and then suddenly he was back in town for the holidays, to see his family and friends. 

But not only that, Scott hadn't quite realized just how attractive Danny is. Was he always that good-looking while they were at school together? Of course he was, everyone knew it. But Scott hadn't exactly been out to himself at that point, so seeing Danny back from New Orleans, even more tanned, with even more defined muscles—yeah, Scott might get a little nervous whenever he sees him now.

And it doesn't help that they seem to be seeing more of each other now than they did while at school. They run into each other in town. When Scott went back to fill in for Coach while he was away towards the end of the year, Danny just kept showing up, saying he was visiting a teacher to discuss something (he is, after all, in computer programming now, so it makes some semblance of sense), and they'd talk out on the field. He bmped into him while bringing his mom lunch at the hospital. 

Scott even saw him while out with Lydia two weeks ago. He was catching up with Jackson, who was also back in town for the holidays, like everyone else. 

And now at work, too. The universe seems to be playing some joke on him. He doesn't mind all that much, for once. As long as this isn't going to lead to him finding out that Danny's actually been turned into a vampire, or has been possessed by some new, evil spirit.

"Thank you," Danny says, lifting his eyes to Scott. Of course, Scott's still the one looking up at him, because it would appear Danny has had another growth spurt as well as everything else. 

Scott realizes he isn't answering. Just gazing. He grins, and hastily tries to not be totally obvious.

"Just doing my job," he says with a shrug. 

Danny rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but I know for a fact that this clinic should have been shut for the rest of the holidays. So, thank you for seeing her anyway."

Scott hesitates at that. "Well… you're a friend. And I had to come in today anyway. And—" he looks down at Lola, who's settled back down on the table, and gives her head another rub "—I couldn't just leave this one stranded on Christmas Eve."

"We both thank you, then." Danny then holds out one of the coffee cups. "A gesture to prove it."

"God, thank you," Scott says, gratefully accepting the cup and taking a drink. "I haven't had anything all day. Or since last night. Including sleep. I might be running on three Mountain Dews and a kitkat."

Danny raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "That… can't be good for you."

Scott just shrugs again. He'll probably feel the effects later on today, since it's currently only one-thirty in the afternoon. As long as he makes it to four to head to the station to see Stiles, then he can head back home and have a nap. And maybe food.

"I didn't know the life of a vet was so demanding."

"It's the holidays," Scott explains, taking another drink before continuing. The gingerbread-cinnamon-whatever is in this latte is the best thing he's ever had right now. "Lots of people want their pets better before Christmas and New Year. A lot of strays get found with bad injuries. Currently I have—"

Barking starts up from the dog room in the back. Scott smiles, gesturing towards the door as Lola once again perks up.

"—them. Eight labrador puppies. They're under a year old. Deaton and I were trying to get them rehomed before the holidays, but it didn't work out. That's why I was coming in to work anyway, since Deaton's out of town."

"Never mind, your job is clearly far more demanding than I thought." Danny smiles, glances down at Lola, then pauses. "Do you need a hand with them at all? They sound pretty eager for attention."

"Yeah, I was gonna take them out for a walk once I was finished up here," Scott says.

Danny's grin widens. "You planned to walk eight hyperactive labrador puppies by yourself? In the snow?"

Scott just gives another shrug. "They're not too hard to handle once they're outside."

The look Danny is giving him only intensifies the fluttery feeling in his chest. It's like something's tickling him from the inside. He can feel the heat beneath his skin, in his cheeks.

"Guess that whole Alpha thing really does give you an advantage, huh," Danny says, a certain teasing twinkle in his eyes but his grin sincere.

Scott has barely gotten used to the idea of Danny knowing about the supernatural at all, never mind him making casual comments about it. And especially not while he's looking at him like that.

"I don't know if it's anything to do with that," Scott says, shaking his head. "But… sometimes, yeah. It comes in handy."

Danny nods. The puppies are still barking in the back, trying to get Scott's attention.

"Well, I think Lola could use a walk after being so good about this," Danny says. He looks at Scott, smiling. "Mind if we join you? I can be pretty good with dogs, might help to take a couple off your hands for an hour."

Scott's eyebrows raise in surprise, and his heartbeat raises itself as well. 

"You… but—" he frowns, his head tilting with a confused smile "—it's Christmas Eve. Don't you wanna get back to your family?"

"They won't miss me for a little while," Danny says, brushing it off. Then, because he seems to be catching on, he rolls his eyes, and says, "Please? You helped me with Lola when you clearly already had your hands full. I wanna do more than get you coffee."

Scott's heart drops into his stomach and lurches right back up. He swallows, and tries to keep his mind on one track, biting his lip. 

"Uh… yeah," he breathes out before he can think twice. "You know what? That would be great. Thank you."

"No problem," Danny says, sincerely.

They get Lola to hop off the table, and head into the back room to get the others ready. Danny just laughs when he sees the little christmas hats Scott put on the ones that were happy to wear them.

As they're getting them all on their leashes, Danny casually adds, with a glance at Scott, "And if you were up for it, I'd like to get coffee with you sometime."

Scott accidentally clips the leash to his hand instead of the collar. He winces, quickly undoing it and fixing it to its right place instead. Then he looks over at Danny and his amused grin, his heart racing.

"Like—like a date?" he asks, hardly daring to believe that's what he means. Danny was never interested in him. Was he? 

Scott's quickly going through every interaction he's ever had with him.

"Exactly a date," Danny corrects. 

Scott's eyes are wide. His mouth opens, then closes. He wasn't prepared for this. Sure, the thought of Danny liking him back crosses his mind after Stiles and Lydia both insisted that he did after he told them about running into him all those times. But that doesn't mean he was prepared for it.

"You can say no," Danny says, giving another casual shrug as clips the last lead on to the last excited puppy. "I just thought I might as well ask. Waiting three years to do it was bad enough, I didn't want to seem totally pathetic by waiting four to at least know what you'd say."

"Three—what?" Scott asks in disbelief, sure that he must have somehow misheard. "You've wanted to ask me out for… three years?" 

"Like I said, it was starting to seem pathetic." Danny looks at him, holding his stare with a soft gaze. "But, Lydia told me that you came out last year, and after seeing you, I figured I should at least ask."

"Wow. Uh…" Scott's mind is a mess, and he can't sort his thoughts out. Except for one. "I'd love to."

Danny blinks, thrown off his own guard now. Apparently even he wasn't prepared. But he quickly recovers, as does Scott, smiles forming across both their faces.

"Go on a date with you, I mean," Scott says, as if it needs further elaboration. 

"Really?" Danny asks. "Uh… today?"

Scott's breath is knocked out of him, but he's already nodding again. "Yeah, absolutely."

He didn't think anything could make the fluttery feeling in his chest worse. Turns out, Danny smiling at him like he is right now is the thing that can. 

"Okay, great," he says. "Then let's get these guys out of here."

Scott happily agrees. They head out of the back door after making sure the front is locked up. It has to be an hour or more that passes as they walk the dogs through town, taking an open path into the woods, through the snow. The whole way, Scott and Danny are talking, and laughing, catching up on the years they missed and in between. 

[nvvermore]

Angel of Music

Beatrice’s vocal lessons with Amaryllis begin, and the both of them learn much more during these lessons than they’d ever expected to

words: 9k~

Amaryllis’s POV by me/Beatrice’s POV by @juliandev0rak

—

Unfortunately for Amaryllis, Beatrice was a good student.

It sounded like a silly thing to lament over, but it was easy for a good student to sniff out a bad teacher. So, Amaryllis needed to work extra hard to appear as natural as possible in such a position. It didn’t help that yesterday Nadia had also informed them that Beatrice happened to be a teacher herself. Not versed in music, but there had to be a method to these things that it was clear they would be missing.

She’d come prepared, with a journal for notes, water, and even mentioned she took time to practice last night. Despite her outward anxiety, it was clear Beatrice felt excited. But, her attitude didn’t change Amaryllis’s  unpreparedness. So far, they had been improvising, banking on her lack of experience and their charisma to fill in the blanks. They were nothing if not an actor.

Now, the two had finished discussing Beatrice’s experience level, as never having had an instructor meant very little. Amaryllis never had one either and they were doing fine. That detail they left out though. But she was proficient on the piano and had a secure grasp on reading music, and had sung for fun her entire life.

Amaryllis stood from the chaise where the two had been sitting side by side. They held out a hand to Beatrice, whose eyes flashed from their face to the offered hand before taking it. Without thought, their thumb brushed over the back of her hand, her skin soft to the touch. As soon as she was on her feet she pulled away, and Amaryllis mourned the loss.

“An important part of singing is remembering your whole body is the instrument. You need to be mindful of your entire being. It may sound difficult, but with practice it will become second nature.” Amaryllis explains as they watch Beatrice watch them. Her hazel eyes dart away when the two make eye contact.

“First step to a session is to stretch. You want your body to be loose, especially your torso. Follow after me.” Amaryllis raises their arms above their head, stretching their shoulders. “Hold for thirty,” They instruct, looking to Beatrice for understanding. Though instead of stretching, she’s starting again. This time, her gaze is on the hem of their dress, where it’s ridden up due to the stretching. The already risqué length had become even more revealing, pale skin a striking contrast to their dark outfit.

“See something you like?” The taunt snaps Beatrice out of it, and her hands nervously dart to the clasp of her cloak. “That seems a little heavy, perhaps you'd like to take it off?”

“Ah, um, yes! Of course.” her fingers stop their fiddling to undo the clasp, and she slips off the garment and hangs it on the back of a chair. Now, it’s Amaryllis’s turn to stare. Sans-cloak, Beatrice is in a light-colored lace gown. It was modest— especially compared to Amaryllis— but not any less mesmerizing. Beatrice catches them staring and they do nothing to hide that they were, lips quirked into a sly grin. She clears her throat, eager to continue.

“So what exactly is the reasoning for loosening up?”

“Tension in your body puts strain on your muscles, including the ones used in signing. When that happens, your ability and range gets cut a significant amount. Proper posture goes hand in hand with relaxation. One can have the most beautiful voice, but it all falls apart if they’re holding themself wrong.”

Together, they finish up the basic stretches, and Amaryllis retreats to the piano. They finger out a simple scale a few times over, ruby eyes never leaving Beatrice.

“Sing for me.“

An inhale, a shaky exhale, and then she begins to vocalize. She’s very quiet, Amaryllis can hardly hear her over the sound of the piano. But they smile at her and nod, a small push of encouragement. Little by little, she loosens up, growing louder as they go through the scales. Moving up and down in octaves until they pass Beatrice’s range. Her voice is light and airy, ethereal despite the hesitation behind it. An impressive high range, and that was with no breath control practice. When they told her yesterday they'd make her into a prima donna, it had been to tease. But now they’ve heard her, Amaryllis thought it might not be an impossible feat.

Amaryllis ceases their playing. Still watching Beatrice, they could pick up on the subtle tremors that ran through her. She was doing her very best to be discreet in regards to her nerves. They stood from the bench to direct her to sit back down on the chaise, fetching water for her in the process. As she drank it down, Amaryllis fought the impulse to brush her hair back out of her face. The urge to comfort her with any touch. But they didn't know how such a gesture would be received, and the unusual desire to do so brought them discomfort.

“You have a beautiful voice,” their soft complement breaks through the silence. Beatrice looked at them with wide eyes, expression flattered and confused all at once. “It’s true. Right now, your biggest setback is your nerves, and that will fade in time. But the tension you carry because of it can create pitch issues.”

“Oh,” Beatrice whispers, voice trailing off as she takes in the information. Her mouth opens to finish her thought, but loses her words when Amaryllis’s hand is on her chin. They tilt her head up to look at them, the same way they'd done so yesterday.

“You should always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it. That way, one day, you will.”

“I-”

“Your voice is beautiful.” Beatrice looks torn, face flushed and Amaryllis can tell she wants to glance away from them so badly. But she doesn't, and they stand over her patiently while she finds the resolve they know she has.

“Thank you.” Her voice is steady, and while Amaryllis knows it's not likely she believes it yet, it's certainly a good start. Satisfied, their thumb brushes across Beatrice’s jaw before pulling away. They don't watch for any reaction, deciding they've maybe pushed her a bit too much already. Standing across the room now, they decide to get back to the actual vocal lesson.

“Now that I've heard you sing without any corrections, let's go over what exactly we'll work on together.”

The rest of the lesson passes faster than Amaryllis wanted it to. They go over breath control and pitch issues, how to practice and how to work the areas she needed to in particular. Beatrice was attentive, asked careful questions and took detailed notes. The next time Amaryllis had her sing she did so with a little less hesitance. Their own hesitance surrounding teaching faded too. It felt less like they were teacher and student, and more like they were having a conversation. Before they knew it, two hours had passed, and didn’t want to keep Beatrice any longer. Even if a persistent part of their mind said they did.

“Well, It's about time you gave your voice a rest. I‘d consider this first session a great success.” Beatrice stood a few feet away from where Amaryllis sat on the bench. She looked almost disappointed at the concept of the lesson’s conclusion. Glancing around the room, her eyes landed on the grandfather clock in the corner.

“Ah, I suppose you are correct,” her hands darted to where her cloak normally sat. When she found it missing, her fingers faltered. “So how often do you think I should have lessons?”

“Weekly will be best. Much of the progress you're going to make will happen during practice. And as long as you take time to do so each day, you'll see it in little time. But if you have questions or need assistance outside of lessons, you know where to find me.” Amaryllis retrieved their grimoire from the piano lid as Beatrice gathered her things. The green cloak resumed its place on her shoulders, and Amaryllis felt endeared by the quirk. Together, they made for the doors.

“Amaryllis, I,” Beatrice began once they exited the room, “I’d like to thank you. I never thought I'd ever take lessons, let alone ones from you.” The admiration of others rarely phased them, it was another aspect of their everyday. But Beatrice’s gratitude made them feel something unlike any kind they’d received before.

“The pleasure is all mine. You're a very promising student after all.”

“Thank you,” she said with the same conviction as she did after Amaryllis’s complement earlier. Feeling a sense of pride, they smiled at her, genuine.

“Have a good evening, Beatrice.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Beatrice shows up to the next lesson early, notebook and water in hand. She tries the door to the practice room and finds it locked, so she sinks down onto the floor to sit and wait. She’s just pulled her notebook out of her bag and is reviewing her notes from last week when she hears the now familiar sound of Amaryllis’ heels approaching down the hallway. She hurriedly stuffs the notebook back into her bag just as Amaryllis turns the corner. “Well hello,” Amaryllis smiles, offering their hand to help Beatrice up, “Need a hand?”

“Oh, yes thank you,” Beatrice takes their hand, trying not to seem too eager as she reaches for them. She lets go of their hand as soon as she’s up, not wanting to make things awkward by lingering.

“Shall we begin?” Amaryllis says, holding the door open for her. She sets her bag down on the chaise and takes her cloak off, not noticing the way Amaryllis watches her from across the room. Her hands go to her clothes, making sure her blouse is tucked in properly and fluffing the fabric of her skirt to make sure it lays flat. She takes a sip of water, a deep breath, and turns to face Amaryllis.

This lesson starts better than the last. Beatrice is less nervous now that she knows what to expect, now that she knows that Amaryllis is both a good teacher and a kind person. She hadn’t expected ridicule by any means, but hearing genuine compliments from them had made her both slightly giddy and a lot more confident. Beatrice loves to learn and if she simply treats these lessons as just that, a lesson, a chance to learn something, she’ll be fine.

As she sings through a few warm up exercises her eyes follow Amaryllis as they play the piano. They seem to notice her staring at them and look up to meet her eyes, causing Beatrice to falter on the note. She tries to recover from the mistake quickly but Amaryllis stops playing and stands up from the piano bench, taking a step towards her.

“You’re too tense again,” Amaryllis explains, their hands going to her shoulders to gently push them down from where she’d lifted them as she'd sung, “Relax your shoulders, remember what I said about tension and stress?” 

“Yes, I remember,” Beatrice smiles, willing her voice to stay steady and her shoulders not to shake under their touch. Amaryllis returns the smile as their left hand gently moves further down her shoulder. They fiddle with the ruffle on her sleeve briefly before removing both of their hands and taking a step away from her. Beatrice breathes in sharply in response and tries to ignore the feeling of her sleeves pressing against her arms just as Amaryllis’ fingers had been

“You’re doing very well, Beatrice. Just relax,” Amaryllis says as they return to their place at the piano bench. She’s grateful that they’re busy shuffling through sheet music and can’t see the way her cheeks color at the praise. They start to play one of the songs she’d sung last week and nod at her to begin. 

Beatrice makes it through with only minor mistakes but she still can’t seem to focus when Amaryllis looks up from the piano to watch her. She messes up words, sings off key, and even sometimes grows so quiet she can’t be heard until Amaryllis looks away. She struggles to fight against these reactions, deciding to stare at a spot on the wall behind them so that she won’t notice Amaryllis looking at her. It seems to work and the next run through of the song goes more smoothly. 

During a water break Beatrice gives herself a pep talk, reminding herself that this is simply a lesson, something she can learn to excel at if she follows the rules. The reminder gives her some resolve and she’s able to focus her attention on singing rather than her (very distracting) teacher. As she sings she remembers to breathe and relax her shoulders, she tries to tune out everything but the notes from the piano. She hits a note she’d struggled to hit the week before and smiles in surprise. Her eyes float down from their safe spot on the wall to look at Amaryllis, who watches them with an unreadable expression on their face before it fades into something more neutral.

“That was great!” Amaryllis says, “Let’s do that part again to see if you can hit the note twice in a row.”

The lesson moves quickly once she’s able to focus, and before she knows it Beatrice is pulling her cloak back on and preparing to leave. She stands by the door for a moment, watching as Amaryllis gathers their sheet music. Though the sight of them still makes her a bit nervous, the feeling has faded from self consciousness to something else, something she doesn’t quite want to think about yet.

“You’ve improved since last week,” Amaryllis says, turning around to face her. They give her an encouraging smile and Beatrice meets their eyes, for once managing not to blush as they gaze at her.

“You think so?” Beatrice asks, returning the smile.

“You’re a very quick learner when you’re using that brain of yours to focus instead of overthinking,” Amaryllis replies, their smile turning into more of a smirk. Beatrice does blush then, laughing under her breath as she stares down at her boots.

“Yes, well, I’m working on it,” She says, fiddling with the closure on her overstuffed bag, “I’m glad to hear I’m improving.” 

“You really are, just make sure to practice so you can remember everything you’ve learned this week.” Amaryllis holds the door open for her, gesturing for her to walk out before them. She suddenly feels like she should say something else, the lesson had come to a close too quickly.

“Amaryllis,” Beatrice starts, wondering what she should even say. Should she ask them if they’re going to dinner at the palace? Should she suggest going somewhere else together? No. Surely Amaryllis sees her as nothing more than a student, or maybe a friend if she’s lucky. There’s no guarantee Amaryllis would want to spend more time with her than is necessary, so she changes course, “Thanks again.” 

“You’re very welcome. I’ll see you next week, Beatrice,” Amaryllis replies, turning to walk down the hall.

Beatrice watches them go, trying not to let her eyes linger in places they shouldn’t. Amaryllis’ tight dress leaves nothing to the imagination, and if Beatrice is being honest she has been imagining. She clears her throat and turns the other direction, headed back to the safety of the palace proper. It’ll be a long week waiting to see them again.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

“It’s impressive,” Beatrice comments one day, in the middle of a lesson.

“What’s impressive?” They hadn’t been discussing anything in particular, so it seemed out of place.

“The dedication you have for your craft, all the effort you put into it. And I'm sure I don't even know the half of it.” As she explained, Beatrice sounded composed, but her rosy cheeks gave her away.

Amaryllis blinked, somewhat stunned, though they gave no outward indication of it. They had already recognized that hearing praise from Beatrice felt different somehow. But since their lessons had begun, the flutter they felt when she did so had only grown.

“Please,” Amaryllis waved a dismissive hand, “when you've been at it for as long as I have, it’s hardly any effort at all.”

“You know, I recall you telling me a few weeks ago to, ‘always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it’.”

Beatrice’s words paired with the smug air she said them with caught Amaryllis by surprise. For a split-second, all they could do was stare at her. Being called out for deflection, with their own words, was unexpected from her. As they'd known Beatrice thus far, it was uncharacteristic. And so was their own delight at the notion Beatrice was becoming more comfortable with them. Recovered, they propped their elbows back on the piano, leaning back against it.

All Amaryllis could think of was different ways they'd like to wipe the smirk off her rose-tinted lips. They favored the concept of doing so with their own mouth.

“Do you now?” they mimicked her attitude, cocky expression falling into place as easy as breathing. Easier, even. “I hope you’ve been practicing that part of my lessons too. I’m sure you get enough compliments to do so.” At least, Amaryllis hoped she did, that at least someone was out there taking the time to cherish her. Instead of the bashful reaction they had been hoping for, Beatrice frowned.

“Ah, not usually, no-“

“That’s a shame,” they cut her off, stepping away from the piano to stand before her. Being this close made that flutter Amaryllis was feeling speed up. The last thing they wanted was for Beatrice to frown. And if no one else was taking the time to tell her all the sweet things she should hear, they were more than happy to step up. Accepting compliments built confidence, and confidence was vital to singing. It was simply another part of the lesson, that was all. With a gentle hand, Amaryllis brushed tawny waves out of her face, keeping her from hiding behind them now. “With how lovely you are, I had expected there'd be someone to shower you with sweet words."

Voice low and velvety, they ran their fingers down her cheek. Nails just barely grazing her neck before their hand pulled away. Beatrice wasn't frowning anymore, but was watching them with wide-eyed astonishment. For a moment, Amaryllis's resolve faltered.

They thought about kissing her, it would only take another step, a tilt of her head. But, what actually shocked Amaryllis is that they did not. Instead, as swift as they had approached, they were back against the piano.

Beatrice was their student, and so it would be improper to persue her...

…Which didn’t hold up in the slightest, because never in their life had they cared about what was proper or not. Student or not, under typical circumstances, Amaryllis would have had her in their bed by now. But that was it, wasn’t it? That nothing concerning Beatrice was at all typical. From their opposition to simply seducing her to their reactions to the things that she did. Amaryllis couldn’t recall a time when they’d felt this way before.

They had decided to entertain their intrigue when they offered her lessons. But Amaryllis hadn’t imagined that it would shift in the direction they were afraid it was heading.

“Thank you,” her breathy voice pulled them back into the room. It took them a second to realize she was thanking them for the compliment. Beatrice was biting her lip, watching them with those hazel eyes they couldn’t quite get a read on.

All they could do was turn away from her, but not before they could hide away their smile. Amaryllis tried to stay focused on the lesson, and not on the dangerous territory they were heading into.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

They’ve done more talking than singing, Beatrice realizes as she looks at the clock. It’s been an hour since the lesson started and they’ve been sitting on the couch talking the entire time, neither realizing how much time has passed. The topics of conversation have ranged, what began as small talk about the rainy weather had evolved into how they’d each come to be employed at the palace. Amaryllis doesn’t give many details, but Beatrice drinks in every piece of their story she can get and tries to ignore the urge to pry.

Over the course of the hour Beatrice has loosened up considerably, her posture is slouched and her legs are tucked under her as she sits criss cross on the couch rather than her usual polite ankle cross. She’s surprised to find how easy it is to talk to Amaryllis, how easily she can let her guard down to talk about herself more than she usually would. When Amaryllis asks a question she finds herself answering without thinking. They seem genuinely interested in her answers, leaning towards her as she speaks and asking follow up questions.

“What made you want to teach?” Amaryllis asks, their voice pulling her gaze back from the clock on the wall.

“Well, I never had a real education as a child, I learned manners and needlepoint and all sorts of useless things like that, but science, literature, history- everything I know I’ve learned on my own,” Beatrice explains, her voice rising in volume as it often does when she’s excited, “Vesuvia doesn’t offer an education for those who can’t afford to pay tutors, and I think that should change.” 

“So you just marched up to the Countess and suggested opening a school?” Amaryllis grins, their eyes trained to Beatrice’s face which is for once free of any hint of anxiety as she smiles proudly at them. The image of Beatrice stomping up the palace steps in her green cloak with a look of determination on her face makes Amaryllis suppress a laugh. 

“Believe it or not, I did! I requested a meeting and left less than an hour later to pick a spot to build the school,” Beatrice laughs, “Nadia wasn’t difficult to convince.”

“I’m sure you can be very convincing when you want to be,” Amaryllis says, reaching to play with the lace trim at the bottom of her dress. Beatrice watches the action closely, not pulling away when their hand briefly brushes against her leg. “Well, I suppose we should get started on the singing lesson, we’ve delayed quite a bit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beatrice nearly trips over her dress as she gets up from the chaise.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I very much enjoyed getting to know you better,” Amaryllis replies, smoothing their clothing down as they walk across the room to the piano.

“I enjoyed it too,” Beatrice smiles, “getting to know you.” 

“I should have you play sometime, I remember you being quite proficient during our first lesson,” Amaryllis says as they take their seat at the instrument. 

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not very accomplished anymore. I wish I had more time to practice the piano, but there are only so many hours in a day,” Beatrice replies, taking her usual spot standing next to them.

“Would you like to play something now?” Amaryllis suggests, patting the spot next to them on the piano bench, “I’m sure you’re great.”

“Oh, well, sure if you’d like to hear me play,” Beatrice hesitates for a moment before she takes a seat next to them, trying to smooth her dress down a bit so she doesn’t take up too much room on the bench. Amaryllis smiles and moves a bit closer so that their leg is pressed to hers, she can feel the warmth of their skin through the fabric of her dress and works hard to regain her composure.

“I would love to hear you play,” Amaryllis says directly into her ear, their mouth barely brushing against her skin. She manages to only shiver the tiniest bit as Amaryllis leans away from her again, turning their attention back to the piano. Beatrice takes an only slightly shaky breath and reaches for the keys. Her fingers pluck a familiar tune, one she’d learned when she was younger and forced to sit through hours of lessons every day. She shuts her eyes as she plays it by memory, tuning out Amaryllis next to her and the distracting ticking of the clock on the wall behind her. 

When she finishes the song, a short piece designed more for practice than performance, she pulls her hands back into her lap and looks up at Amaryllis to gauge their reaction. The smile on their face is different than any Beatrice has seen before. It has more emotion behind it, admiration perhaps, and she feels a flutter in her stomach at the thought. 

“That was lovely, Beatrice. I thought you said you were out of practice? That sounded well practiced to me,” Amaryllis laughs, the smile replaced by their usual expression.

“Thank you. I used to hate that song so much, it would get stuck in my head for hours and I’d  find myself playing the notes in the air all the time like some sort of compulsion,” Beatrice sighs, her fingers flexing in her lap at the memory, “But I’m glad the torment payed off.” 

“Well I’ll stop torturing you then,” Amaryllis jokes, bumping Beatrice slightly off the piano bench with their hip, “I think we’ll leave the piano to me for now, let’s begin the lesson.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Amaryllis’s fingers still on the keys of the piano as the song comes to an end. Beatrice’s singing was lovely— as always— but something was off. What, they weren’t exactly sure. The warm up went fine, she didn’t seem stiff or nervous in the slightest, and  minimal issues with her pitch. She’d taken a breath or two at a bad moment, and at one point a whole note became a half, but neither of those were serious.

They realize that they may just be projecting their feelings onto her. A comment of hers from before had been bothering Amaryllis, much more than it should have. Beatrice’s anecdote about having no say in performing a song that she hated had struck close to home. Literally.

Beatrice had never given any indication that she was unhappy with the music they chose for her. But Amaryllis had never directly asked her what she wanted to sing either.

“Amaryllis, is everything alright?” Beatrice spoke up. Suddenly they realized they hadn’t said a word in the time since the song had concluded. There was a nervous edge to her voice, the tone making an unwelcome appearance for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, I apologize,” they stood from the bench, feeling the sudden urge to move.

“Is there, um, a problem?” Her words were hesitant, uneasy. When Amaryllis turned to her, Beatrice's eyes were downcast, focused on the carpet.

“Oh, ma chérie, no. You were wonderful, don’t worry.” The endearment had slipped out without thought. Bringing a hand to her back, Amaryllis ushered her over to sit with them. They felt uneasy, but maintained their composure, focused on how soft the satin of her dress felt.

“Sorry, I-” Amaryllis faltered. Their hand was still at her back, lower now, and as much as they longed to leave it there they knew they shouldn't. Not only was the gesture a little too friendly, but feeling how thin her dress seemed to be was distracting. “I’d like to ask, what kind of music do you want to sing?”

Once Beatrice had taken in their question, she relaxed, taking a moment to consider her answer.

“I suppose whatever kind suits my voice best?” She sounded uncertain, and her hazel eyes flitting back to the ground was a confirmation. Amaryllis was having none of that.

“Ah,” their hand came up to her chin, tilting her gaze back to them, “that’s not how this works.” The two were close, but not quite as close as they had been at the piano bench last week. As Amaryllis looked down at her, the rose-colored lipstick she wore caught their eye. They gave into the temptation to stare, for a little too long.

Amaryllis is back to the same dilemma as they had been weeks ago. They wanted to kiss her, wanted to see the color on her lips smeared and mixed with their own. It was the same conundrum, but it had grown far more complicated than it had been weeks ago.

They dreaded the conclusion of their lessons, and counted the days until the next one. And between lessons they’d started seeing each other much more often during the rest of the week. During court functions and other meetings, Amaryllis had found themself in Beatrice's company. They ran into each other in the halls of the palace— literally, one time— and when on stage they looked for her in the crowd. She was never difficult to spot.

As of late, their compositions reflected their feelings. Even inspiration for the masquerade came easy, knowing she'd be in that crowd too.

Amaryllis wanted her. But now, they wanted far more than a kiss or a single night, and not in the way they were familiar with wanting someone. Wanted to hold her hand, wanted to listen to her ramble, wanted to sing with her. Wanted to know her, and had even contemplated letting her know them in return.

But they couldn’t let themself. It was foolish— to be afraid of the feelings and to have them at all in the first place. In some ways, it felt like something of a betrayal. Beatrice had trusted Amaryllis to instruct her, not to fall for her.

Finally, they avert their gaze, torn to see Beatrice watching them with a similar longing. It would have been far easier to lean into her instead of pulling themself away completely. Even if Amaryllis knew she'd be receptive, they had to have some self-preservation. They knew it wouldn’t be enough to just take what they could get from her. It would be better to let the infatuation fade than feed the fire; it would hurt far less.

“Passion is far more important.” Amaryllis leans back against the chaise. “Doing what’s ‘technically’ correct means nothing if it's not what makes you happy. Singing for the sake of arbitrary rules will only bring you dread.” They're familiar with the way it feels to lose your passion, and the trauma of it was a deep-seated pain. Beatrice’s brow creases as they speak, picking up on what their insistence indicates. “So when I ask you what you’d like to sing, I need you to answer with how you feel.”

“I’d like to sing things that I can find meaning in. The song we’ve been working on, it’s beautiful, but I can’t relate to it no matter how I attempt to interpret it. Coming from me it feels insincere.”

“I may have something in particular you'd like.” The words are out before Amaryllis can even grasp what exactly they were deciding to offer. But they couldn't take it back now, not with the delighted way Beatrice was looking at them.

Without standing, they motion in the air, and their grimoire soars over from where it had placed on the piano. Amaryllis sets the book of music before them. With their hands on the cover, they whisper the incantation that unlocks it.

Beatrice had scooted forward, leaning in, but still far enough for her to pretend she wasn't being nosy. Amaryllis knew she must have a billion questions, and they would happily listen to her voice each one. But, she only asked one.

“What is it about?”

It was a simple question, but not one with a simple answer. That was why Amaryllis had written it into a song after all. Emotions and experiences were too difficult for them to express in a usual manner. If their feelings were to be expressed at all, they had to do so in a different way.

“You’ll see,” they left it at that, casting the projection spell for the piano. Sitting up straight, Amaryllis rolled their shoulders back, and began to sing.

The lyrics they sang painted the picture of a neglected child. The intense sorrow they felt. What they dreamed of to help them through each day. The helplessness that came when they realized the dreams were only that. Dreams, and nothing more.

With a final, shaky note, they looked to Beatrice. She was silent, lips parted and eyes glassy. For a moment, Amaryllis worries they'd upset her, but then she reaches out to rest her hand on their knee.

“Amaryllis, that was beautiful,” she blinks away the tears that had threatened to fall. “You’d trust me to sing that?”

“Of course,” they place their hand over hers.

“Then, I’d love to.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Beatrice wakes up groggily, rolling over in bed only to come face to face with a rabbit staring directly at her. “Oh, good morning, Bramble,” she says, reaching to scratch the rabbit between her ears. She winces at the sound of her voice, it sounds scratchy and her throat hurts a bit when she swallows. She decides to test her voice again, “Shall we get some breakfast?” it’s definitely still scratchy. 

She worries as she goes about her morning routine, wondering if she’ll be able to sing at all later. She’s been practicing in all of her spare moments, and perhaps that’s why she has no voice left for her real practice. Still, work doesn’t stop for a lost voice and she has a meeting with Nadia in an hour so she clasps her cloak, grabs her bag, and starts the trek across town.

When she arrives in Nadia’s parlor, a prompt five minutes early, she realizes how winded she feels. The moment she opens her mouth to greet Nadia she knows she might really be in trouble. 

“Good morning,” She croaks, pasting a cheerful smile on her face in the hopes of distracting the Countess. 

“Oh dear, Beatrice are you feeling alright? You sound quite ill,” Nadia says, looking worried as she stands in the doorway regarding her. 

“I’m fine, just a sore throat,” Beatrice replies, holding back a wince as her throat grates. 

‘You don’t sound fine, I believe you should go home and rest. You’re in no position to give a presentation this morning,” Nadia’s tone of voice brooks no argument and Beatrice hangs her head a bit as she tries to think of a way to convince her. Beatrice doesn’t take days off, certainly not for a sore throat. “I shall have a servant get you a carriage.”

“I’m fine, really! Don’t go to the trouble,” She pleads, but Nadia simply shakes her head and points to the doorway.

“Go home, take some time to rest, Beatrice,” Nadia says kindly. Beatrice sighs and starts to gather her things, there’s no use, Nadia’s right. She can barely make an audible sound, there’s nothing to do but wait for her voice to come back. 

As Beatrice heads to the Palace gates she’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t think about her lesson with Amaryllis. She all but forgets about it until she spots a familiar maroon haired figure approaching from across the foyer. 

“Beatrice, you’re here early,” Amaryllis says, looking equal parts bemused and excited to see her. 

“I was just leaving,” Beatrice rasps, “ Lost my voice,” 

“Yes I should say you have,” Amaryllis frowns, putting a hand on Beatrice’s forehead as if to check for a fever. She stares at them wide-eyed as they deliberate and finally pull their hand away. “Does your throat hurt as well?” 

“Yes,” She says, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can sing today.” 

“No, I don’t think you can. You should go home and rest, you’ve been practicing too much,” They reply, they’re still stooped down a bit to meet her eyes and Beatrice finds it hard to focus with them this close to her.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice manages to say, feeling terrible from the pain and because she’ll be missing out on a lesson.

Beatrice thinks back to their last lesson, the way Amaryllis had opened up to her and allowed her to listen to their music. She doesn’t want to miss another chance at that closeness, both emotional and physical. There had been times over the last few weeks where Beatrice could have sworn Amaryllis might kiss her. They’d stared directly at her lips, only a slight tilt of the head away from meeting her lips with their own. But it hadn't happened, and it never will, Beatrice reminds herself. Amaryllis is her teacher, and though they’ve begun to spend more time together outside of lessons she’s sure it’s out of friendly obligation and nothing more. 

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your poor vocal chords.” Amaryllis straightens up to their full height and takes a step back from her. They seem to be deep in thought for a moment before almost hesitantly adding, “Go home, I’ll bring you some tea to help with your throat.” 

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” Beatrice protests, her face already flushing at the thought of them being so concerned for her.

“Stop talking, you’ll make things worse,” Amaryllis says, “It’s the building on the corner by the hat shop, yes?” Beatrice is a little surprised that Amaryllis remembers where she lives, she’d only mentioned it once in passing a few weeks ago.

“Yes,” Beatrice starts, but at Amaryllis’ stern look she shuts her mouth and nods instead. 

“Now go rest,” They say, red lips pulling into their characteristic smile, “I’ll be by later.” 

When she gets home Beatrice kicks her boots off and changes into something comfortable. She chugs a glass of water but it’s too cold and burns the whole way down. It might just be her throat that hurts, but she finds herself quite tired. She’d refused the carriage ride home, deeming it unnecessary, and the walk back home had taken her longer than usual. She wants to take a nap, but if Amaryllis is coming by later she wants to make sure her house is tidy first.

After a quick speed clean, which she might’ve used some magic to do more quickly, she collapses into bed. What feels like five minutes later there's a knock on the door and she sits up with a start, hurriedly smoothing her hair down as she goes to answer the door. She holds her breath a little as she opens the door, seeing Amaryllis standing in her doorway is not a sight she’d ever expected to see. 

“Hello,” Amaryllis smiles as they take in Beatrice standing before them in her socks and a simple tunic, so different from her usual fancy clothing. She fidgets uncomfortably under their gaze, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” They raise an eyebrow, and Beatrice rushes to open the door wider for them to enter. 

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” She says hoarsely, watching as Amaryllis looks around her apartment. It’s not large, just the living area and a separate bedroom and bathroom off of a hallway. She’s glad she’d tidied before Amaryllis arrived, they’re used to Palace accommodations, and her little home in Center City certainly isn’t that. 

“I took a carriage, it took no time at all,” Amaryllis replies, taking a small pouch of tea leaves out of their bag. “The coachman said you decided to walk, why would you do that when you were already feeling unwell?” 

The question takes Beatrice off guard and she watches as Amaryllis walks into her kitchen like they live there, filling her kettle with water and setting it to boil. “It was unnecessary,” she responds when they turn around to look at her, “I didn’t need anyone to go to the trouble on my behalf.”

“If someone offers to help you, let them help you,” Amaryllis says, their face gone serious as they work to prepare the tea. “And it’s no trouble to take care of someone who’s always taking care of others.” 

They look a bit taken aback at their own words and immediately turn their back to Beatrice as they pour the tea. Though she wonders at their reaction it gives Beatrice a chance to take a deep breath and rid herself of the blush on her face. When Amaryllis turns around they’re brandishing a teacup, Beatrice’s favorite though they couldn’t have known that. 

“Do you have any honey? It’ll help your throat even more,” They ask. Beatrice nods and goes to the cupboard next to them, reaching on her tiptoes to grab the jar of honey from the back. Amaryllis watches her with a smirk as she manages to reach it and hands the jar to them. 

“What tea is that?” Beatrice asks, taking in the slightly familiar aroma.

“It’s ginger tea, now sit,” They point to the couch in the middle of the room, “And drink.” 

Beatrice takes the cup from them, trying not to react to their fingers brushing hers, and takes a seat. The tea tastes better than she thought it would, and the honey makes it sweet enough for her to actually enjoy. Amaryllis sits on the opposite end of the couch and watches as she sips the tea. She holds back a sigh as the warm beverage soothes her throat.

“I think you need to cut down on how much you’re practicing. You also need to take more frequent vocal breaks to rest, and I’m leaving this tea with you. You should have some after you practice,” Amaryllis says. Beatrice nods and continues to drink her tea, not wanting to interrupt their instruction. Amaryllis moves a bit closer to her and Beatrice turns towards them, nearly losing her grip on the teacup when they reach out to twist their finger around one of the curls that hangs near her face. Though she’s grown more used to their casual touches over time, she still finds herself flustered by how delicately they brush the lock of hair behind her ear.

“You’re making a lot of progress, Beatrice, but you shouldn’t push yourself so hard that you get hurt,” Amaryllis explains, their eyes locked to hers, “You need to take better care of your instrument.” 

“I will,” Beatrice says in assurance. Her voice already sounds a bit better, and it didn’t hurt as much to speak. She smiles at the realization that the tea really had helped, and Amaryllis watches in amusement as Beatrice downs the rest of the cup like one would take a shot of alcohol. 

“I need to get back for a performance tonight, promise me you’ll stay home and rest? If I see you at the Palace next week and you’re still croaking I’ll have to come up with something stronger, and it won’t be sweetened with honey,” Amaryllis threatens, but the smile on their face takes away from the effect.

“I promise,” Beatrice replies, holding her pinky out to theirs to make a pinky promise. Amaryllis stares at her finger for a moment before laughing under their breath and linking their pinky with hers.

“Good,” They stand up to gather their belongings and head towards the door, “Thanks for letting me visit your lovely home, I do hope I can make a return visit someday.” 

“I hope so too,” Beatrice says, meeting their eyes for a moment before her eyes dart away to the bookcase next to them, something safer to stare at, “Thank you for the tea.” 

“My pleasure, anything to help my favorite student,” Amaryllis smiles, dipping into a dramatic bow.

“As far as I know, I’m your only student,” Beatrice laughs, glad that the action didn’t seem to hurt her throat.

“Just take the compliment, Beatrice,” They say, opening the door, “Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye,” She replies, but they’ve already shut the door behind them. 

Beatrice makes herself another cup of ginger tea and considers writing Amaryllis a thank you note, it’s the least she can do. She gets to work, pulling out her special personalized stationery and her favorite golden ink. It takes her nearly fifteen minutes just to write their name, she tries to get the curve of the A just right, the y looped perfectly around the other letters. The actual contents of the note is short. There are lots of things she’d like to say to Amaryllis, and maybe someday she’ll get up the courage to do so, but for today she just says “thank you”.

She’d thought that writing the note might help her clear her head a bit, but when she tries to go to sleep she can’t stop the thoughts of Amaryllis. She thinks about the way Amaryllis had called her ma chérie last week, and how much she wants them to call her that again. She wants to hear more of their words spoken and sung only for her. Before she can help herself, Beatrice thinks about their lips again, bright red and so close to her own. Would it have been a mistake for her to have leaned in? Would Amaryllis have pushed her away or kissed her back? 

She really needs to get over this infatuation. Even if Amaryllis had wanted to kiss her, it doesn’t mean they would want anything more. Just when she thinks Amaryllis is interested they take a step back, or they return to their calm and collected demeanor and the moment passes. Beatrice really doesn’t know what to make of their attention, their casual touches and lingering eye contact. She’s seen them flirt with others in the same way, it seems to be a facet of their personality to be familiar with people, and if that’s the case then what makes her any different? 

Beatrice isn’t used to being treated like this. She’s not used to being told that she’s talented and pretty and full of potential, and though she believes their words to be genuine, she wonders if their time spent together means as much to Amaryllis as it does to her. She hopes it does.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

“So, what’s going on today that has you so cheerful?” Amaryllis asks as they begin to tidy up the rehearsal room now that the lesson had concluded. They're more than content to linger, packing their bag with little haste.

“I'm usually cheerful,” Beatrice fights a grin, acting coy.

“Especially so today. It certainly reflected in your performance. Now that I think about it, the past few days you’ve seemed so excited.” Amaryllis had been thinking about it, giddy each time they’d run into her and the dazzling smile she had on display.

Beatrice avoided their gaze, eyes mischievous, and Amaryllis expected her to deflect again. “It’s my birthday today!”

“Oh! Happy birthday,” they smile, full of adoration, “are you doing anything to celebrate?”

“I’m staying here for dinner tonight. A gangly birdie let it slip that Nadia may have planned something special for me.”

“I suppose that means I’ll get to see you at dinner.” Beatrice glances up, surprised, and Amaryllis attempts to suppress a laugh. “I usually dine here, I live here after all. Though, I often take meals in my room, but it seems that tonight is a special occasion.”

“Oh, you don’t have to come to dinner just for me, I’m sure you’re busy-“

“I’d like to. That is, if you don’t mind having me there.”

“Amie, of course not!”

For a moment, all is silent, both surprised that she called Amaryllis by a nickname. Beatrice looks like she’s about to rush to apologize, but their smile beats her to it.

“Then I’ll be there." Once the nickname sunk in, their face lit up— despite their attempt to stay neutral— and told her there was no issue. Beatrice nods, her demure smile doing nothing to hide how pleased she really is.

The two say their farewells for now, leaving in different directions. Beatrice, they assume, is off to get ready for a dinner in her honor, and Amaryllis is off to find a fitting last-minute gift.

After an hour, Amaryllis was approaching the dining room. A little late, but dressed for dinner and with a carefully-crafted bouquet in hand. They might have gone overboard with their gift, but Beatrice didn’t need to know. The arrangement they'd selected looked simple, but the meanings each flower held were far from it.

First, they'd started with violets, paired with sprigs of laurel. Individually, violets represented modesty, and laurel was for success. Together, they were for expressing that you were proud of the recipient. And Amaryllis was so proud of Beatrice. Their first real meeting all those months ago she was a ball of nerves, when it came to singing and being around them. But now, she had made leaps and bounds with her singing, and felt comfortable enough to call them ‘Amie’.

Then, the cowslip caught their eye. It was for gracefulness, and they'd decided it was fitting. Beatrice was graceful, even when she tripped over herself or her words, there was a certain charm to it. Even when nervous she always made her best attempt, and the way she lit up when she was successful. To Amaryllis, she was the portrait of grace.

Of course, it spiraled into dangerous territory from there. The buttercups came next, 'you are radiant with charm', they revealed. And when paired with the cowslip, they were often given as tokens of new and blooming affection. Amaryllis couldn't say their affection was new, but it was blooming into something far past a fleeting crush.

Finally, Amaryllis added purple pansies into the mix. They told themself it was simply to balance out the two bunches of yellow flowers, but that was a lie. Pansies confessed ‘you occupy my thoughts’, and gods, did she. So often they thought of her; when composing, when performing, during the day, at night, in bed. It almost felt wrong, how often their mind strayed to her and in the ways that it did.

The blooms had been wrapped together in cream-colored paper and tied with a violet ribbon. Amaryllis hoped the delicate yellows and purples would be to her liking. They also hoped that gifting this bouquet full of secrets would be symbolic. That they'd be handing off their feelings like they were handing off the flowers.

The dining room doors opened, and their worry-free façade fell back into place.

“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher,” catches Amaryllis’s ear as they enter. To the side is what looks to be the gift table, and they place the bouquet down. It was Portia, with all her enthusiasm that they'd heard. She was at the center of the table, alongside Nadia of course, with Beatrice seated on her other side.

“Ah, well-“

“Gossiping about me?” Amaryllis stopped behind their seats, interrupting and startling Beatrice in the process. Instinctively, they place a hand on her shoulder to steady her, surprised to feel bare skin. When Amaryllis glances down at her, they regret it immediately.

She’s dressed to the nines, cloak nowhere to be seen. All they see is cream lace and tulle that drapes off her shoulders, and the satin corset hugging her frame. They’re at a wonderful angle to witness exactly how flattering it is on her.

Before they could be considered staring, they look away. But as flushed as she is, they doubt Beatrice missed the way their eyes dragged over her body. Her smile is bright, and Amaryllis is a little dizzy at the idea that reaction was for them. They certainly could dream.

“Wait, you’ve been instructing her?” Asra questions from Beatrice’s other side.

“Why are you so surprised?” Amaryllis shrugs, nonchalant, strolling away to their seat. They were well aware this news was about to be the largest scandal in Vesuvian history. Their lessons weren’t a secret, but Amaryllis hadn’t gone out of their way to mention it, and it seemed Beatrice hadn't either.

“I recall bringing up the idea of you taking on students last year. And I recall you declining, claiming you weren’t ‘teacher material’.” Nadia comments as they pass.

Lucio can’t help but join in, complaints ready as Amaryllis takes their seat between him and Julian. “I’ve begged you for lessons, and you always told me no!”

“That’s because you’re tone deaf.”

“Wait, I’m tone deaf, but we sing together all the time?” Julian adds.

“You aren’t tone deaf, you have trouble matching pitch on your own. There’s a difference.”

They aren't close to Beatrice at all, on the complete opposite side of the table, but they can see her trying to listen in.

“So Amaryllis, what prompted your change of heart about teaching?” Nadia asks them.

“There’s been no change of heart, I’m still not interested,” Amaryllis sips their wine.

“Then why is Beatrice taking lessons from you?” Julian butts in from between them.

“She stumbled upon a rehearsal of mine weeks ago, and mentioned lessons. I thought I would offer,” another sip, “I could tell she was special.”

“Is that so?”

Amaryllis makes sure Beatrice is still eavesdropping, her eyes wide and curious. “Beatrice is a very promising student. If it were up to me, I’d have her on the stage by now.”

Nadia turns to her, and the countess begins to ask her about it. Of course, Amaryllis's ability to hear what she has to say is cut off by Lucio and Julian’s bickering.

Dinner as a whole passes with no more awe directed at them for their, admittedly, out of character actions. They were thankful to no longer be in the spotlight for the night, it wasn’t for them after all.

After dessert— Beatrice’s favorite cake, of course— Nadia suggests they all move to the veranda. Amaryllis stands, but takes their time joining everyone else, finishing off their wine. Somehow, they hadn’t noticed Beatrice still in the room until her hand is on their arm. It’s just the two of them now, and her touch is a welcome surprise. Beatrice’s smile is radiant as she looks up at them through long lashes. In her other hand is the bouquet.

“How did you know violets were my favorite?”

“I didn’t, actually,” she glances between the flowers and Amaryllis. “I’m relieved to know that I chose well.” 

“You did. Thank you, Amie. They’re beautiful.”

“They pale in comparison to you,” it’s cliché, and easily passed off as Amaryllis’s typical flirting. Even if now they mean it more than anything. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you,” she’s blushing, but her smile is proud.

“Did you know that violets mean ‘modesty’?”

“They do?” Her eyes light up, always eager to learn about anything. “Do the other flowers mean anything specific?”

“All of them do, and some of them mean something else when paired together. It’s why I picked them.” Beatrice’s brow raises, anticipating that Amaryllis will explain. “I think I’ll leave it for you to figure out on your own.”

“What!” Beatrice pouts, and her grip on their arm tightens. “But it’s my birthday.”

“And you love to learn, so it's the best gift of all.”

“That is a wonderful gift,” she laughs. “Then would you tell me what your favorite is?”

“I like Hemlock.”

“Isn’t that…”

“Highly poisonous? Yes, though it is safe when dried.” She stares for a moment, somewhere between confusion and amusement, then laughs again.

“How am I not surprised?”

“I also like roses. But don’t tell anyone, I wouldn’t want word to get out that I’m just a romantic, it’d ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” her expression turns pensive, “are you really? A romantic, that is.”

Amaryllis shifts a little closer to Beatrice. The arm that isn’t graced by her touch reaches out, hand on her bare shoulder. They notice a heart-shaped birthmark that they hadn't had the opportunity to see until now. Fingers brush over it before ghosting down her arm, wondering what her reaction would be if it was their lips instead. As they trace her skin, Amaryllis feels her shiver, and it takes every ounce of restraint to not seek that out over and over. They take her hand then, pulling it to their lips to place a soft kiss to the back of it, leaving behind a red lip print.

“I certainly can be, when someone piques my interest enough,” their ruby gaze doesn’t leave her face. Beatrice stifles a gasp, and Amaryllis wonders what to do now, how they could just walk away from this—

And then, they’re interrupted.

“Birthday girl! You’re about to miss your own toast!” Portia leans in  to shout from the doorway. “and you have to lead the song, or else Ilya’s squawking is gonna give me a headache.”

Beatrice intertwines her fingers with Amaryllis's, and then leads them outside hand-in-hand. The walk from the dining room to the veranda is far too short.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

[fumiko-matsubara]

June 22, 2014 ー 13:41

Characters: Chiba Ryuunosuke, Yamazaki Jenny, Nakamura Rio, and Maehara Hiroto

Word Count: 2.3k words

Author's Note: I've just been wanting to write anything about these particular four lol

"What are you two doing here?"

Nakamura and Maehara purposely avoided Miki's intense stare as she interrogated them.

"I was just getting something to eat but then I saw you two across the street..." Nakamura answered innocently before finally letting herself meet Miki's gaze. "So I just thought of saying hi... didn't expect to bump with this guy though," she pointed a thumb towards Maehara.

Verbally unresponsive, Miki blankly stared back for a few seconds, seemingly taking in Nakamura's answer, before moving her gaze towards Maehara's instead and raised an eyebrow, prompting him to speak up.

Maehara immediately looked sideways, avoiding her gaze once again. "Well, you told me last week that I should cancel my date with Remi-chan and that's what I did so now I have nothing to do-"

"Bullshit," Miki cut him off, clearly not amused. "That was last month, you bastard."

Nakamura lightly scoffed at that.

"I uhh..." Maehara trailed off, his gaze darting everywhere until they landed into Miki's hair. "Your hair!" He cracked a tight grin, obviously trying to change the topic. "It looks cute today!"

"I know," Miki answered dryly. Her hair is currently tied into loose twin dutch braids. "I see myself in the mirror everyday."

"Nevermind that, there's something I wanted to ask you," Nakamura butted in, "who's that guy? He looks familiar." She gestured towards the person standing next to Miki, who had worn his bucket hat down to his face, making it almost impossible to make out his appearance.

The said person let out a deep, seemingly annoyed, sigh at the question. "You can't even recognize me and yet you decided to follow us for almost thirty minutes straight?" He breathed out.

Nakamura immediately recognized that voice. "Chiba-kun?!" She exclaimed.

"Wait, Chiba?" Maehara took a step closer towards the guy to get a closer look at him.

Chiba clicked his tongue in irritation, pulling down his bucket even further while turning his head away. "Yeah, it's me."

Maehara stood almost awkwardly by the aisle as he watched the other three go over some make up products and try them out.

...or rather it was Miki trying out the products onto Chiba while Nakamura was going through the shelves.

After their mini confrontation by the street, Miki soon had told them that she was out with Chiba to shop for make up products to use for his future stages.

"The red palette was getting kinda boring lately so I thought of experimenting with colours on him and see what fits him the best," she explained to them earlier.

Maehara admitted that, aside from what he saw or heard from his older sisters, he doesn't know that much about make up since he was more of a skincare kind of guy.

Almost 30 minutes have passed ever since Miki and Chiba settled themselves at the testing corner of the aisle, and Maehara felt like he should entertain himself with the skincare section of the store instead of awkwardly waiting for them to finish.

As he was about to excuse himself, he saw Nakamura suddenly approaching him.

"Hey, so I just saw this tint right here," Nakamura held up a product in warm pink colour in a shape of some plastic tube Maehara can't make out of, "and I thought it would look good with your skin tone."

Maehara blinked in confusion. "But I don't really wear make up though-"

"Relax~ The colour's not that pigmented and it won't even feel like you have something on your lips at all!" Nakamura breezily reassured while opening the tube's lid.

Maehara quickly stiffened when Nakamura suddenly grabbed his chin. "Now stay still," she ordered.

"Hey this is kinda..."

"Don't get any weird thoughts here, Maehara-kun~" Nakamura quickly cut him off without missing a beat.

Meanwhile, Miki slowly leaned backwards to examine her work so far. "Oooh the warm purple is kinda sexy with the faint gold!"

"Oh! That does look nice on him, miss!" A nearby clerk praised when she took a closer look.

"Right?!" Miki grinned before turning back to Chiba. "You holding up there?"

"This is nothing," he shrugged. "Though I have to be honest, I'm slowly starting to get embarrassed with all these people around..." 

Miki smiled reassuringly at him in response, gently brushing away loose strands of hair from his face. "Well, at least people here hardly recognize you. So perhaps that helps a little, right?"

"Yeah, it does..." Chiba softly replied, his gaze following Miki's fingers as she went through the lip products she has scavenged so far. "What happened last week at class was borderline torture."

Miki stiffened at his remark, clearly remembering the exhaustingly chaotic events that had occurred in less than an hour that day. "Aha..."

Chiba just rolled his eyes at her lack of response. "Say, can you hand me a smaller mirror? I want to take a closer look on what you've worked on so far while you keep looking for uhh... whatever you're looking for, I guess."

"Here," Miki handed him her own compact mirror, before returning her focus to finding the right colour for him. "Ohh this is nice!" She barely heard him say.

"Umm miss?" Miki approached the clerk who had praised her earlier. "If you don't mind, I was wondering if you could help me with selecting the right lip colour that would go well with his eyeshadow?" 

She then laughed sheepishly afterwards. "I'm not too well-versed with things like colour theory, you see..."

"No worries, I would love to help!" The clerk smiled brightly at her in return. "Just let me take a closer look again so I can help you find the right fit!"

"Oh that kinda looks sexy, don't you think?" Maehara commented as he and Nakamura watched Miki do her work.

"That's what I thought..." Miki almost whispered, carefully applying the chosen colour onto Chiba's lips.

"Must be nice," Nakamura suddenly blurted out after quietly watching for a while. 

"Which is...?"

"Working on those kinds of lips," she answered.

Miki hummed in agreement, now blending out the pigment with a small brush. "I find it easier to apply technique if your workspace is wide enough."

"No wonder I struggled with this guy..." Nakamura let out a disappointed sigh, barely gesturing towards Maehara. "There's barely any space to work on with how small his lips actually are."

Miki nearly choked at the revelation. "Wait, they are?" Failing to suppress an amused grin, she turned to look at a now annoyed Maehara to see it for herself.

"Oh, the colour's nice. Good choice," she first complemented, taking note of how well the faint coral tint goes with Maehara's warm skin tone and brown hair. "You did a great job applying it, Rio. It doesn't even look like he's wearing anything on his lips."

"Ahee~" Nakamura grinned widely at the. compliment.

Miki cracked a smile. "But yeah, somehow it made it obvious how small his lips actually are," chuckling, she turned back to Chiba and continued her work. "Even I just noticed it."

"I don't know how I am supposed to feel right now..."

Nakamura nudged Maehara with a cheeky grin. "Hey, at least she basically said the colour looks good on you~"

"I would honestly be more convinced if she wasn't still mad at me..." Maehara sighed in disappointment.

"If only you never lied to me~" Miki hummed, not even once looking at him.

Maehara groaned in response. "C'mon Miki, that was way back in April. Can't you just drop it?"

"I think we're done here!" Miki suddenly announced, standing up straight after minutes of leaning. 

Maehara sighed again, not surprised that she was purposely ignoring him. He's more than aware that last month's discourse with Kaho truly had him lose Miki's trust. He just didn't think that she was the type to hold grudges for this long.

"I don't know about you, but I think it'd better if you just stop bringing it up to her every other day?" Nakamura said in a low voice, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Like no offense, Maehara-kun, but if I we're in Miki's position right now I'd be annoyed too."

"Rio, can you help me put back the testing palettes to their shelves?" Miki called out now from the other end of the aisle.

Sending Maehara one last look, Nakamura walked towards the taller blonde. "Sure~"

Maehara was then once again back to awkwardly standing by the shelves. However, it didn't take too long for them to return the testing products to their respective shelves.

"Say, Ryuu. You want me to remove all that now or are you planning to just leave it on?" Miki called out despite her hands currently full.

Chiba was examining Miki's work through the long mirror on top of the shelves. "Hmm I think I'll just leave it on and take it off myself once I get home," he answered, running his hands through his hair. "The shadow work is not heavy enough to look weird to wear in public.... thankfully."

"Yeah it doesn't look like you're wearing much," Nakamura commented, walking away from the counter near the aisle and towards him. 

Most of the heavy shadow work Miki had done were on Chiba's lower lids and on the outer corner of his eyes. Hence why, unlike earlier when he had them half-closed, which made them look more obvious, they were barely noticeable now that he was looking ahead.

"Kinda looks like you're just wearing eyeliner with some colour here and there," Nakamura added with a slight grin. "You look good though, by the way."

"Thanks," Chiba replied almost shyly, though his following smile was making it more prominent. "My stage makeup is much heavier than this, especially the shadow work. Miki tends to go all out around my lower lashes especially..." He explained to them briefly, though more to Maehara since the guy looked kind of lost for a moment.

Maehara nodded in understanding. "Ahh that explains why it doesn't feel the same as last week's..."

Chiba hummed in reply, proceeding to mess with his hair again. "It's getting hotter outside but I can't leave my hair loose like this. I don't have anything to have it up," he briefly gathered his hair again, as if he was planning to tie it into a ponytail, but soon let go of it. 

"...can't even wear it down with all the makeup now," he sighed, brushing it again with his fingers.

"Just tolerate the heat and make do with the bucket hat," Nakamura suggested, handing Chiba his white bucket hat which now that he thought about it, he had no idea how she even got a hold of it in the first place.

Maehara watched as Chiba brushed all of his hair backwards before putting on the hat. "Hey, don't pull it too down."

"Nah I'll look weird otherwise."

Maehara raised an eyebrow at his response. "What are you talking about? I'm pretty good-looking myself-"

Nakamura let out a gagging noise.

"but even I can- Will you stop that?!" Maehara hissed at Nakamura, who only stuck her tongue out to him in response.

Taking off the bucket hat, Chiba approached the counter where Miki was still waiting in line. "Miki, do you have anything with you?" He asked rather tiredly. "Hair tie, clip, a beanie, or just anything I can use?"

"Let me check," Miki quickly went through her tote bag. "Ah I have my beanie, though it's those bigger types..." She brought out a red beanie and handed it to him.

Chiba happily took it from her hands. "Oh I have one like this in blue, thanks!" 

He went back to where Maehara and Nakamura stood and immediately wore the beanie. Tucking the rest of his hair behind his ears, Chiba looked at the mirror in mild satisfaction. "Hmm yep I guess that does it."

"Cute," Nakamura cheekily commented, thus ruining Chiba's composure as he broke into a shy smile.

"Be quiet," he muttered, turning his head away from the now grinning duo.

"Is it even fine for you to be seen with us on a Sunday afternoon?" Maehara suddenly brought up when they left the store.

"I think it's fine," Nakamura answered before Chiba even opened his mouth. "We took pictures last week and I posted some of mine on twitter too. So, it shouldn't be surprising to people that 'Lead Guitarist-kun' is hanging out with people his age on a weekend."

Miki hummed in agreement. "He's just a rather popular member of a local band in this town," she then scoffed, "not a damn celebrity for him to be not seen in public."

"That's true but I'm talking about us being class E students," Maehara turned to Chiba. "Since the reason why you even hid this whole band thing from us was so that people won't find out that you're a class E student technically participating in club activities," he elaborated.

Chiba nodded in confirmation. "You're right. But as they said, it's fine."

They all came to a stop before the pedestrian lane, waiting for the stoplight to turn green.

"We're not wearing our uniforms, so it'll be hard for people to even recognize you guys as students from class E.... let alone wonder why I'm hanging out with you," he reassured with a small smile.

"Exactly," Miki agreed before wincing when the sunlight suddenly came back. "Anyways, you guys got any place y'all want to go to? I don't like the sun..."

Maehara scoffed at her last remark. "Are you a vampire or something? Anyways, I want to go-"

"If you say Marui, I will deck you."

"Come on now. I didn't even say anything!"

"That place is on the other side of the town, you dumbass, and I'm about to die here."

"A little sunlight won't kill you!"

Nakamura just watched the two continuously bicker and turned to Chiba with a grin. "There's a cafe nearby just across the lane. Wanna go there and get some of their iced offers?"

"That works," he replied with a fairly amused smile.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Six

Table of Content or Part Forty-Five

Wattpad

Words: 3K

Warning(s): Explicit language, sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of abuse

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"You bailed! You bailed on rehab, you bailed on sobriety and you bailed on me!" I throw at Nikki.

My shaky hand pushes the door of the guest bedroom open, seeing the outline of Nikki's body, in the dark, spread across the mattress on top of the comforter, probably reeling on a high.

I carefully step inside to the bed, my hand trailing over his bare chest.

He looks at me hazily.

"I've never bailed on you, Vivian!" He argues. "I have never--"

"I wanted to do this to fix our relationship, to fix us, and I was counting on you being sober in order to do so successfully and you broke out of rehab and loaded up the same night!" I bark. "How the hell can we fix--"

"--What's the point of therapy if you refuse to follow instructions she gives us?!" He points to Dr. Strun as she watches us go back and forth. "She gave us a rule of thirty days of no communication, no contact, unless it's an emergency, and no intimacy and I thought that would be pretty easy for you because you were down my throat about doing everything we could to make the work but no! We get home and twelve hours later you were like a fucking nymphomaniac all the sudden!"

On day one of therapy, Dr. Strun immediately recognized we needed a reset button, and so our "no contact" rule was set for one month. And if we failed to follow the rule, we started back at day 1. Even if the slip up were to occur on day 27.

I'd be lying if I said I followed the rule better than Nikki did.

"Because I miss you!" I tell him.

He gives out a sigh, knowing why I'm in here, about to blow our third shot at attempting no contact in the past week.

"I'm right here!" He says back, pointing to himself.

"You haven't been here since 1983!" I declare.

I gently kiss him, and his hand runs over my thigh, pulling me onto him.

"Okay, calm down." Dr. Strun says to us calmly, the two of us taking deep breaths. "Vivian, what do you mean by that?" She asks me.

I sit back down on the couch in her small office and sigh, holding back tears.

"He started heroin in 1983." I explain. "And he's slowly lost who he is in the past three years as his addiction has gotten worse."

"How does he act when he's under the influence?"

"Confusing. One minute he's having a good time, laughing and smiling and the next minute he's mean and abrasive to anyone who breaths the wrong way." I explain.

"And what was he like before his addiction?"

I peel my tshirt off, my chest against his as our tongues move together, his fingers in the ends of my hair as my hands fumble to get his pants undone and my panties off before he rolls onto me.

"Frustrating, aggravating, obnoxious, but it was always out of fun, easy to talk to, pretty understanding, nice to be around, caring..." I say a few things and she nods, and her eyes flicker to Nikki.

"How do Vivian's words make you feel, Nikki?"

"Like she's punishing me for being exactly what she married." He tells her.

"How the hell am I punish--"

"--Vivian, if you would please save your words for a minute, I want to hear what Nikki has to say, please." Dr. Strun says and I keep my mouth shut and nod compliantly. "Nikki?" She nods in encouragement and he sighs.

I'm hooking my legs around his hips, pulling him into me with each thrust, my fingers lacing through his thick black hair as his teeth tug at my lip.

"When we first got together she knew I drank and did drugs and she still wanted to be with me. When she agreed to marry me she knew I drank and did drugs. When we got married she knew I drank and did drugs but she suddenly started acting weird and distant because I incorporated smack into my routine and then aired out our issues in front of our friends and now blames our relationship issues on drugs, which is exactly what I've been doing since before we met." He laughs humorlessly. "And I know coke and heroin effect people differently because one's a stimulant and one's a depressant but if she married me knowing I do drugs, she should have considered the possibility I would eventually try heroin."

"Vivian?" Strun allows me to talk now.

My back arches, my body on edge as he utters "fuck" under his breath, his forehead against mine as I tighten around him.

"You told me you were only smoking heroin for your injured shoulder and then you would put it down. The fact you ended up shooting it and hid it from me for eight more months just proves you knew you weren't suppose to be doing it. So there is no 'she married me knowing...' because no, I did not know you would be so stupid as to think you could start something as additive as junk and then think you could put it down without professional help. I was obviously so very wro--"

"If anyone should be whining about not knowing they married a monster, it's me, because I didn't know I was marrying a physically abusive psycho--" He harshly interrupts me and my eyes bug at Dr. Strun raises her brows.

"I'm not abusive!" I argue, standing up.

"--So I'm sorry if I turn to heroin to cope with your outbursts!"

I try to catch my breath as I recover from my orgasm, my body bathing in euphoria as Nikki licks up a little drop of sweat running down my neck, continuing to fuck me.

"I abuse you?! All you know how to do anymore is beat me down, Nikki!"

He moves to pull out of me but I roll us over again, sinking down onto him, and he grabs at my hips and thrusts up into me, warmth spreading through me as he finishes into me.

"Woah, woah, woah!" He stands next, fury in his gaze. "I have never, ever, hit you, Vivian Sixx."

It was true, the only times he would put his hands on me out of anger was to wrap his hand around my throat, or my wrists or my shoulders, and despite his temper, he wouldn't really hurt me, it was just to prove a point, but I was trying to justify my abusive tendencies like he was trying to justify his drug addiction.

"Okay." Strun starts, probably afraid she's going to have to separate us like mad dogs fighting. "Firstly, there are different forms of abuse other than physical." She informs us. "There's sexual, emotional, economic and psychological. Now, Nikki, is Vivian actually physically harming you? Because I am required by the state of California to report domestic abuse to authorities." She tells him. "Which can result in your wife being arrested."

He stares at me, actually weighing his options before scoffing a little.

"No." He shakes his head. "She doesn't physically harm me. She just depletes me."

He sits down and I rub my lips together and wipe the tear that's dared to fall down my face.

"Well, that makes both of us." I mumble and he rolls his jaw.

"Bob warned me I was getting my degree's worth with you two, but I wasn't quiet expecting this." She tells us, tiredly. "I believe you both have incredibly reckless and unhealthy coping skills that have been manifested through your co-dependent relationship. You've both made it very clear early in these sessions that you can't live with or without one another and I personally deem the fact you," she nods towards me. "Solely depend on him and have since you were seventeen years old, and he use to depend on you but now drugs have taken your place and you don't know how to handle that reality so you lash out with abuse. And you," she now looks at Nikki. "Have deep rooted issues far beyond how Vivian treats you that are causing you to feel the need to turn to your addictions. She is not the reason you're on heroin, she's just an obvious choice cover-up that you lie to yourself with to avoid reflection on your life before you even met her."

Nikki and I don't say a word.

"How many days would you say it will take to completely reset things between you two?" She asks me.

"I don't think we need to be separated." I admit. "Just teach us a way to get along with each other, that doesn't require either of us to just bite our tongues and take shit from the other person, and we'll be on our way." I reply and has raises a brow and looks to Nikki.

"How long?" She asks him, he looks at me, then at her, sighing.

"Ninety days, maybe more?" He tells her and my eyes widen.

"Are you kidding me?" I chuckle although it's not funny. "Three months of not even acknowledging each other?"

"I think it's a fair amount of time." Dr. Strun agrees with him.

"Yeah, for him to do whatever the fuck he wants without having to answer to me for it." I shoot back.

"Vivian, the more you cling to him, the more he clings to his escape. I want both of you in a healthy place mentally, physically, and emotionally. That could start with you learning to be independent."

"I'm sorry, are you insinuating I'm as bad for my husband as heroin is?" I snap and she exhales.

"I'm saying, it typically takes ninety days to overcome addiction. You are addicted to your husband. You can't help him get sober if you aren't sober yourself. Ninety days of no contact, except this time we'll take it a step further. If one of you is able to get out of the house and stay with a friend for the duration of the separation, I suggest you do so."

"Nikki, we're not doing this." I shake my head, panic filling me as tears are now streaming down my face. "Nikki, please."

"You wanted to fix this. We're fixing it." Is all he says before I'm leaving her office as fast as I can to throw up as a wave of dread joins in with the panic.

I decided I'd be the one to leave the house, and ended up staying with...

"Mi casa es su casa." Steven tells me, smiling big behind his hat that's holding a can of beer on either side of his head, motioning me into their apartment. "The bedroom is your's, obviously, and Duff's sprayed it down again with sanitizing spray, so you're good." He explains.

"Thanks." I mumble, stepping into the bedroom with the mattress on the floor, sitting my suitcase down.

"So, are you guys separating?" He asks me cautiously.

"I don't know what we're doing." I confess, emotionally drained. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"It's only 6:00, Viv. The party hasn't even started."

"I'm all partied out, Stevie. Maybe I'll feel better in a couple days, I just really wanna sleep right now."

"Oh, okay...lemme know if you need anything." He tells me and I nod before he shuts the door.

I wake up after a few hours, hearing laughter flutter through the door from the living room, and I sit up, stretching, before switching on the lamp on the floor so I can see to get my pill bottle out of my purse.

My purse isn't in here, and I sigh at the idea of having to speak or see anybody else.

I take a breath and convince myself to go get my purse from out of the living room.

Opening the door, I'm met with Tansy, Duff, Mandy, Steven, Slash, Slash's fucking snake, Izzy, and a couple girls I've never seen before and probably won't ever see again.

They all go quiet when they see me. I'm probably one hell of a sight to behold: mascara dripped cheeks, eyes puffy and nearly swollen shut from crying, tangled hair, and a bright red nose with dried snot clinging to it.

"Hey, Vi--"

"--Shut up, Izzy." I cut him short the one time he isn't saying something to purposefully aggravate me. "Where's Axl? I need someone to scream at." I add, digging in my purse and opening up my pill bottle.

"Care to share?" One of the girls next to Slash asks, reaching her hand out.

"It's fucking antidepressant." I tell her and her face falls. "I need to pee." I say next.

"Uh, Axl's in the shower." Steven informs me.

"Great."

I step to the bathroom, opening the door.

"Hurry up, I need to piss." I yell over the sound of the water.

"There's a sink." He replies.

"I'm not using the sink."

"Well then hold it!"

I roll my eyes and snatch the curtain back, seeing a naked Axl in all his glory.

"It's not my fault you sickos completely uprooted your freaking toilet and I refuse to squat over a sink."

He just looks at me, completely unamused and probably considering strangling me.

"You have ten seconds." He steps out of the shower, and I take my pants and panties off, carefully stepping into the shower but standing at the very back and pulling my shirt up to avoid getting it wet before pulling the curtain closed. "One, two, three--"

"You're supposed to count by Mississippis." I snap and he groans.

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four miss--what're you doing?" He asks me as I toss my shirt and bra over rod of the shower curtain.

"Getting a shower."

"I thought you said you just had to piss?!"

"I did, and now I'm getting a shower." I tell him, wetting my hair.

"Well then I'm finishing mine!"

"I don't care!" I blare back and the curtain opens and he spitefully climbs back in, seething, and I grin.

"I'm not living with you for three months." He states, pointing his finger in my face.

"Switch." I say, and he shuffles past me so he can stand under the water and I can put shampoo in my hair. "Well then tell Nikki to stop being a little bitch. The only reason he wants to seperate is so he can spend time doing whatever he wants without hearing my nagging."

"So he sends you to us so we can hear it for ninety days?" He snaps.

"Oh, see, I told him I was staying with Vince and Sharise." I explain.

"...And what happens when he finds out you're staying with five guys?"

"He wanted to get rid of me for a few months. He's rid of me." I shrug. "Switch."

I rinse the shampoo from my hair as he runs conditioner through his.

"So, 'no contact' really means..."

"Ninety days of no communication, contact and intimacy."

"So you can't have sex for three months?"

"Nope."

"Dear God you're gonna be she-satan by the time this is over." He grumbles.

"Nah, Nikki can't go three months without pussy. He'll come find me in, like, eight days."

"Or he'll get it from someone else." He scoffs before realizing what he said.

"And I'm done." I flatly let out, not even bothering to put conditioner in my hair or finish bathing before getting out of the shower.

"Viv, I didn't mean--"

"--It's fine." I wrap their one towel around myself and shut the bathroom door as I leave.

Everyone gives me an odd look as I walk by them, quickly putting together I was just in the shower with Axl, but I do hope they know I'd rather sew my vulva together than ever fuck Axl Rose.

I shut myself in the bedroom, putting a hand over my mouth as a sob tries to escape my throat.

The next month was spent slowly deteriorating. I wallowed in depression, neglecting to take my Nardil for a few days at a time without realizing my antidepressant couldn't work if I wasn't taking my medication the way I was supposed to, even if I did just miss a couple days between each dose.

I tried to play like I was okay but the guys knew I was really down.

Steven got into the habit of sleeping with me so I wouldn't be alone, and I could tell what nights he hung out with Nikki because he would smell like our house.

By then Nikki knew I was staying with them, but at that point, unbeknownst to me, he'd begun to find solace for my absence in that of heroin, crack-cocaine and Vanity...or what I like to call "the trifecta that damn near killed me before it was all said and done."

"C'mon, Viv, it'll be fun." Stevie nudges me and I roll over in my bed and look at him, Tansy and Duff.

"What's the point of going out for my wedding anniversary when my husband can't celebrate it with me?"

"I talked to Tommy and they're celebrating it tonight. You should, too." Tansy says.

"I don't know..." I go on. "It just seems wrong."

"You're on a healthy break from one another. Not divorced. C'mon, babe, you gotta get outta this room." Steven points out.

"Fine. We can order pizza and celebrate in the living room." I state.

"No..." Duff chuckles, shaking his head. "...Just trust us, Viv. We're gonna have a good time."

I look at the three of them, going back and forth with myself.

"Fine." I let out a sigh. "Let's go out."

And so began our hellacious, but very fun, night out, that ended in the Los Angeles Police Department.

[the-fangirl-way]

2: Ink

I looked up Harry's file, I had looked at it before on the FBI page, but it was the standard documents, medical history, school records, and his background.

I pulled out the access code Mr. Callahan had given me and typed it into the systems network, instantly at least thirty more documents on Harry came up, these were the very private documents that only officials such as Mr. Callahan and the higher ranked officers were allowed access to.

The newest up to date picture of Harry had been his mugshot from six months ago, back when his skin wasn't so pale it was almost gray, or when his cheeks weren't so sunken in from malnourishment. His hair was tamed, still long, but not as long as it was now.

Harry had been an attractive guy at one point, although I would never admit that to anyone.

Reports of Harry's recent run in with the law came up and I wasn't shocked to find out he had ties with several drug busts and had been caught using more than once. It was minor charges of marijuana, nothing heavier than THC.

The next few files were smaller accusations, a DUI, and a claim of property damage, the dated year was Harry's senior year of high school, no doubt a stupid high school prank.

Nothing really seemed to stand out, but I jotted down the small accounts in the file.

The next couple of pages were more or less just added information, court dates, tickets, so on and so forth.

It wasn't until about the fifth page I found the one document that could be my potential next lead.

Mr. Samuel Tracey, the owner of the handgun found in Harry's car that night.

It looked like I was going to have to pay Mr. Tracey a visit.   

Samuel Tracey lived six blocks from my apartment, he wasn't hard to find.

I knocked on his door and waited patiently, I could hear shuffling from the other side. Finally a gruff voice hollered "Who is it?"

"Detective DeLaney. I'm looking for a Samuel Tracey." I said holding up my badge to the peephole, the deadbolt clicked and the door cracked open before an old man with a beard submerged from behind it.

He was wearing glasses and a sweater vest, those were the first things I noticed about Mr. Tracey.

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Tracey, have you ever seen this man?" I asked holding up a picture of Harry from the folder in my hands.

Tracey studied the picture for a second before nodding slightly.

"I've seen him. Why? What has he done?"

I looked around, his house was located on a busy street, cars and people passing by.

"It's kind of a personal matter, mind if I come inside?" I asked and he paused before slowly moving out of the doorway allowing me to step inside.

His home was warm, and smelled old.

"Have a seat." Tracey grumbled before taking a seat himself on the recliner across from the couch.

"So what's he done?"

"Well, Mr. Tracey-"

"Call me Sam." He corrected.

"He was found about six months ago with a handgun in his car, this particular handgun belonged to you." I said and he sighed a long exasperated sigh.

"Damn kids." He mumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me?" I asked and he rubbed his hands together sitting forward.

"Harry and my boy were friends, Douglas," He said gesturing to a picture of a young man about Harry's age hanging on the wall.

"Douglas was killed about two months ago in a drug heist." Tracey said clearing his throat and I instantly felt sympathy for him.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, he was always getting into trouble, hell from the time he was in elementary school I was getting calls for his behavior, I didn't expect much more out of him as he got older." He explained, I noticed then the bottle of scotch and glass sitting on the coffee table. Mr. Tracey poured himself a glass before offering me some which I declined.

"My wife Laura," He continued, "died giving birth, leaving me to raise Douglas. I tried my best by him, worked three jobs to give him the best life I could give him, but he took it for granted." He said taking a sip of his drink.

"Mr. Tra- Sam," I corrected, "You said Harry and your son were friends?" I asked and he nodded.

"Harry and Douglas went to school together, and they were friends all the way up until about six months ago when Harry disappeared. They would hang out after school and once they graduated my son and Harry would hang out almost every other day or so, no doubt both doing things they shouldn't do, which leads me to ask again, what did Harry do?"

I sighed and opened the folder containing Harry's file.

"About six months ago the police found Harry's car outside of a Mr. Wesley Langston's home, he had been waiting there for about four hours for Mr. Langston to return home, and he had your handgun in the car with him. He also had some rope, sheets, duct tape, other various items, so the intent was clear what he was planning on doing." I said and Mr. Tracey's features changed to surprised by the news.

"Harry?" He asked and I nodded.

"Harry was such a good kid, I mean, he got into trouble like Douglas but Harry would never try to kill anyone.."

"I would like to think so too Mr. Tracey, but as of right now Harry is still pledging guilty until proven otherwise." I said and Tracey sighed.

"I don't know anything about the gun. I realized it was missing about two weeks ago when I was going through my things trying to find something to sell to pay my rent," he said taking another sip, "since Douglas passed I've let myself slip, I lost all three of my jobs, of course, the government takes no pity on people like me. So I decided to try and sale some of my things to get money to get back on my feet until I could find a job, I didn't even know the gun was gone until then." He explained and I nodded sympathizing.

"Well, the gun will stay with the police for evidence until the trial is over and decided, if you want it back-"

"I don't want it back." Tracey said cutting me off.

"Tell them to keep it, I'll even sign my name over to them, I just, I don't want it back. I'm old," He started, "I'm old and I'm at the point now, my wife is gone, my son is gone, if someone breaks into my house with the intent to kill me, well, I'll be ready." His eyes were misty and I swallowed a lump, such a sad thing when someone doesn't value their life anymore after all the trials and tribulations they had been through.

"I understand." I said finally, gathering my things to leave.

"I'll let the police department know that you want to sign the title over to them, I'm sure someone will contact you within the next week or so to do it."

Tracey nodded and then he too stood up.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help." He said and I shook my head.

"No, you were a good help, I can mark this off my list." I said and he smiled a small smile then offered to walk me out.

"Thank you for your time Mr. er, Sam." I corrected.

"You're quite welcome Ms. DeLaney."

I headed to my car, it had started to rain, shocker.

My phone began to ring and it was Lennon.

"Hello?"

"Good morning." He said from the other end and I could practically hear his flirty smirk.

"Are you off today?" I asked.

"I am, I was actually wondering if you wanted to get some lunch?" He asked and I wanted to say yes, but I knew I had far too much research to do.

"I would love to, but Callahan has me on Harry search all weekend."

"Oh, I understand." He said sighing.

There was a silence.

"So I'm guessing our dinner plans are off for tonight then?"

I felt my heart sink, I had forgotten about our date.

"Tristan I-"

"No really, it's fine." He said sincerely although I knew he was really disappointed.

I thought about it for a minute.

"You know what? How does takeout sound? My place tonight? Maybe you can help me with my research." I said and I heard him chuckle.

"Sounds great. Seven?"

"Seven." I agreed before hanging up.

I drove to the library, it was always quiet there and I figured I could get some more research done.

The wind whipped around me creating goosebumps on my arms and legs, I was glad I had chosen to wear slacks today.

As I stepped through the library door, the warmth welcomed me, I always silently adored libraries, the smell of books and the serene calm of the silence of those going into parallel universes created in their minds by the turning of each page.

The librarian, Doris, knew me well, she lived in our building for while after Devlin and I moved in and I had come to this library many times in the past to do research on cases. She smiled fondly at me as I walked over the help desk.

"Detective DeLaney nice to see you."

"Doris, I told you, call me Avery." I said smiling and she laughed.

"I'll try to remember that."

I smiled at at her and headed over to the table I usually sat at, pulling out my laptop and connecting it to the internet.

The next four hours I spent looking up every single detail I could get about Harry, his mother Anne, his sister Gemma, his father Desmond, all of the people in his life. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which only infuriated me more that I wasn't getting anything.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I stepped outside to take the call, it was Devlin.

"Hey Ave, I'm on lunch wanna grab something?" She asked and I thought about declining but the growl in my stomach told me otherwise.

"Where?"

**

I met Devlin at Wahaca, a Mexican restaurant, she was sitting in a corner booth clad in her scrubs, today was Minnie Mouse.

"I ordered you a tequila sunrise." She said smirking and I rolled my eyes.

"It's midday."

"And? You walked here didn't you?"

I started to protest but the waitress reappeared with a large glass of orange and red liquid, an umbrella and orange wedge sat on top.

"Thank you."

She took our order before disappearing again.

"So, any news on Styles?" She asked dipping a chip in salsa.

"No, and the only lead I got turned out to not really be a lead at all. Turns out the gun that was on him belonged to a friend of his father, his son, Harry's friend, was killed a couple of months ago and he doesn't want the gun back." I said and she looked sympathetic.

"How sad."

"Tell me about it."

"So what now?" She asked and I shrugged tugging on my hair.

"I have no idea Dev, Callahan wants all this information on Styles by Monday and I have nothing."

"What about the other guy? Langston right?"

"I haven't done a lot of research on him yet, but the police already talked to him and said he cleared." I said and she nodded.

"You should still do some research just in case they missed something."

"You're right." I agreed and the food arrived.

We ate and talked some more about the case and her job.

"I'm telling you, if he asks again I'm tempted to do it." She said and I laughed.

"I think you should, he's good looking, smart, he's obviously got money.."

"Yeah, yeah." She said waving her hand.

"What about you and Officer sexy?" She asked talking about Lennon, I could feel my cheeks reddening.

"He's actually coming over tonight."

Her eyebrows lifted and she smirked.

"Oh really? Should I occupy myself with something tonight and leave you two...?"

"No, it's not like that." I said rolling my eyes, "He's just coming to help me with the case."

"Mmhmm, I hope you shaved your legs."

I rolled my eyes but could feel my cheeks blazing again.

"I mean it's not like you haven't-"

I blushed even harder and avoided her gaze.

"Oh my God, you haven't slept with him yet? Seriously?"

"Shut up." I said and she burst into a fit of giggles.

"Ave! Get on it! I mean literally get on it. "

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying!" She said throwing her hands up and then checking her watch.

"Shit, I have to get back to work."

I nodded and slid out of the booth behind her, laying a tip on the table as we walked out.

"I'll see you at home." I said and she shook her head.

"Oh no, I'm not coming home until late, I'll leave you and Officer Hot Pants to it."

I smacked her on the arm and she laughed again before hugging me and departing in the opposite direction to her car.

The walk back to the library was short, but I was freezing by the time I got there.

**

My muscles were stiff from sitting so long and when I checked the time I jumped in panic to realize that it was going on five thirty.

I put my laptop back in my bag and my things before waving goodbye to Doris and leaving the library.

The air outside had dropped measurably and I shivered getting into my car putting the heat on full blast.

When I got to the apartment I took a quick shower, shaving my legs I felt the heat return to my cheeks, Devlin could be right.

**

I was in the kitchen when I heard the doorbell buzz and I headed to the speaker.

Come on up." I said and within a few minutes I heard a light tap on the door.

I opened the door, expecting to see Tristan on the other side, but who was there instead had my heart pounding, my head swimming, and the feeling of vomit creeping up my windpipe.

He was leaning up against the door frame, his arms crossed, clad in a white tee shirt and a pair of black jeans; his inky tattoos snaked up his arms and across his torso visible through his thin tee shirt. His hair was now tamed and swirled in waves around his face, a smirk placed on his full lips, his green eyes burning dangerously into mine.

"Hello Avery." Greeted Harry.  

[childofsolace-write-ups]

Arc 01: REUNION

::THOMAS::

"What do you think sunlight feels like?"

I look up and see Nina coming through the right hand tunnel entrance, not even saying hello first. That usually means she was deep in thought on her way here again.

"I really don't remember." I tell her, setting down the book I'd been pretending to read.

It was something about the new things they expected to be able to do with machines. I didn't really have a reason to be fond of those stupid things. It's not exactly a picnic, depending on the machines for everyday living. It'd be awfully hard to breathe underground without them, for one thing. And—insert sarcastic tone here—how on earth would ordinary people survive without fucking reading lights. Seriously, with the number of issues that needs addressing, they give us extra lighting in bunkers, of all things?

Personally, I'd rather take my chances with whatever's up there on ground level. If Trey, Kytes, and the others survived...

That's kinda the thing, though. After all these years, I have no way of knowing if they DID survive or WHAT they survived as. The atmosphere was said to do awfully strange things to ordinary people. I miss my little brother, though. And I hope Trey was doing okay, too. He was my best friend growing up after all.

"Do you?"

Nina clicks on the kitchen lamp. It's pretty cramped up in our compartment bunker, so she'd probably do fine with the little reading light I'm using but she looks at it for a moment and sighed. "It's been too long," she says. "I wonder if they even still have sunlight up there. You know, considering all that's happened."

"Oh, they probably do."

I click off the reading light. No need to be careless with the energy we had. No matter how much they wanted us to believe the machines supplied boundless electricity. I couldn't, not with the reason they sent away Kytes and Trey with a whole bunch of other orphans being the worry for lack of resources. Not with Nina working there everyday. We depended on qualified individuals now for our energy supply. As in, people. Humans, to produce energy, if that makes sense as if they were hamsters running repeatedly in wheels for a Science project. It makes me feel queasy just thinking about it. I don't know how Nina can let them. She's a lot braver than I could be, that's for sure. Maybe a lot more reckless, too. Well, Trey was her brother.

He rubbed off on her...

Then again, I haven't even seen the guy the last eight years, so how would I know that? Nina was all I really had left in memory of him and my own brother. You died younger down here than you would when people lived above when it was still up there. Both Nina's parents are gone, mine died in a fire accident years before the radiation up there first hit. My Uncle, who made it possible for me and my brother to still live here whenever they had to send out orphans, died a year after I turned thirteen. Then, in one Release before I turned thirteen, my brother opted to take Nina's place instead because she's been sick that time and she wouldn't have lasted an hour up there even with Trey's help, who had just been ten then. But I never held it against Trey or resent Nina. We knew each other even before all this, Trey was my best friend just as long as Nina was Kytes's. And I would've done the same if it had been Trey.

Although, I laugh at the idea of Kytes staying down here with him. It might be him who had to watch over the damn lummox.

Now with Nina's parents gone and my Uncle passing away, I was old enough to stand as her guardian until she turned thirteen herself next week. Not that it mattered cause she won't be moving out and I'm not kicking her out either. But on the event I died after her birthday, she wouldn't have to be sent away. So now we shared a cramped compartment on a fairly low level, which was good. The lower you are, the farther you are from the dangers of Ground level.

Level 01 had some data gathering stations for researches and old residence cells. They were Orphanages every now and then, until those who weren't adopted were sent out anyway, the cells were used for residence bunkers to the Poor class.

Level 02 to 30 had the residence cells according to social status of the Middle-class. Point blunt.

Level 31 to 35 had the commerce centers, radio stations and whatever establishments that had existed back and is possible to continue down here. There are movie halls, too, but obviously no one makes movies anymore. We watched the films that was brought down here with us during the evacuation. Before I thought it was pretty cool, now I think of how stupid it is. Of all the other important things they could have brought down, they settled for movies. Anyway, those levels are what you can consider the central city, if you can call it that since there are hardly any Skyscrapers anymore. Not that they would've fit down here, anyway.

Level 35 to 49 have residence cells for Elites and Government officials, the Councillors and the Techs with their family, if any. Since Nina is a Machine tech, we are privileged to be in Level 35.

The better people, the Councillors, get Level 37 to 49 according to importance of Office.

I don't really know what Level 50 holds, which is the lowest of the low. But some rumors I heard assumes it's a laboratory of sorts. Still, while we have it good as much as we could down here, I wonder about life in the surface.

"What makes you think so?" Nina snaps me back to reality. That perceptive brown-eyed gaze on me, a startling sense of knowing. "For all we know, it's getting worse up there. There's no way of knowing."

I snort. "No one bothers to check. Even if they did, there's no report. For all we know," I mimick her tone. "everything's back to normal, like in the Disney movie with the Garbage Robot going to outer space. We'd never know it, down here. They think we've got everything but it's all stupid..."

"Thomas," she studies me for a moment. "Are you still planning to go up there?"

"Soon."

I say the same thing everyday, but when have I ever acted on my words? I'm caught in a cycle just like every other moron in this stupid Underground settlement. And I know I'm still afraid to see how much things changed up there even as I'm dying to know at the same time.

"I want to see my brother," I continue. "How he and Trey are doing... If they're still alive, that is."

"Do you think they're still alive?" Nina asks, as if we don't talk about this everyday. Like she expects a different answer or something. It's been years and she still asks. "Well, do you?"

I can't give it to her though, "I don't know, maybe." The first few times she cried. Now, she simply nods.

"When are we going?"

I sigh at her persistence. It's not like it was easy, we can't just walk straight to the guards by the exit of the city and say, Hey we're leaving this dump so later losers! Without being questioned.

"Whenever it seems like a good time."

Naturally, I say this every time she asks. I think she's starting to think that it will never be a good time. I've begun to wonder about that myself. Actually, I want to go and see my brother. I want to go and see Nina's brother. It's tough finding a friend like him. Only Trey's been able to break down the walls I built ever since mom and dad died. He made me play soccer, even when I was never into sports. We'd go wild in the service tunnels, I break a lady's vase and we're both in trouble. Him at the Orphanage and me with my Uncle. But those were the good old days. I want to get back living above the ground, breathing for myself, instead of relying on machines to help me do it and rotting away in a metal cave some thirty feet or so below it. But thinking about something and actually doing it are two different matters.

Nina tilts her head then surprises me a bit by breaking our odd little mantra. Instead of agreeing and starting lunch, she asks a new question. "Thomas, do you think we could leave before the week is up?"

I stare at her in wonder. "Well, sure thing!" I mock-enthuse, "Let me call the guys at the Radio station to reschedule my shift this week. Oh. And have someone replace me as Head Chef for the Wedding Catering next month."

"Thomas," Nina pouts. "I'm being serious."

I'm still surprised but now also curious. "Why the sudden eagerness?"

"I met this girl in work today. Her name was Lindsay Caghan. Do you know her?"

I shake my head. I've never heard the name. But then, that doesn't mean a thing. I use my name when Live on air during Radio broadcasts so there could be a bunch of people who know me without me returning the favor.

"Well, she knows you. She knows you work at the station three days a week and as a chef during the Weekends." Now that's something. I usually stay at the kitchen so no one would guess I'm a Chef but my co-workers. I don't even have lots of friends anymore to be told about to others. Nina sinks slowly into the couch beside me. It was also my bed since I've offered the real bed to her. "I didn't say a word, Thomas. I don't know how she knows, but she does. And that's not the half of it. She knows our desire to leave."

Well, I wouldn't really call it a desire. "So?" I raise a brow. "What can she do? It's not like they'd actually care if we left. They'd be glad for the extra space."

"She doesn't want to stop us, Thomas." Nina explains, halting my instinctive string of defensive cynical arguments. "Far from it actually."

"Then what does she want?"

"You won't like it."

Oh jeez, I had to laugh at that. "There's a lot of things I don't like," I remind her. "I don't like these metal cages they call homes, I don't like those machines that use people as energy sources. And I definitely don't like how they sent our brothers and a whole group of other orphans yearly to the surface as a solution to minimizing shortages and leaving them to deal with whatever dangers the surface has to offer." I threw my arm behind her, mostly to stretch than anything else. "Now tell me, what else am I adding to this very long list?"

"All right," Nina smiles a little. "Lindsay brought up the subject in private. And she had a request for you. There's someone she wants us to take up to the surface when we go."

I stare at her for a second, wondering if she was joking. The expression on her face tells me she's not. "No way, nope. No." I say. I haven't even fully decided whether I, myself, wanted to go. I'm not all for including others. Before long, we'd have a whole army with us. "I do not like that one bit."

Nina rolls her eyes. "I expected as much." She sighs. "I'm not certain who she wants to send with us, but she seemed fairly urgent about it." She tells me, a strange look on her face. She looks like that whenever she's truly serious about something. That can't be good for me. Then there will be no refusing her.

"Urgent how?"

"Well," She hesitates. "she seemed nervous. As if what she's planning is something that could get her in trouble. I think we should at least hear her out."

"Nina," I rub my forehead. "you don't think that the person she wants us to take is herself, do you? If she's run into some kind of trouble with the law..." I don't finish that. I'm not a huge fan of the Councillors, but even I'm not cynical enough to get on their bad side so boldly enough to break the law. "you know I'd rather this doesn't turn into an escape propaganda."

Nina shakes her head, looking thoughtful. "No, I think it's bigger than that. I don't think she's doing this for her own safety. I think she's risking her safety and it's making her scared. But she really seems desperate to have us agree."

"I don't know Nina, it doesn't seem like a very good idea, including others." I hope I can make her see where I'm coming from. She's a teenager now, and I know I am too, but I expect the moodiness of a teenage girl to be something too much to handle. And if I give her a no... Well, just because Nina's never thrown a tantrum doesn't mean she couldn't start now. "we could end up with a lot of company and not all of them welcome."

"I don't think so, Thomas. The way she acted, I think this is a private problem. It was like she didn't want anyone else to know. But she seems pretty concerned. If it's illegal, it's illegal in a good way." she looks at me with bright eyes. "Know what I mean?"

I sigh. No, I really don't but what I do know is that there was no talking her out of this. "You mean some kind of Noble act? Like a Holy crusade or..."

"No, but it'd be something humane. Or she wouldn't bother," Nina retorts. "I think we should listen to her. It's probably important."

I groan, holding my hands up in surrender. "All right," I exhale, giving in, because who can function in the face of that kind of persistence?

Women complicated things. Uncle would always say. And he's right.

Nina had already made up her mind and it's futile to get her to give up. She's Trey's sister all right. "Fine. We'll talk to her. Why don't you try and get her to tell you exactly what she wants from us? I'm not making any promises until I know what we're getting into."

"Thank you, Thomas." Nina gives me a soft smile, the kind that gets just about anyone to do whatever she wants. I'm a victim of that countless of times. "I have a feeling that this is the right thing to do."

But not necessarily the smartest, I think to myself. "Great."

Nina shrugs and smothers a yawn. She's tired. But then again, she's always tired now. Working with machines is a strain. I pretend not to see the dark circles under her eyes, but I think it's wearing on her. That's just one more reason to take her away from this place. I know she's strong enough to handle it but I don't want her to have to.

"Make sure you ask the right questions." I remind her. "I don't want this Lindy girl tricking us to agreeing to more than we want. Be careful."

"It's Lindsay." Nina corrects before smiling. "And I have a better idea than that, Thomas." she says. "how would you like it if I arranged it so that you could meet her?"

"... No."

We argue again, even though I know Nina will eventually get her way nevertheless.

[frogsandfries]

No tarot, but someone who is not him and is not currently paying rent must take care of his backyard

In light of the debacle in Oregon, when this guy in New Mexico took us in, my partner insisted that we have a written agreement to cover all asses involved. This guy we're staying with wrote something that looked vaguely like a rental agreement.

It stated that we wouldn't be expected to help with the yardwork.

After our first week, however, it had come out that we might be asked to leave if I became pregnant. I think I wrote extensively about how grouchy I was when this guy wanted to try to tell me what I could and/or should do with my creative skills, because I need to respect his religious or spiritual beliefs but he gets to shit all over mine. Finally. Finally. The piéce de la résistance:

He asked us to help with yardwork.

Oh and, he accused us of abusing his cat. Well, specifically, he pointed out that she's missing a chunk of fur that's starting to grow back, so this event probably happened before we got here, and she's been acting weird. I don't know that she is acting weird. The cat that I see is her being normal to me. However, that's what happens when you bring new people into the home. The cat is naturally responding to a change in their territory. Additionally, it's spring and a bunch of cats are coming around. She's shedding as well. Anyway, the yardwork.

These are his fucking goats and chickens and if he didn't want them or no longer wants them or whatever, maybe he should find new homes for them instead of expecting us to do it when a) it wasn't part of the original agreement and I've received no new agreement, and b) he's accused us of being animal abusers. I have absolutely zero intention of staying here.

I know things are weird right now, but as soon as I can afford to get a vehicle, the only thing I'm not comfortable doing is reversing. I'm out. I can't keep doing this fucking weirdness.

Additionally, it feels like this guy doesn't respect my time, let alone value it. Which is why I, the rent-free tenant who just got a job, should take care of his backyard project instead of the person who started the project.

I mean, I guess maybe on some level, I get it. I'm not making any money from my art. I'm not helping with household bills, which is a big reason I'm here. Obviously. So, I might as well make myself useful.

This guy has let his cat get covered in mats. This guy doesn't seem to clean either the goat enclosure nor the chicken enclosure appropriately, but idk it's his project so I guess I should assume that he put in the legwork to know what he's doing??

I know this is far from a normal rental arrangement. He took us in because his god apparently told him he should. He took two people who cannot legally drive out into the country and we all hoped we could find work in the nearby, itty bitty village so that we could straighten out or situation. Now almost all the public services are difficult to get ahold of. I have no idea if I can even get an appointment with anyone to qualify for my license.

I think I was incredibly lucky to get a temp position in town. The manager who hired me heard the next day that I might be able to stay two months, and she says she might be able to help me get another position at another location if I can't stay with her because of the opportunity under which I am working.

It's a significant opportunity after what happened to my partner. I'm not getting hazard pay, but idk because I am earning more here than I've earned since the last time I lived in the southwest. I fully intend to save every last dime, between this and if we get stimulus money. Even if I only get around thirty hours for the next eight weeks, that should be plenty of money for a mostly decent vehicle--with most of two stimulus checks, we could have enough money for a decent van, if we wanted to go that route.

I'm utterly sick and deeply tired of feeling so jumpy and uprooted. Nothing would make me happier than to have my own space and to be able to say, this is mine. Just try to tell me I can't live here or sleep here.

However, I really would like to stay in a decent apartment, at least for a year or two.

Additionally, I feel like I say this a lot, and it's incredibly premature, but I think we might have conceived. I'll cover that in a separate post.