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[caesarflickermans]

Aside of the list of natural disasters, the first time we read of fire is the smoky fire from the damp branches back at home (THG, 2), while Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are starving and Katniss is searching for food. Katniss fire is smoky, it's coming from damp branches: Her flames are minimal, and they are dying.

The next time we read about fire, it's the moment that Peeta gives Katniss the bread.

This moment has commonly (and rightfully) been read as an offer of survival, and a life-giving gesture (THG, 2). Of course, him extending the bread to her despite the physical repercussions he went through further mirrors the self-sacrificial nature Peeta has in the 74th Games (THG, 9/THG, 14).

But this moment is significant insofar of its early flames:

It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. (THG, 2)

I shoved the loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter clinging to life. (THG, 2)

Those are Peeta's flames. It's him who throws the bread into fire, and it's his bread that burns into Katniss' skin. As much as the bread as a food item is a means of survival, the bread, too, is keeping Katniss warm when she walks home. The bread is what allowed her to survive until the dandelion, until becoming a hunter and keeping herself and her family alive. Without the heat of the bread that burned into her skin, none of this would have happened.

As much as credit Katniss for being the rebel (be it with Rue, with Peeta, with the berries), the earliest act of rebellion chronologically is Peeta's. It's Peeta who had every reason to look away: No one else cared for Katniss and Prim starving before their eyes. He endured punishment, and had more to lose if he were caught.

But Peeta's kindness and care for Katniss was the fire that had caught her and burned into her skin. It was this moment that gave Katniss the fire to spread to the rest of the nation several years later.

The fire had always been there, and it hadn't been Katniss' flame who was there first.

[purplereina11]

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Wordcount: 15.8k

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re two months in, and you’re still not sure how Olga Rios manages to be everywhere at once.

She’s answering emails while editing a reel. She’s sketching out a content calendar with one hand and handing you a matcha latte with the other because she remembers that you don’t do coffee, and that still surprises you a little.

Her loft-office smells like lavender and old books, even though the work is anything but quiet. There’s a gentle hum of creativity in the air half Spotify playlists, half the occasional bark from her dog, Nala, who has her own Instagram account with better engagement than most influencers you know.

You sit across from her at a wide wooden table covered in sticky notes, open laptops, two ring lights, and exactly one succulent that’s definitely fake but somehow not thriving. She’s got that kind of energy, Olga. She makes things grow, unless you're fake.

“You’re getting faster,” she says without looking up from her screen. Her voice is warm, honeyed, soft in the way that makes you want to lean closer, like she’s letting you in on something. “The captions today? I liked them. You’re starting to sound less like a brand, and more like a human. That’s good.”

You try not to grin too much, but it’s hard not to. Praise from Olga is never handed out like candy it’s measured, genuine, and usually comes with a Post-it note suggestion five minutes later, but when she says something’s good, she means it.

You glance at your own screen three drafts open, analytics humming in a separate tab. You're starting to notice patterns, pick up her shorthand, even anticipate when she’s about to say, “We can do better.” You’re getting the rhythm now. It feels like learning a dance. Awkward at first, but now... now you’re finding your footing.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask, half-joking, because she’s been up since six and somehow still looks like she floated here on a sunbeam.

She laughs, a soft, melodic thing that fills the loft. “Only when a campaign’s not launching. So… not often. But I love this. I love seeing things come to life.” She sips her tea, eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I think you’re going to be really good at this.” Something about the way she says it makes your heart lift. A couple of month in, and you’re already certain, this isn’t just an internship. This is the beginning of something.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind that settles like soft dust. The usual buzz of Olga’s workspace is muted no clients calling, no urgent edits, just the rhythmic clack of keys and the occasional sigh from Nala, curled up under the table like she owns the place.

You’re working side by side on a campaign for a small bookstore that’s trying to grow its online presence. Olga is fine-tuning the carousel post for tomorrow, and you’re adjusting the tone of the captions trying to thread that fine line between charming and trying-too-hard. It’s nice. Peaceful, even.

Olga breaks the silence without looking away from her screen. “Do you have anyone in your family who loves books like this?”

You pause. The cursor blinks in front of you. The question is soft, casual, not meant to dig but it hits something that feels like hollow wood. “I…” You swallow. “I don’t know.”

Olga looks up immediately.

You don’t say anything else at first. The words stall. It’s not that you haven’t talked about it before it’s just that people usually don’t ask, not really.

She tilts her head slightly, brows gently furrowed. Her voice lowers. “Hey. You okay?”

You nod automatically, out of habit. But then, without quite meaning to, you add, “I didn’t grow up with a family. I was left at a children’s home when I was a baby.”

The air in the room shifts not heavier, exactly, just… slower. Softer.

Olga doesn’t gasp, or overreact, or flood you with sympathy that feels too bright and uncomfortable. She just sets her phone down and gives you her full attention.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Quiet. Real.

You shrug, though it feels awkward. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s just… how it was. I don't really think about it much now. I just… didn’t have anyone to ask questions like that about.”

Olga nods slowly, like she’s letting your words settle inside her before responding. Then, gently “Well, just so you know any time you want to say, ‘My 'mentor' once told me this,’ you can go ahead and start with me.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprised.

She smiles, warm and a little wistful. “I know it’s not the same. But you’re not on your own here, okay? Not while you’re working with me.”

For a moment, you’re not thinking about metrics or content calendars or trending audios. You’re just sitting across from someone who sees you not just as an assistant or intern, but as a person.

The knock on the door is light but confident. You barely register it at first lost in the middle of scheduling posts for a new client who sells handmade ceramic earrings until Olga perks up with that unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.

She glances at the clock, then at you. “That’ll be Alexia.”

You blink. “Alexia…?”

Before she can answer, the door swings open and there she is.

Alexia Putellas. That Alexia Putellas.

Even if you don’t follow football religiously, her face is familiar. The captain, the icon, the Ballon d'Or winner. The kind of person whose highlight reels show up on your feed whether you asked for them or not. And now she’s in Olga’s office, wearing a simple hoodie, black joggers, and the kind of calm confidence that doesn't need to shout to be heard.

She smiles when she sees Olga, and everything about Olga posture, eyes, even the way she exhales shifts in the softest way. Like a house when someone finally comes home.

Olga stands, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ale, this is the one I’ve been telling you about.”

You freeze. Alexia’s gaze lands on you, kind and curious. “So you’re the apprentice,” she says, her accent smooth but clear, the kind that could make any sentence feel like a secret. “Olga’s been bragging.”

You blink again. “She—she has?”

Olga shrugs like it’s nothing. “Only a little. Maybe a lot.”

Alexia steps forward and offers her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’ve heard you’re doing great work.”

You shake her hand her grip is strong, grounded and try not to look like you’re meeting a living legend, because you are. But she’s also incredibly down-to-earth, her presence somehow both intimidating and totally easy to be around.

Olga comes around the desk and gently bumps Alexia’s shoulder with hers. “She only comes here to raid my snack drawer and steal my playlists,” she says, teasing.

Alexia grins. “Also because I love you.”

There’s a beat of warmth between them that you feel rather than see, like watching sunlight fall through a window. “Do you want me to go?” you ask, half-joking.

Olga laughs. “No way. Ale's just here to say hi before training. You’re family now. Might as well meet the boss.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow. “I’m the boss?”

Olga winks. “In football, yes. In here, you just eat all my almonds.”

You watch them and feel something shift inside you again like the quiet redefinition of what ‘family’ might look like. Not always blood. Sometimes it's someone who believes in you. Someone who shares their space with you. Someone who brings light with them, just by walking through the door.

You glance at your screen, then back at the two of them.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You invite Olga over to work because it feels normal now. Familiar. Safe, even.

It’s late almost midnight. You’ve both been bouncing between drafts for a new campaign and clips from a client shoot. Nala is curled up on your bed, half-snoring, and there’s the comfort of shared silence between you, broken only by the occasional sound of keys or a soft “Wait, this transition’s better” from Olga.

She gets up to stretch, as she often does when she’s been sitting too long. Paces a little. You barely notice her eyes scanning your bookshelf until you hear her voice. Low. Surprised. “…Wait. What?”

You glance over. She’s holding the small, slightly curled photo that’s been with you for as long as you can remember. You’ve had it since before you could read. Two little girls. One smiling, the other not so much.

You never knew their names. Never knew why the photo was with your things. It was just… always there. Something old, something yours, but now Olga is frozen, staring at it. “Why do you have this?” she asks, but the softness in her voice is already cracking.

You sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”

She turns the frame toward you, her eyes sharp now. “This is Alexia. And her sister Alba. This photo’s from when they were kids. I’ve never seen this before, how do you have this?.”

Your mouth opens slowly. “What?”

She steps closer. “Don’t play dumb.”

You shake your head, heart beginning to pound. “I’m not. I didn’t know who they were. I’ve had that photo since I was dropped off at the home. It was in a box with my baby things, I never even knew there names.”

Olga stares at you like she doesn’t believe you.

“I swear,” you say, voice trembling now. “I never knew. I didn’t know.”

But she isn’t hearing you. Not fully. Her jaw clenches. “So you mean to tell me this is just some random coincidence? You had a photo of my girlfriend and her sister, and you never knew?”

“I didn’t know!” you say louder now, trying to push through the panic rising in your chest. “Olga, I didn’t. They were just two girls in a picture I’ve had it since I was a baby! One of my foster parents told me they were my sisters once but I could never see the resemblance but I, I don't know I just could never throw it away, it was left with me for a reason, I couldn't-”

“You expect me to believe that?” she snaps interrupting, eyes suddenly fierce. “You knew who Alexia was. Everyone does. You had the photo, you applied for this job, and you never once thought to say a word.”

Your breath catches. “I didn’t even connect them to say something. Please why would I lie to you?”

But she’s shaking her head, stepping back, betrayal flashing in her eyes. “I trusted you. I let you into my space. My life. And now I find this?”

She turns, grabs the frame, and holds it tightly like she’s afraid it might disappear. You stand, reaching toward her helplessly. “Please, Olga. I’m not using you. I didn’t know. I swear to you.”

But her voice cuts through the air like glass. “Don’t say another word.”

She storms toward the door. “Olga—please!”

Her hand is on the knob already. “Do not tell anyone about this. Not Alexia. Not anyone. I mean it.” And just like that, she’s gone door slamming behind her, the photo still clutched in her hand.

You stand frozen in your tiny apartment, the silence left in her wake louder than anything you've ever heard.

You don’t remember sitting down. Just that suddenly you’re on the floor, legs folded awkwardly beneath you, and the room feels too still.

The candle you lit earlier is still flickering on the desk, scenting the air with warm vanilla, like any normal night, but everything has changed.

The photo’s gone. She took it.

You wrap your arms around yourself, unsure if you’re cold or just empty. Your hands are shaking. Your chest feels tight, like someone filled it with wet sand. You can’t stop replaying the last ten minutes Olga’s face, the anger, the betrayal in her voice. The way she looked at you like you were a stranger. Worse—like a lie.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, to no one. Your own voice sounds small, cracked open. “I didn’t know.” But the silence doesn’t answer. It just presses in around you.

You don’t know how that photo ended up with your baby things. You never questioned it. It was just… part of the mystery of you. You’d imagined a hundred stories for it as a kid. A fantasy life you were left out of. Two unknown little girls you'd prop up when you had tea parties alone, two faces you talked to when no one else would listen but it never felt real. Not like this.

You wipe at your face and realise you’ve been crying without noticing, not loudly, just slow, quiet tears that slip out like steam from a cracked mug.

You try to work. To check a calendar, finish a caption, edit a reel, but everything blurs. Your fingers hover over the keys, useless. More tears come. Not steady, but suddenly rising without warning like waves. You press your hand to your mouth, like that might stop the sob that’s already too far out to swallow back.

You don’t know what hurts more: the fear that she won’t believe you or the feeling that she already doesn’t, and underneath that, a newer, stranger thought creeps in:

What if the photo really does mean something? What if you're connected to them in some way you never imagined?

You don’t know how to hold that. You don’t even know if you want to.

The night stretches long and quiet. You cry again, not always with sound. Sometimes just with breath that shakes too hard, or thoughts that spiral too fast. You think about messaging Olga. You almost do, but what would you say that you haven’t already begged her to believe?

Eventually, curled in bed, your chest aching and eyes sore, the exhaustion takes over.

You fall asleep and as your breathing evens out in the dark, the photo lives somewhere else now, in her hands.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You shouldn’t go in to work, you know that.

You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours, and when you looked in the mirror this morning, your reflection startled you, pale, red-eyed, shadows under your eyes like bruises that haven’t fully bloomed. You look like someone who’s been crying on and off for eight hours, because you have, but not going in make it look like you had something to hide, and you loved your job.

So you pull yourself together barely. Tie your hair back. Splash water on your face. Avoid your own eyes as you grab your bag and head out the door.

The walk to Olga’s office feels longer than usual. Everything’s sharp, the sound of your own footsteps, the brightness of the morning, the hum of people who don’t know your world just came apart. You keep your head down.

When you get there, the door is already unlocked, she was here already, you step inside slowly. Olga’s at her desk. Laptop open, headphones around her neck, Nala curled up on the rug at her feet. She looks up instinctively when you enter.

For a moment, nothing moves, then her eyes scan your face and she sees it. The red around your eyes. The way your shoulders hang. The hollow tiredness you didn’t have to fake.

Her mouth parts slightly, like she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks back down at her screen.

You nod stiffly, not that she’s looking, and cross the room to your usual seat. Every movement feels brittle. Too careful. You place your laptop on the table as quietly as you can, like noise might crack what’s left between you.

You don’t speak. Neither does she.

The silence is different today. Not the peaceful kind. It’s tight. Pressurised. You can feel her not looking at you, can feel her tension radiating from behind her screen like heat.

Your stomach twists. You open your laptop. Try to focus on the client folder. Everything blurs.

You can’t stop thinking about the way she stormed out. The photo in her hand. The fear in her eyes. The disbelief in her voice.

And now, she’s right there but she may as well be a hundred miles away. You steal a glance at her. She’s typing something. Her jaw is tight. Her ponytail is a little messy, like she didn’t sleep well either.

You want to say something. Apologise again. Explain again. Beg if you have to, but the air around her says not to.

So you sit in the quiet. Trying to work. Trying not to cry. Trying not to lose the one place that ever felt like it might become home.

You’re halfway through pretending to work when the door clicks open behind you. Your heart stops, you know that sound now. You know who it is before she says a word.

“Hola,” Alexia calls out gently, cheerful but quiet, as if she’s stepping into a place where someone might be asleep or upset.

You stay frozen for a half second too long, then shift your body slightly in your chair. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough to make your back the most visible part of you.

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t be more than necessary.

Olga looks up, and the change in her voice is immediate.

“Ale…”

Alexia steps in fully now, holding a brown paper bag and a takeaway cup tray. “You were tossing all night,” she says softly, “so I figured you could use some sugar and espresso.” She walks over, places the treats beside Olga with care. “I got that oat milk one you like. And a croissant, because I know you never remember to eat when you’re stressed.”

Her voice is so easy. So full of quiet affection. It makes your throat tighten. Olga stares at the bag for a moment before letting out a breath you didn’t know she was holding. She smiles, faint but real, and says, “Thanks.”

Alexia leans down and kisses her cheek. It’s a small, domestic gesture. One that would’ve felt sweet yesterday.

Now it’s a stone in your stomach.

They talk for a minute, low and warm too low for you to hear clearly. It sounds like a small exchange about sleep, and schedules, and if Olga’s eaten yet. You keep your eyes fixed on your screen, even though the words are swimming and nothing’s going in.

Then Alexia shifts, you feel her glance in your direction. “Hey,” she says kindly, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “Nice to see you again.”

You muster every scrap of civility you can find and turn your head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes for a breath of a second.

You smile a tiny, exhausted curve of your mouth and lift your hand in a half-wave.

She nods back, just as polite. Just as unaware. “Bueno,” she says, brushing her hand against Olga’s arm. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

Olga doesn’t look at you as Alexia turns to go. She just murmurs a soft, “Thank you,”

"How do you take your coffee?" Alexia stops at your desk, she swallow as you look up at her, Olga watching intently.

"I um. I don't drink coffee"

"How come? Don't like it?"

"No.. I um, I can't have caffeine at all.. I um, its complicated but I have a heart condition so I-"

"My papa was the same," she nodded and your heart pulled, Olga must of sensed it and she spoke

"Amor, Y/N and I are very busy"

Alexia held her hands up, bid you both a goodbye, Olga eyed you before she watches her leave.

The door clicks shut. You exhale through your nose, slow and quiet.

Olga says nothing. She unwraps the croissant with deliberate care, and takes a small bite, her eyes still on the table, on her work, on anywhere but you and the silence that follows is full of everything neither of you are ready to say.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Olga doesn’t go straight home after work, she drives in silence. No music. No podcast. Just the low hum of the road beneath her tires and the sound of her own pulse in her ears.

She should’ve gone home, she doesn’t go to the flat she shares with Alexia, or to a café to decompress, or even to the beach where she sometimes walks when her mind needs quiet.

She drives, to a quiet cul-de-sac on the outskirts of Mollet, where the streetlights buzz low and orange, and the houses are tucked behind tired gardens and climbing vines. She parks without turning off the engine at first. Just sits there, heart tapping a steady, uneven rhythm behind her ribs.

Eli’s car is in the driveway. She’s home. Alone. Just like Olga knew she would be. Olga takes the photo from the glove compartment. It’s still in its cracked, worn frame. She hasn’t looked at it since that night in the apartment. She doesn’t need to. She remembers it perfectly.

She breathes in. Breathes out. Kills the engine.

Then knocks on the door, it opens almost immediately, Eli answers the door in slippers and a cardigan.

“Olga?” Eli’s face brightens with warm surprise. “Qué haces aquí, cariño? Alexia isn’t with you?”

“No,” Olga says quietly. “She’s at home.”

Eli frowns a little. “Is everything alright?”

“I just…” Olga hesitates, standing just beyond the threshold. Then says, “Can I come in?”

Eli steps aside, instantly serious. “Of course, hija. You’re always welcome.”

The house smells the same as always lavender, old wood, something faintly sweet in the kitchen. A candle flickers on the sideboard. Family photos line the shelves,  birthdays, holidays, the girls growing older in frames that haven’t moved in years.

They sit in the living room. Olga perches on the edge of the couch, she doesn’t take off her coat, her fingers are tight around something in her bag. Eli watches her closely now, concern pinching the corners of her mouth.

“I have to ask you something,” Olga says, voice steady but low. “And if it’s nothing then we never have to talk about it again. I’ll forget it. We’ll both forget it.”

Eli nods, cautious. “Okay…” Eli’s brow furrows. “What is it?”

Olga doesn’t speak. She just reaches into her bag and pulls out the frame. Holds it gently in both hands and turns it around. Eli’s breath stops halfway through her chest. The change in her is instant so small and devastating you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Her hands freeze on her knees. Her face goes white, then pale-blue cold, like all the warmth was drained out in an instant.

Her lips part, but no sound comes. The silence says everything. Olga watches her. Doesn’t blink. Eli’s hand, which had been loosely curled around her teacup, goes limp. Her entire face drains of colour not just pale, but hollow, like a piece of her just dropped through the floor.

Olga doesn’t move. She watches the shift. The silence that thickens around it.

“Where.. Where did you get this?”

Olga doesn’t answer, she just says, “You know who this has come from don’t you”

“I’ve not seen that in twenty five years,” Her voice catches, “After.. After” Olga nods once, jaw tight. Her throat burns with questions, but she asks none of them and still, Eli presses gently, almost begging, “Olga. Please. Where did this come from?”

“It’s true isn’t it,” Olga whispers. “You have another daughter”

Eli closes her eyes. A beat. A breath and then, very softly, very brokenly, “Yes” Olga’s throat tightens. Eli’s voice is barely there. “We left that with her”

“I don’t understand how you could do it!” Eli sits frozen on the couch, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looks older than she did twenty minutes ago. Like every word being spoken is peeling something back she’s kept buried too long. “You gave up your own daughter,” Olga spits, gesturing wildly to the photo still lying on the coffee table like it’s cursed. “And just carried on like she didn’t exist? How?”

“I didn’t carry on,” Eli says, voice low and shaking. “Don’t you dare think it didn’t break me.”

“Then why?” Olga demands. “Why didn’t you fight for her? Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Olga’s voice cracks, sharp with disbelief, her hands clenched at her sides. She’s standing now, breath short, pacing Eli’s living room like she’s trying to outrun what she just heard. She hadn’t planned to stay only to ask one question, but the answer shattered everything.

Eli is curled forward on the couch, her hands white-knuckled in her lap, her eyes wide and shining. “You don’t understand what it was like,” she says quietly, pleading. “She was born with a heart condition. We didn’t know what it was at first, she was so small always struggling to breathe. She couldn’t even cry properly with out her lips turning blue.”

Olga stares at her, hollowed out. “So you gave her away.”

“I thought she’d get help,” Eli whispers. “We couldn’t afford the surgeries. We didn’t have insurance or savings, I wasn’t working at the time. My parents wouldn’t help. We thought… we thought someone else could save her. I loved her enough to let her go.”

Olga’s breath catches, just for a second, because she knows Eli means that. And still, it’s not enough. “She grew up in multiple children’s home,” she says bitterly. “With no one.” Eli flinches like she’s been slapped. “You’re the one who taught Alexia how to be gentle,” Olga says, voice shaking. “You tell everyone family is everything. You cry at Christmas commercials, for God’s sake. And now I find out that there was another child and you just… gave her up?”

Eli’s eyes are glassy. Her face is pale. “You think that was easy for me?” she says, hoarse. “You think I didn’t wake up every night for years hearing her cry even though I hadn’t seen her since she was—”

“Don’t,” Olga snaps, tears brimming. “Don’t make yourself the victim in this. I think about her alone every night now,” Olga goes on, tears clinging to her lashes. “I see her sitting in that place, wondering why no one ever came back for her. Why her parents the people who are meant to love her unconditionally let her go.”

“Stop,” Eli whispers. “Please, stop.”

Olga stares at her, breathing hard, voice strangled. “And you never told Alexia. Or Alba.”

Eli looks down at the floor like it might save her. “They were so young they didn’t need to know, have that burden.”

“You gave up your baby,” Olga says, gesturing to the photo on the table between them. “You let her disappear into the system, and you never looked for her. Never even told your daughters they had a sister.”

“I didn’t let her disappear,” Eli says, voice shaking. “She was born sick. Her heart Olga, she needed something me and her father couldn’t give her! We did what we thought was best for her!”

Olga stops in her tracks, eyes wide with pain. “So you just gave her away and pretended she never existed?”

“She would’ve died if I’d kept her!” Eli cries. “We couldn’t afford treatment we thought a hospital might place her with someone who could help. It wasn’t abandonment, it was the only mercy I had left to give her.”

Olga’s voice rises. “And you’ve told no one. For twenty-five years. No one.”

Eli’s hands shake now. “Because I didn’t want this. This moment. This shame. This wreckage.”

“Well, it’s here now,” Olga whispers. “She grew up in a children’s home, Eli. Alone. She had no one, she doesn’t understand the meaning of family, I don’t even think she’s ever felt what it’s like to be loved. Do you understand that?”

Eli explodes raw, desperate. “Leave it alone!” The words come like a slap, louder than anything yet. “Just—shut up!” she screams. “You don’t understand what it cost me! You don’t get to stand there judging when you weren’t there!”

The front door slams open. “What the hell is going on?” Alba’s voice slices through the room like lightning. She’s standing in the doorway, flushed from running, alarmed and out of breath. “I could hear you both shouting from the street.” She looks from Eli, who is crumbling in her chair, to Olga, who’s barely holding herself upright. “What the hell is going on?”

Olga turns away, shoulders hunched, face blotched with tears. She’s trying to breathe, but she can’t steady herself. She just shakes her head, mutely.

Eli goes silent, too. Like she forgot anyone else existed. Her face folds in on itself caught red-handed by her own daughter. “Why were you yelling at her?” Alba asks, stepping in, confused and suddenly afraid. “What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything,” Eli croaks out, broken.

“Then what—?” Alba’s voice wavers. “Why is everyone crying?” No one answers.

Olga breathes in sharply through her nose, sinks onto the armrest of the sofa, her shoulders shaking, barely holding in the sobs now.

Alba doesn’t understand what this is, what it means but something in her bones tells her exactly what to do. She pulls her phone from her pocket, thumb trembling as she finds her sister’s name. She steps back into the hallway and presses the call.

Alexia answers almost instantly. “Albs?”

Her voice is warm, calm, but Alba’s isn’t.

“Ale,” she says quickly, “you need to come to mamá’s. Now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know, but Olga’s here, and she’s crying, and mamá’s… something’s wrong. I think it’s big mamá was screaming at her I heard her from the street”

There’s a pause. Then, “I’m on my way,” Alexia says, sharp and sure. Alba hangs up, heart pounding, and returns to the living room where the air feels too heavy to breathe. Olga is quiet now, face buried in her hands. Eli sits motionless and Alba stands between them, caught in the middle of a secret she doesn’t yet understand only knowing that whatever it is, her sister will make sense of it.

The knock is soft, but the tension in the room makes it sound like thunder. Alba leaps to open the door, her heart in her throat. Alexia steps inside, face creased with concern, eyes sharp, already scanning the room like something in her gut told her this wasn’t just a misunderstanding.

She’s still in joggers and a hoodie, her hair tied back loosely, eyes sharp and searching. She takes one look at her sister and then scans the room freezes when she sees her mother, crumpled on the sofa. Her gaze lands first on her mother, who’s slumped on the sofa, visibly shaken, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she’s bracing for something else to hit. Then her eyes flick to Olga standing stiff and silent by the window, her back half-turned, her coat still on.

“Olga?” Alexia says gently, walking toward her. Olga doesn't turn. Her arms are crossed tight, like she's holding herself together by sheer will.

“What happened?” Alexia asks again, slower now, as her eyes dart back to her mother. “Is someone hurt? What—?”

She steps closer, reaches out, instinctively placing her hand on Olga’s arm but Olga flinches. Not dramatically. Just enough and then she pulls away. Alexia’s breath catches. She stares at her, confused hurt.

“Olga…” No response.

Alexia’s eyes flick between them again her partner and her mother, both visibly wrecked.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” she says, louder now, tension rising in her voice. “Mamá? Olga? Talk to me.” Still, no one speaks.

Olga finally moves. Slowly, she reaches for the door, her hand trembling just slightly. “I need some air,” she mutters, almost to herself.

Eli rises instinctively. “Olga please, wait—”

Olga stops, her hand still on the doorknob. She turns slowly and what’s on her face is something Alexia’s never seen before. Grief. Betrayal. Disgust. “I can’t even look at you right now,” Olga says, her voice hollow, strained. Her eyes fixed on Eli, who seems to shrink under the weight of it. “You are not the person I thought you were.”

Alexia’s breath hitches, heart pounding. She looks at her mother, sees the quiet devastation spreading across her face, and she’s suddenly terrified. “Wait—Olga, please—just… what happened?” Alexia pleads, reaching after her again, but the door opens and Olga is gone.

Silence crashes back in. Alexia stands frozen, her hand still in the air, her heart breaking without knowing why. She turns to her mother. “Mamá,” she says, voice trembling. “What did you do?”

Eli doesn’t answer, she sinks down slowly, like the weight of those words took her legs out from under her. She covers her mouth with her hands, eyes spilling over with silent tears.

And Alexia stuck between the two most important women in her life—feels the walls close in, a thousand questions pressing against her chest. Alba looks at her sister, whose hands are balled into fists at her sides. Alexia is staring at the door, stunned, shaken, she’s never seen Olga like that. Never seen her walk away and whatever happened here, whatever broke her, Alexia knows it isn’t just something they can fix. It’s something that changed everything.

The cool night air hits Olga’s face like a slap sharp and biting. She walks until the porch ends, then stops, clutching the railing with both hands, trying to breathe past the chaos inside her.

She hears the door creak open behind her, soft footsteps following.

“Olga,” Eli calls gently. “Please. Just come inside. Let’s talk, mi amor.” Olga doesn’t turn. Her knuckles are white on the railing. A long silence stretches between them.

Then quietly, without venom, only pain Olga speaks. “Please tell me… their father at least knew.”

Eli stands still behind her, silence falling heavy again. Then a nod.

“Yes,” Eli whispers. “He knew.”

Olga finally turns, slow and rigid, her eyes burning. “And he still let her go?”

Eli’s voice cracks. “He didn’t want to. God, Olga, he held her all night the day she was born. He cried like I’d never seen before, he just he knew we couldn’t give to her what she needed. We didn’t have the money, or the support. We thought it was the only way she had a chance. Giving her up broke him Olga, he was never the same after that day, his spirit, his health, everything”

Olga presses her lips together, shaking her head, tears gathering again. “They lost him when they were barely out of childhood, god Alba was a child” she says hoarsely. Eli nods, tears now running freely. Olga blinks through the tears. “So you gave away your baby and because of that, you think it eventually killed your husband.”

Eli swallows a sob, covering her mouth, Olga turns away again, shoulders rising and falling, behind her, Eli stands on the threshold exposed, crumbling and inside the house, through the windows, Alexia is still watching, not understanding everything, but beginning to feel how deep this fracture runs.

The living room is too quiet when they step back inside. Eli gently closes the door behind Olga, whose eyes are red and raw. She doesn’t move far from the entryway. Her arms are crossed tightly again, a self-made cage.

Alexia is still standing, tense, waiting. Alba sits curled up in the corner of the sofa, chewing the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit from childhood.

Eli breathes in deep like the confession she’s about to make might crush her lungs if she doesn’t hold herself steady. “Sit down,” she says softly, looking to both daughters.

Alexia hesitates. “Mamá, what is this?”

“Please,” Eli says. “Just… sit.” Reluctantly, Alexia lowers herself onto the arm of the sofa, her eyes locked on Olga on the way she trembles. She’s crying again, and that frightens her more than anything. Eli moves to stand in front of them, hands clasped like she’s in church, waiting to confess. “I never thought I’d have to say this out loud,” she begins, voice shaking. “I thought I had buried it deep enough that none of you would ever know.”

Alba shifts uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Eli’s lips tremble, but she goes on. “You had a sister. A younger one, she was born 3 years after you Alba”

The silence detonates. Alba blinks. “What? You… you’re joking, right?” she asks, glancing at Alexia and then back to Eli. “Is this some weird joke or—?”

“No,” Eli says. “It’s not a joke.”

Alba’s face falls. “No. No, that can’t be true. I don’t remember—”

“You wouldn’t,” Eli cuts in gently. “You were just a toddler, Alba. We, your father and I, gave her up. She was born with a heart condition. We couldn’t afford the care she needed. We thought it was the only way she’d survive.”

Alba stares at her, blinking hard like the words won’t compute. “No,” she whispers again. “No. That’s not—you wouldn’t do that. You’re not like that.”

“I did,” Eli says, her voice cracking. “We made the only choice we thought we had.”

Alba suddenly covers her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. She makes a small, broken sound as if something inside her just split clean down the middle.

Alexia, meanwhile, is still too still, she stares at her mother, jaw tight, eyes sharp with disbelief. “You lied to us,” she says, flat and cold. “Our whole lives.”

Eli looks up, stricken. “Alexia—”

“You let us grow up thinking we were the only ones. Thinking that Dad died with no secrets. That we came from love. From honesty.”

“You did,” Eli pleads. “I loved you every day of your lives.”

Alexia stands suddenly, shaking her head. “But not her.”

“No,” Eli whispers, ashamed. “Not like I should have.”

Alba sobs now, curling into herself on the sofa, shaking. Olga breaks down again. She tries to wipe her face but can’t stop the tears. “I didn’t want this,” she says hoarsely. “I didn’t want to be the one who broke you. I’m so sorry.”

Alexia looks at her, confused, wounded. “You knew?”

Olga opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. “I found out by accident,” she finally manages. “I-I—God, Alexia, I didn’t want to know.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow slightly, not in cruelty but in disbelief. She looks like someone just pulled the rug from beneath her entire identity.

And still, Alba cries softly in the corner, whispering, “A little sister... we had a little sister…” And across from her, Olga thinks of you. Alone in your apartment. Crying into the quiet, not knowing that the truth is finally breaking wide open—and that it’s going to change everything.

The room feels heavy, thick with silence and unsaid things. Alba sits on the sofa, knees pulled close to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. She doesn’t cry anymore just quiet. Unreachable, curled inward, eyes fixed on the floor, refusing comfort when Olga cautiously reaches out.

“No,” Alba murmurs, voice barely audible. “Not now.” Olga pulls back, defeated, sitting down quietly a few feet away.

Alexia, however, is a storm, pacing, fists clenched, voice rising, “How could you know and say nothing?” she snaps at Olga, eyes burning. “You found out and just kept it to yourself? Do you have any idea how long we lived in the dark? How much this changes everything?”

Olga meets her gaze, her own eyes shining with tears. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. Until I spoke to Eli and confirmed it. Like you, I had a hard time believing it myself.”

Eli steps forward, voice pleading. “Alexia, please. Olga didn’t keep this from you to hurt you—”

Alexia was now directing her frustration at her mother, firing questions at Eli with a mix of desperation and anger.

“Why didn’t you tell us? How could you keep this from us for so long? Why didn’t you try harder? What about Dad, did he know everything? Did you ever try to find her again? What—what was her name?”

Eli swallows, unable to meet any of Alexia’s eyes. “I—I don’t know,” she admits finally. “We… we thought it was better to keep it quiet. We gave her a name but the home just called her ‘Baby Girl.’ It’s probably been changed”

Alexia stops pacing, stunned by the silence, the gaps in answers.

Eli has tears pooling again. Alexia looks at Olga, whose face is streaked with fresh tears. Then Alba remains silent, distant, lost somewhere inside herself. The room is fractured everyone aching, separated by secrets and grief, caught in a web of loss no one can untangle yet, and Alexia can’t see her family healing from this.

The room is heavy with silence. Alba hasn’t moved from her place on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She’s staring into some unseen distance, tears dried on her cheeks, her expression blank.

Alexia still stands, breath shallow, torn between betrayal and sorrow.

Then, quietly, she moves.

She walks over and sits down beside Olga, not saying a word. The weight of her presence is everything and nothing at all. Her shoulder barely brushes Olga’s. The contact is light, but to Olga, it’s enough to keep her breathing.

“I need to see her,” Alexia says suddenly, softly. “I need to know she was real.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. Eli blinks, startled. “What?”

“A photo,” Alexia says, turning slowly to her mother. “Do you have one? Anything?”

Eli stares at her daughters one silent and broken, the other just barely holding herself together then nods. She disappears into the hallway. For a long while, the only sounds are Alba’s sniffles and the soft creak of the floorboards as Eli moves in the other room. Then she returns. In her arms is an old, battered shoebox edges torn, the lid soft with age.

She kneels in front of the girls and opens it slowly, like unsealing a grave.

Inside theres a small bundle of ultrasound scans, worn at the corners, black-and-white ghosts of a baby not yet born. A tiny, creased hospital card with faded blue ink: "Baby Girl Putellas Segura." Her weight. Her length. The time she arrived. A white card stamped with one perfect footprint and one tiny handprint, pink and curled like a blossom. And then the photos.

There aren’t many. The first few show Eli and her husband in the hospital room, holding a swaddled newborn between them. They're smiling, tentatively, cautiously, but with something fragile and full in their eyes.

In the next few, the smiles are gone. Eli looks down at the baby with red-rimmed eyes. Her husband kisses the baby’s forehead, his face twisted into something halfway between a smile and a sob.

In the last photo, Eli is no longer holding the baby. She is standing by the hospital bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her husband has one hand on her back, but his other is empty. They both look like people trying to memorise the little girl on the bed before it’s taken away.

No one speaks. Olga covers her mouth with her hand, tears falling silently, the pain was radiating from the photos.

Alexia reaches forward, touching the photo gently with her fingertips, like she’s afraid it might disappear. “She looks like, us,” she whispers. “Her nose. The shape of her eyes.”

Eli nods, wiping her face. “I only looked at these once,” she says. “Then I put them in a box. I never looked at them again. I couldn’t.”

Alexia glances at her mother eyes still confused, still hurt but quieter now. “She was real,” she says, mostly to herself. “She was ours.” next to her, Olga presses her hand against her chest, trying to breathe through the ache.

Alexia holds the photo delicately, as though it might crumble if she breathes too hard. Her thumb hovers over the image her parents, younger and terrified, their arms newly empty.

She glances sideways. Alba hasn’t moved. She’s still curled in on herself, her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped tight like a shield. Her eyes are open but empty, staring into the middle of the floor, if she’s heard anything, it’s impossible to tell.

“Alba…” Alexia says softly. No response, she turns more fully, holding the photo just a little closer in Alba’s direction. “Do you want to see her?” Her voice is quiet, careful. Not pushing. Just offering.

Alba doesn’t answer. For a long moment, she doesn’t even blink, but then her eyes flicker, just barely, toward the photo in Alexia’s hand. She doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move, but that one glance is enough to crack something.

Alexia sees it. She leans a little closer. “She looks like you,” she whispers. “When you were little.”

Alba’s lower lip trembles. Her breath shudders out of her like it physically hurts to take in air. “Why didn’t she get to stay?” she says finally, voice fragile and small.

Eli’s breath catches in her throat. She opens her mouth to answer but no words come. Olga whispers for her, “She was sick, your parents did what they thought was best for her”

Alba turns slowly toward the photo, then reaches out, her hand trembling as she takes it. She looks at it for a long time and then, in a barely-there voice that cracks in the middle, she whispers, “She had Papa's chin.”

It breaks Eli. She covers her mouth, sobbing quietly, and Olga gently moves to wrap her arm around her. Alba doesn’t cry. She just keeps looking, at the baby, at the past, at the sister she never got to love. 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You sit on the floor of your apartment, your laptop closed on the coffee table, long forgotten. The untouched sandwich from earlier is still in its wrapper, resting near your elbow. You haven’t moved much since you got home. Haven’t wanted to.

The apartment feels emptier than usual. Not just quiet but hollow. Like something inside you cracked open when Olga left, and now the silence has a place to live.

You’ve replayed that moment over and over. The look in her eyes when she saw the photo. The way she snapped. The disbelief. The accusation.

You’d tried to speak, to explain, but she wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t hear you. She thought you’d used her. That you’d known. That the photo meant something you’d kept hidden, but you hadn’t known. You still don’t know.

That picture had always been a strange little mystery to you. Left in the file the home had when you were a baby. Just two smiling girls, a sense of something warm and long-lost. You’d stared at it often growing up. Not because you knew who they were but because they felt like a possibility. Like maybe, once, someone had loved you and now that photo’s gone. Torn out of your hands and taken into someone else’s truth.

You wipe at your eyes again, but they won’t stop watering. Your throat aches from holding back sobs that keep forcing their way through.

You don’t know what’s happening.

You don’t know what to do.

You just keep sitting there, waiting for a knock that might never come. A message. A clue. Something, but there’s nothing. Just the faint hum of your fridge and the quiet ache in your chest.

It’s almost midnight by the time you stop pacing your apartment. Your hands shake as you hold the phone. You scroll past a few names none feel right. Not now. Not after everything.

Then your thumb hovers over hers. Patri 💕

You haven’t told anyone about her. Not even Olga. It was easier that way kept things uncomplicated. Casual. Hidden, but now… nothing feels simple or safe.

You press call.

She picks up quickly. “Hey,” she says, voice warm and soft.“Everything okay, you never call this late?”

You don’t answer right away. Your throat’s too tight. “Can you come over?” you manage. “Please?”

She hears it. Whatever's in your voice. “I’m on my way.”

You don’t move from your spot near the window until you hear her knock. When you open the door, she doesn’t ask questions. She just sees your face red-eyed, exhausted, cracked wide open and steps in with arms that don’t hesitate.

You fall into her without a word. Her hand runs gently down your back, grounding you.

Minutes pass before you pull away, wiping your face with your sleeve. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

Patri nods, patient. “You can always call me. You know that.”

You sit on the couch. She sits beside you, close but not crowding you. Waiting. You breathe in deep. Out. And then, “I think…” You pause, heart hammering. “I think Alexia Putellas is my sister.”

Silence. Patri doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t flinch. Her brow furrows, but her eyes stay soft.

You look down at your hands. “There was this photo. Two girls. I had it my whole life it was left with me when I was dropped off at the children's home. I never knew who they were” You shake your head, tears rising again. “Olga saw it and lost it. Thought I’d known all along it was Alexia and her sister. Took the photo. Stormed out. She hasn’t answered my messages. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t even know if I’m going crazy.”

Patri takes your hand in both of hers. “You’re not crazy,” she says softly. “And even if it sounds impossible… it might not be.”

“I don’t want anything from them,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know. I just… I want to understand. Why I was left. Who I was before I was just… no one.”

You’re crying again, but you don’t try to stop it now, Patri squeezes your hand, steady and sure, you don’t say anything, but when you lean your head on her shoulder, it’s the first moment you’ve felt even a little less alone.

Patri’s fingers thread gently through yours, her thumb brushing your knuckles. Your eyes are swollen, throat raw, barely holding it together. Then, in the quiet, she leans a little closer. Her voice barely above a whisper, warm and solid against the chaos inside you. “You’re not no one to me.”

It stops your breath, you lift your head just slightly, eyes meeting hers. There’s no pity in her face. No fear. Just quiet certainty.

“You hear me?” she says again, firmer now. “You’re not nothing. I don’t care if you don’t know who you were before. I care who you are now and I see you.”

Your eyes fill again, but this time, the tears feel different. Not jagged or spiralling just full.

You nod. A small one. But it’s real. “Thank you,” you manage, your voice breaking.

Patri leans in, gently presses her lips to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” she says. “Together. Okay?” And in that moment, just for a heartbeat, you believe her. 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sun creeps in slowly through your curtains, tracing thin golden lines across the floor. You barely slept, but with Patri beside you, the night didn’t feel quite as endless. She stirs first, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You open your eyes to find her watching you, soft and steady.

“Come on,” she says gently. “I’m taking you to breakfast before we face the world.”

You want to protest, you don’t look like yourself, your stomach is a knot, and the idea of being in public right now feels impossible but she’s already pulling the covers back and reaching for your pre hung up work clothes like it’s not up for debate.

So you let her.

The café is small, tucked on a quiet corner near the training grounds and your office with Olga. No jerseys, no fans. Just warmth, fresh bread, and the clink of mugs being set on tables.

You sit across from her, both of you nursing hot drinks. Patri tears a croissant in half and sets one piece on your plate without asking after you said you didn't want anything.

“You don’t have to talk,” she says, watching you. “Just eat something. One small normal thing before everything gets… complicated again.”

You nod, barely able to hold her gaze, but grateful, after a few bites that were dry, tasteless in your mouth, you whisper, “What if she never forgives me?”

Patri doesn’t hesitate. “Then she doesn’t deserve to be in your life." You blink at her. “She’s hurt,” Patri adds, softening. “I get that, but if she can’t believe you, if she won’t even try to, then that’s on her. Not you.”

You glance down at your coffee. “It just… it meant something working with her, i thought I finally had… something that made sense.”

Patri reaches across the table, hooks her pinky around yours. “You do,” she says. “You have me and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, holding onto that, even if everything else is spinning, this feels real. When you check the time, you realise it's almost time to head in. Patri downs the rest of her coffee and stands.

She pulls you up with her, smooths your jacket at the shoulders, and presses a quick kiss to your temple. “You’ve got this,” she whispers. “Text me when you’re done. No matter how it goes.”

You nod. She squeezes your hand once before heading toward the training facility down the block. You turn toward the office. Stomach heavy. Heart heavier but not quite as alone.

You step away from the café, the last of Patri’s warmth still clinging to your jacket like a hug that hasn't fully let go. The morning air is cool, quiet. You take a breath, try to let the calm hold for just a second longer. Then you see her, Olga, she’s over the road, leaning against the side of a closed bookstore, arms crossed tight, shoulders hunched like she hasn’t slept either. You freeze mid-step, her eyes are on you, it hits you like a punch. She saw. She was watching, maybe the whole time.

You don’t know what she saw exactly, but in your gut it doesn’t matter whatever flicker of healing you’d just started to believe in crumbles under your feet.

She looks up, your eyes meet, her expression doesn’t shift. No relief. No kindness. No fury either just something unreadable, and somehow that’s worse.

You almost step toward her, almost say her name, but the shame wraps around your ribs like wire. The same helpless, spiralling thought churns, I’ve made it worse.

You lower your eyes, quicken your pace, and cross the street without another glance back, by the time you reach the office door, your hands are shaking again.

The walls have started to ease back up, the ache in your chest back in full force and the photo, the truth, all of it… still just out of reach.

The office is cold when you step in, or maybe it’s just you. Either way, you don’t take off your coat.

You slide into your desk, boot up your laptop, and stare at the screen without seeing a word. You hear her before you see her, the soft click of the door, the measured steps. She moves past without a glance. You hold your breath.

She settles into her chair, the rustle of fabric as she crosses one leg over the other, her keys clinking gently on her desk. Then after what feels like an entire hour folded into thirty seconds "How did you meet Patri?"

Her voice is calm, almost too calm, you glance over. She’s not looking at you, her fingers are gently tapping her mug, as though it’s just any other morning.

You swallow. “I, um…” Your throat is dry. “I met her in a bar. A few weeks ago. After work.”

You watch her profile, trying to read her, but she gives you nothing.

“She didn’t know who I was,” you add. “To you. I didn’t tell her. At first”

Silence, you brace for something accusation, coldness, anything, but all she says is, “Do you love her?”

The question stuns you, not because you hadn’t thought about it, but because you never expected her to ask. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Maybe. It’s a bit early for that yet. We've not even had sex”

Another beat of silence. Then Olga nods, just once, like she’s filing it away somewhere.

You sit there, confused, the tension still knotted in your chest, but she doesn’t push. Doesn’t snap, just sips from her mug and opens her inbox like this conversation never happened and somehow… that quiet is the most painful sound of all.

The silence between you stretches thin but neither of you moves.

You pretend to work, Olga pretends not to notice your shaking hands. Then she speaks, her voice soft. Measured. “I spoke to Alexia’s mami.”

You freeze, your cursor blinks on the screen, forgotten.

You turn slowly, but she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are locked on the mug in her hands, fingers curling tight around the ceramic like she needs to anchor herself to something.

Your voice barely makes it out. “You did?”

She nods once. “Yeah.”

You wait. The silence stretches again, heavy with everything she hasn’t said yet. “I showed her the photo,” Olga continues, still soft. “The one you had. She went pale. I didn’t even have to ask anything. I knew just by her reaction to the photo.”

A breath shudders out of you. “I didn’t know,” you whisper. “Olga, I swear to you—”

“I know,” she cuts in.

Your eyes snap to hers, she's finally looking at you and in that look is a whole storm grief, disbelief, pain, exhaustion.

“You were just a baby,” she says quietly. “Left with a photo and nothing else.”

You blink back fresh tears. “Then it’s true.”

Olga nods, slowly. “They gave you up, because of your heart, because they couldn’t afford the care you needed. Your—” She pauses, breath catching. “—your father… he knew. He died when Alexia and Alba were teenagers.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, the ache in your chest pulsing to life again.

“They loved you,” Olga says. “You were their baby. I saw the pictures. The scans. A card with your footprints. They held you. Smiled with you.” She swallows hard, and now it’s her turn to look away. “But they left the hospital without you because they thought that would give you the best chance in life.”

The room is still. The weight of twenty-five years settling over your shoulders like fog.

You whisper, “What was my name?”

Olga’s voice trembles. “They didn't get to name you.”

You close your eyes, it doesn’t feel real and yet it explains everything.

Olga stands. You watch her cross the room slowly, quietly, something reverent in the way she moves as if she’s carrying something sacred and she is.

She reaches into her bag, then gently places the photo frame down on your desk in front of you. The same one that had once been your only clue to anything real. It feels heavier now.

“They know,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Alexia. Alba.”

You stare at the photo. Two little girls. You touch the glass. Your fingers don’t shake this time, but your breath catches.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure,” Olga continues. “Until I had the truth.”

“And now they know.” You say it aloud. Like you’re testing it. Like it might disappear.

Olga nods.

“They didn’t before?” you ask.

She shakes her head slowly. “They had no idea. Eli kept it from them all this time.”

You stare at her. “What did they say?”

Her lips press together for a moment. “Alba was… broken. She didn’t believe it at first, then she just went quiet, typically her.”

Your chest tightens.

“And Alexia…” Olga’s voice trails off, her gaze dropping. “She was angry. Confused. At Eli. At me.”

You wince. “At you?”

Olga meets your eyes. “She didn’t understand why I didn’t tell her soon as I found the picture. Why I didn’t come to her the second I suspected.”

You nod slowly, taking that in.

“I told her I needed to be sure,” Olga says softly. “I owed that to everyone.”

Something cracks in your chest at that. You look down at the photo again, then whisper, “Do they… want to see me?”

There’s a pause and then “Yes,” Olga says. “They do.”

You look up at her. You nod, blinking fast. You stare down at the photo. Your throat tightens as you try to find the words that don’t sound like a betrayal of how much this means, how much it changes. You swallow hard, your voice barely there. “I need time.”

Olga doesn’t speak, so you glance up half-expecting disappointment, or worse, pity, but there’s none, she just nods. “Of course,” she says gently.

“I just…” you start, then stop. Try again. “It’s a lot. I’m still trying to believe it’s real.”

Her eyes soften, her shoulders releasing tension you didn’t realise she’d been holding. “You don’t owe anyone speed,” she says, and again, that name hits different. Warmer now. Anchoring.

You nod slowly.

Olga walks back to her desk, sits quietly, like she’s giving you both physical and emotional space. No pushing. No pressure.

Just… waiting.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s apartment smells faintly of rosemary and whatever candle she always has burning. It’s quiet except for the soft sound of her socks on the wood floors and the occasional clink of mugs as she makes tea without asking like she already knows you won’t have the appetite for anything more.

You’re curled on her couch, legs pulled to your chest, the familiar soft throw blanket wrapped tight around you. The photo’s not in your bag anymore, but it may as well be it’s burned into your thoughts.

Patri walks over, hands you a mug you barely manage to hold, then settles beside you without touching close enough to feel, but not crowding.

You stare down at the tea. “I have family.”

The words barely leave your mouth. They feel surreal still, like you’re saying them for someone else. Patri doesn’t speak. She waits.

You exhale shakily. “People I’m related to. By blood. I’ve never had that before, never even let myself imagine what it could be like.”

She glances at you, softly, kindly.

You keep going, voice fragile. “They want to meet me. Alexia. Alba. My sisters.” You taste the word, and it stings and warms at the same time. “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

Patri tilts her head. “Why?”

You blink hard. “Because I’m not who they think they lost. I grew up different to them. I have… pieces, but they don’t fit right. What if I’m a disappointment? What if they only want who I could’ve been, not who I actually am?”

The tears come quick this time. Quiet and raw.

“I don’t know how to be someone’s sister. I don’t even know how to be someone’s daughter.”

Patri shifts closer, gently, until your knee brushes hers. She doesn't reach for your hand just gives you space to fall apart without pressure.

When you finally look up at her, eyes glassy, voice cracking, you whisper, “What if I ruin it just by showing up?”

She leans forward then, soft but certain. “Baby,” she says slow, “You ruin nothing by existing. If anything, you’re the one thing that might put something broken back together.”

You don’t reply, but you lean against her, and when she wraps her arms around you, you let yourself fall into the quiet. Not healed. Not ready, but no longer alone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city outside filtering through sheer curtains. Alexia is already in bed, lying on her side, scrolling idly through her phone. Her hair’s a little damp from the shower, and the covers are pulled up around her shoulders like she’s cocooning herself from the day.

Olga steps in quietly, brushing her teeth finished, sleep tugging at her limbs but her thoughts too loud for rest.

She climbs into bed slowly, careful not to disturb the peace too much.

Alexia hums, sensing something. “Everything okay?”

Olga hesitates, settles on her side to face her, elbow bent, cheek resting against her hand. “I need to tell you something,” she says softly. "It's been eating me all day and I just need to off load it to someone"

Alexia’s eyes flick up from her phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Olga assures quickly. “Just… weird and you have to promise not to freak out.”

Alexia raises a brow. “That’s never a comforting preface.”

Olga gives her a tired, warning look. “I’m serious. No confronting anyone. No speeches. Just… listen.”

Alexia sets her phone down. She shifts onto her back, sighs dramatically. “Fine. I solemnly swear. Go.”

Olga stares at the ceiling for a second. Then “My assistant, the one you met at the office… she’s the girl Patri’s been seeing.”

Alexia blinks. “Wait. What?”

“Shh,” Olga hushes quickly, placing a hand gently on Alexia’s arm. “You promised. No freaking out.”

Alexia sits up a little against the headboard, clearly working through it. “Wait. Your assistant is Patri’s girl? She's the one who everyone’s been speculating about in the locker room for weeks?”

Olga nods slowly. “Yeah. I saw them this morning. Having breakfast together. Just… looked like a date.”

Alexia stares at her, mouth open slightly. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

Olga shrugs. “I didn’t know until today. I wasn’t spying. I was just... walking. Processing.”

Alexia laughs once, disbelieving. “Dios. Patri and your assistant. That’s… wow.” She pauses. Then narrows her eyes. “Is she even Patri’s type?”

Olga gives her a flat look. “You’ve met her once, and all you said was she seemed ‘too polite.’”

Alexia shrugs, but she’s smiling now. “Polite and dating Patri? That girl must have hidden layers.”

Olga hums. She rests her head on Alexia’s shoulder, a little quieter again.

After a beat, Alexia asks, “Is that all? Or is there a reason you brought it up now?”

Olga closes her eyes. “There’s more to it… just not for tonight.”

Alexia tilts her head, trying to read her. “Okay…”

Olga squeezes her hand gently. “Just don’t mention anything at training. Let Patri have her privacy.”

Alexia rolls her eyes. “You act like I’m the drama.”

Olga just smiles, eyes still closed. “You’re the captain and the drama.”

Alexia laughs softly and presses a kiss to Olga’s forehead. “Fine. I’ll behave.”

But even as they settle into silence, you linger in Alexia’s thoughts just a little longer than before.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re mid-call, headset on, trying to sound confident while walking a particularly demanding client through a social rollout calendar. Your laptop is open, filled with colour-coded chaos, and you’re scribbling notes on a pad beside you.

Patri is lounging, because that’s the only word for it, in the visitor’s chair next to your desk. She’s got one ankle lazily hooked over her knee, phone in hand, sunglasses perched on her nose even though you’re indoors. She hasn’t said a word in ten minutes, just keeping you company like some smirking silent bodyguard.

You flick your eyes toward her for a second and she just wiggles her eyebrows. You try not to laugh but the door clicks open.

Olga strides in, crisp and purposeful, folders tucked under her arm and a cappuccino in hand. She looks up, clearly expecting her usual quiet workspace and then spots Patri.

She stops Patri glances up from her phone, sees her, and grins “Hola, jefa.”

Olga narrows her eyes. “Patri.”

You freeze mid-sentence on your call. “—Yes, we’ll have the draft by Friday, absolutely. Thank you, I’ll follow up with the design team. Okay. Bye now.”

You click off and rip off the headset, slowly swivelling toward Olga

“Hey,” you say, cautiously.

Olga looks between the two of you, arms crossed, brow lifted in that unimpressed way that’s both maternal and mildly terrifying. “You know this isn’t a café, right?” she says to Patri, deadpan.

Patri shrugs, completely unbothered. “Had the morning off. Thought I’d escort your best employee through their incredibly stressful workday.”

Olga glances at you, unamused. “Is that true?”

You give her a tight, sheepish smile. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

Patri snorts, Olga sets her folders down on her desk, sipping her coffee. “Well, now that you’re here, maybe you’d like to help sort through thirty Instagram DMs from a dog food sponsor who doesn’t understand what a brand kit is.”

Patri puts a hand to her heart, mock-wounded. “That sounds horrifying.”

Olga deadpans, “Welcome to my life.”

You try not to smile but fail miserably, and Olga catches it her expression softening just for a second.

“Fifteen more minutes,” she says to Patri. “Then she’s mine again.”

Patri gives you a wink. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Olga rolls her eyes and turns back to her desk, but not before you catch the tiniest smirk twitch at the corner of her mouth.

The office quiets again after Patri leaves she kisses your temple before she goes, murmuring something only for you, and you hold onto the warmth of it like a tether. But it fades fast once the door closes behind her.

Olga doesn’t look at you right away. She’s working or pretending to. You sit for a while. Typing. Staring. Breathing. Trying to decide if the knot in your chest will ever untangle itself.

You think about the photo. About the scans in the box. About Eli’s face when she realised who you were. About Olga saying your sisters know now. That they want to meet you.

You think about what you said to Patri and then, softly, “Olga?”

She looks up immediately, her eyes are calm, steady gentle in the way only someone who’s known heartbreak can manage.

You clear your throat. Your hands tremble a little in your lap. “I think…” You hesitate, then push through. “I want to meet them.”

Olga doesn't move for a second. Then she slowly exhales, and something loosens in her shoulders. Not relief something quieter. Respect, maybe. Care. “Okay,” she says, her voice low, warm. “I’ll let them know.”

You nod, once. It still scares you. You’re still not sure who you’ll be to them or who they’ll be to you. Sisters. Strangers. Something in between, but you’re ready to try and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The home Olga and Alexia share is quiet and vast, tucked away, the kind of place with balconies full of trailing plants and old tiled floors. Olga brings you up the driveway, but she doesn’t say much. Just walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours once or twice, letting the silence be whatever you need it to be.

You stop in front of the door, your hands are cold, you didn’t realise you were shaking until you saw the key tremble in Olga’s hand. She glances at you. “They’re all here.”

You nod once. Like if you say anything, you’ll turn around and run Olga squeezes your shoulder gently. Then opens the door.

The flat smells like coffee and lavender. Eli’s sitting at the dining table. She rises when she sees you, hands twitching like she wants to reach for you but she doesn’t. Not yet. Behind her, Alba leans in a doorway, arms folded tight, guarded and uncertain. Her expression is blank but her eyes are anything but, and then there’s Alexia.

She’s sitting on the sofa. Casual, almost too casual hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair tied back, one leg bouncing anxiously. She stands up when you come in, and for a second, nobody breathes.

This is it. You’ve imagined this moment so many times and never, not once, like this.

Alexia speaks first. “Hi.” Just that. One syllable, but her voice is soft.

You nod. “Hi.”

Olga touches your back gently, guiding you toward the sofa. You perch on the edge, knees close together, hands tight in your lap.

Alba stays back.

Alesia sits back down and studies you like she’s trying to make sense of what’s right in front of her and still can’t believe it. “I didn’t know,” she says. “Until last week, I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t either,” you whisper.

You look at her really look at her. She’s familiar in ways that don’t make sense. The shape of her nose. The arch of her brow. The curve of her mouth when she frowns like yours in the mirror.

Eli clears her throat. “This is yours,” she says quietly, and sets the shoebox down on the table in front of you.

You don’t open it yet. You’re too afraid of what it is will make real, and you really didn't want to cry in front of these people.

Instead, you look at Alexia again and then to Alba, whose jaw is clenched, whose arms are still crossed like armour.

“I’m not here to take anything,” you say, your voice shaking. “I’m not trying to force myself into your lives. I don’t even know how to do this. I just… I wanted to meet you.”

Alba looks away, Alexia doesn’t, she leans forward and when she speaks again, it’s quieter. “I don’t know how to do this either,” she says. “But I want to try.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Once and when she reaches out, you let her take your hand and time passes in silence, Olga offers you a drink, and the only noise is clanking of glasses in the kitchen,

Alexia hasn’t let go of your hand even when Olga puts your drink on the coffee table in front of you.

It rests between hers, light but sure, a quiet anchor as you sit across from her on the low coffee table. She doesn’t look like a football legend right now. She looks like someone trying not to break apart a thousand different ways.

Olga sits beside you right beside you. So close her thigh presses against yours, one of her hands resting on your back as if she’s afraid you might suddenly vanish.

You feel both of them, like weights you can lean on. Eli sits a few feet away, silent, hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes are rimmed with red, lips pressed in a line. Alba leans against the far wall, arms still crossed, distant but listening.

The shoebox sits unopened on the table. Alexia breaks the silence first.

“So…” she starts, glancing between you and Olga, “You work for my girlfriend. That’s wild.”

You blink, a little startled by the shift but you’re grateful for comfortable small talk. It’s a rope thrown into the storm. You nod. “Yeah. Almost three months now.”

Olga leans in just enough for her temple to graze your shoulder. “She’s brilliant,” she murmurs. “Takes her job too seriously, though.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Says the woman who once scheduled tweets from the bathtub.”

Alexia barks a laugh genuine, caught off guard. “She would.”

“She did,” "I did" you and Olga say in unison, and for a beat, it feels like a normal moment between friends.

Then silence creeps in again, you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve.

“You guys are close,” Alexia says softly, looking between you and Olga.

You nod. “She’s been… I don’t even know what I’d call it. Kind. Patient. The first person who made me feel like I wasn’t just… passing through.”

You feel Olga’s fingers tighten briefly at your back. A silent I’m still here. Alexia’s expression softens. “I get that,” she murmurs.

You look at her carefully. “Is that why you’re… so good to Alba?”

She looks over at her little sister still silent, still watching and her whole face changes. It’s not obvious, not loud, but it’s there the sharp tenderness, the unspoken devotion.

“She’s mine,” Alexia says simply. “Always has been.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightens, and suddenly you can’t speak Olga shifts beside you, gently leaning into your side, just enough to steady you.

You don’t say anything more, neither does Alexia, not right away, but something’s changing in the room. Not resolved not fixed but thawing.

Across the space, Alba watches it all with unreadable eyes and Eli quiet and still presses a hand to her mouth, as if afraid her emotions might spill out and ruin this fragile moment.

You look at your sister, she smiles at you. Small. Real and you smile back.

It’s quiet again now, not the awkward kind it’s something else. Something rawer.

You feel Olga still beside you, warm and steady. Alexia hasn’t moved far either, perched on the sofa her fingers tap silently against her knee, like she wants to speak but knows this moment isn’t hers.

You’re looking at Eli. She hasn’t looked at you once. Not really. Not since you walked through the door. She sits rigid in her chair, her body folded in on itself like she’s trying to be smaller, her hands twist in her lap, restless and unanchored. Her lips are pressed together like she’s keeping a dam sealed with sheer will.

You watch the way her thumbs rub over one another.

You do that.

You watch the way her brow creases when she’s thinking too loud to speak.

You do that too.

It strikes you all at once not in your chest but in your gut, like something old and invisible pulling taut.

You’re hers you always have been, your voice, when it breaks the silence, surprises even you. Soft. Uncertain. “You look like you need a hug.”

Her head lifts, slowly, slowly, she meets your eyes.

Everything in her face is shaking. Guilt. Hope. Fear. Regret. Love, too but buried beneath years of silence and sorrow.

Her mouth parts, but no words come out, the others don’t move. Not Alba. Not Alexia. Not even Olga.

You don’t push her, you just let the words sit in the space between you Eli swallows. Her eyes fill before a single tear escapes. Her hands go still and then quietly, brokenly “I do”

You stand placing your bag down, she seems surprised by your action but she stands and when you take steps forward she meets you halfway.

She hugs you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear again, her arms wrap around you, trembling, and your face presses into her shoulder. You breathe her in lavender and something warm beneath it. Something familiar you didn’t even know you missed.

Her whole body shudders as she quietly cries, you don’t say anything, you just hold her back, you don’t know what you’re forgiving. There was nothing to forgive for you, you don’t know what still needs to be mended, but in this moment, you’re not lost. You’re held.

The security buzzer goes, you swallow as you and Eli pull away at the same time, "I'll get it that, that'll be" Olga stops herself she knew Patri was coming for you, but she didn't know whether you wanted everyone knowing.

You nod with a little smile, you look to Alexia, "I take it you know"

She nods, "She talks about you a lot, I just didn't know, you were, you, until yesterday"

Patri’s car pulls up as the door is opened just as the sky softens into twilight you stand near the door, jacket pulled around your shoulders, feeling the air shift as the visit comes to a close.

Olga helps you gather your things gentle, wordless, still keeping close like she’s afraid too much space might crack something in you. Alexia lingers near Patri's car they have a quiet conversation you don't catch, her arms folded but her expression soft, uncertain when it turns back to you. Alba follows behind at a distance, watching still wary, still processing, but here that was something.

Eli hasn’t said much since the hug. She’s been quieter than ever, her movements slowed like the emotion has worn her thin, but she’s remained close, watching you with eyes too full for casual conversation.

You hold the letter in your hand for a long time before you finally turn to her.

It’s folded neatly. Ink smudged in one corner from where your hand trembled. You hadn’t planned to give it to her but there were too many things you couldn’t get out in front of everyone. Things too complicated. Too raw. And you wrote it for that circumstance.

You step closer. Offer it with both hands. She looks down at the paper like it might burn her fingers.

You speak quietly, for her only. “I didn’t know how to say it all. So I wrote it instead.”

Eli’s hand reaches out slowly, like she’s afraid if she moves too fast you’ll vanish again. She takes the letter her fingers press around it like it’s fragile like you are.

She nods, eyes shining, lips parting but she doesn’t speak. Just holds it close to her chest.

"Ready to go babe?" Patri smiles, "Pina and her sister are already there"

You nod and turn, your eyes meet Alexia’s, she gives you the faintest smile, then steps aside to let you go. Olga brushes her hand over your back as you move past her, a silent I’m proud of yo and as you walk around Patri's car to get in, Alba finally looks up.

She doesn’t say anything but for the first time, she doesn’t look away.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The front door clicked shut behind you, and with it goes the last of the tension you carried into this house hours ago. The echo of your presence lingers in the room, the kind that doesn’t fade easily. The kind that changes things.

Eli stands where you left her, still holding the letter like it’s made of glass.

Her eyes don’t lift from it Alexia gently steps toward her. “Mami?" but Eli barely hears. Her lips move, soundless.

“I can’t,” she whispers finally. “I can’t read it. I don’t know if I can take what it says.”

Olga watches her closely, her fingers curled around the hem of her jumper, but she doesn’t interrupt. She’s already said what she needed to say today.

Alba, who hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, finally pushes off the arm of the couch. Her voice is soft, a little raspy.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

Eli looks up, startled, Alba doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. She just holds out her hand. Eli hesitates for a moment, eyes searching her daughter’s face. And then, wordlessly, she presses the letter into her youngest’s palm.

Alba walks to the center of the room and sits down on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her. She opens the paper carefully, smoothing the creases with tender fingers.

She clears her throat as everyone takes a seat and begins.

I don't even know where to start with this I feel for years of my life I always wanted this moment, the opportunity to have my say, so this probably won't flow or make much sense but I'm going to vulnerably honest and true to myself.

I never blamed you, growing up I never resented you, disliked you, or hated you for the decision you made. I would always wonder what I did wrong. Why I wasn't good enough. The reason you couldn't keep me and love me like parents should, I was always focused on me and my short comings, I never spoke or thought negatively for the decision you made.

I saw everyday the pain giving a child up caused, I heard my carers talk of the despair and sheer pain they would witness when children were removed from the care of their parents. I would hope you didn't ever have to feel that because it wasn't a choice you had made but I understand the gravity of the decision that was made to leave me at the hospital for you and your husband.

I obviously now know the reason for your decision, and I think it's important for you to know, I did get that help I needed and that you may be interested in the journey that took. I had five surgeries before my second birthday, to try and mend the heart I have, I spent the first three years of my life living in the hospital you left me at, before I was discharged to my first foster family but I had very complex medical needs and they couldn't deal with that so I was moved on. I moved I think 5 times before I was 10 and deemed fit enough to live in a communal home where I stayed until I was 12 but then I needed to move again due to my age to what they call a half way house until I was 18.

Tangent lol, back to the heart, its never going to be a fully working healthy heart, I can't eat certain foods I can't have certain drinks and I work everyday to just be the healthiest I can be to give my heart the best chance of being able to sustain me and make the need for a transplant stayed off for as long as possible. That's a case of when and not if.

Olga explained to me of the passing of your husband, I am truly sorry for you Alexia and Alba's loss, I couldn't begin to imagine the pain it caused to loose such a big part of your lives.

I'm not here to ask anything from any of you, I don't know what any of us want from what we've learned, or what any of us expect to happen.

I just hope that this doesn't affect the relationship you have with your daughters because even before I learned what I know now, from the stories I heard from Olga you sounded like such a warm loving tight nit family. It may not be my place to say but I hope it doesn't change what they think and see of you, you are still the mother they know and love that hasn't changed because they learned of me. You are still that same person, and if anything it just shows what strength you have to make the hardest decision a parent can make along with your husband and carry on and raise two amazing people.

I hope you can begin to heal and most of all forgive yourself for the decision you made all those years ago.

You made the right decision, for me and for your family.

I wouldn't be here today without the decision and sacrifice you made so,

Thank You

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re not expecting her.

The quiet of the office is a comfort today, Olga’s out in meetings, the afternoon sun is casting soft shadows across your desk, and the rhythm of your tasks is keeping your mind anchored. Or at leas distracted.

Then the bell above the door chimes, you glance up.

Alba lingers awkwardly by the entrance, her eyes scanning the space like she might still change her mind. She’s dressed simply jeans, oversized tee, hair up in a messy knot and something about her posture makes her look younger than she is. Vulnerable.

You stand slowly, heart thudding. “Hey…”

Alba walks in a few paces, stopping near the front counter. Her hands are shoved deep in her pockets. “I know Olga’s not here,” she says quickly, like a disclaimer. “I waited. I didn’t want to… ambush or anything.”

You nod, unsure what to say yet. She’s clearly nervous, more than you thought she would be from the stories you'd heard of her from Olga.

“I just…” She exhales through her nose, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to talk. To you. If that’s okay.”

You gesture gently toward the small seating area. “Of course.”

You both sit, but she perches on the edge of the chair, like she’s ready to bolt. She doesn’t look at you, not directly, but her voice is soft and unfiltered. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admits. “I’ve been all messed up since we found out. It’s like everything I ever knew just cracked and now I keep wondering what it means. For me. For us.”

You nod, letting her speak without interruption.

“I guess I just…” She finally glances at you. Her eyes are rimmed red. “I want to get to know you, because out of anyone it's really not your fault, but I don’t know where to start.”

Your voice is quiet but steady. “Maybe we don’t have to know. Maybe we just try.” Alba blinks. You smile, just a little. “We could… start with dinner? No pressure. No heavy talks unless you want to. Just two people who might be something to each other, seeing what that feels like.”

Alba gives the tiniest laugh, almost a scoff at herself. “I haven’t felt this nervous about dinner since my first crush in high school.”

You grin. “Should I be flattered or terrified?”

She laughs again, fuller this time. “Maybe both.”

You reach for your notebook, tearing off a corner and scribbling. You hand it to her a small list of places you can eat in the city and your phone number"

“Pick one. You text me when you're ready. No pressure. Just… dinner.”

Alba looks at the paper in her hands like it’s more than just ink and names. She nods slowly. “Okay,” she says, quieter now. “Okay.” She stands after a moment, lingers at the door again like she’s debating something. Then she turns back. “Thank you. For not making it harder.”

You offer her a warm, careful smile. “We’ve both had hard. I’d rather try something else.”

She nods and then she’s gone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The restaurant is quiet and tucked away one of those cozy little places with exposed brick, warm lighting, and waitstaff that treat you like family. You’re early. You’d rather wait than arrive to faces you’re not quite sure how to greet yet, but you don’t wait long.

Alba arrives first.

She spots you at the table and offers a small, shy smile as she slides into the seat across from you. She’s dressed casually, but there's something softer in her eyes than the last time less guarded.

You’re about to say something when you hear a familiar voice at the hostess stand. “Alba!”

Alexia. Your heart stutters. You weren’t expecting her. Alba glances at you, a half-smile creeping in. “I may have… invited someone.”

Alexia arrives at the table with a warm grin and no hesitation at all as she kisses both your cheeks like she’s always done it. “Hi,” she says, taking the seat beside you. “I figured, three sisters is better than two, no?”

It’s strange how easy the word sisters rolls out of her mouth. You blink at her, then at Alba, then you smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

The conversation starts simple, menus, drinks, Alexia teasing Alba about how she always orders the same pasta everywhere she goes. You laugh when Alexia makes a terrible pun in Spanish that Alba groans at. You’re hesitant at first, still watching the way they interact like a spectator, until Alba nudges your arm and mimics your confused face when you try to translate the joke. You burst out laughing.

It surprises even you.

A bottle of wine appears. Glasses are poured. Somewhere between the bread basket and the main course, something shifts. It’s light, natural, unforced.

You find yourself talking, not deeply, not yet, but honestly. Sharing silly work stories, how you met Patri—

“Okay, wait,” Alba cuts in, grinning now, fork paused mid-air. “You’re the secret girl Patri’s been sneaking around with all this time?”

Your face heats instantly. “It wasn’t sneaking,” you say through a laugh. “She just wasn't exactly wanting it announcing it to the locker room.”

Alexia shakes her head, amused. “Patri is awful at subtle. She was glowing at training after she met you. G-L-O-W-I-N-G.”

You laugh, covering your face for a second. “Oh god.”

Alba leans in slightly, her tone playful but with an edge of sincerity. “Just so you know… if she hurts you, I’ll kick her ass.”

You snort into your wine.

Alexia raises a brow. “Alba, Patri is my teammate.”

Alba shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Don’t care. I like her, but blood is blood.”

You’re laughing now, genuinely, shaking your head. “I’ll be sure to tell her she’s been warned.”

Alba points at you with her fork. “Do that. I want her scared.”

Alexia mutters something about drama queen, and Alba throws a breadstick at her. It misses, barely.

You’re still smiling, Alba leans back in her seat, glass in hand, her grin a little wicked.

“So…” she begins slowly, eyeing you over the rim of her glass, “how’s the sex with Patri?”

Alexia nearly chokes on her wine.

You blink, stunned, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Alba!”

“What?” she laughs. “I’m curious!”

Alexia looks horrified. “You can’t ask her that!”

“I just did,” Alba smirks.

You’re giggling now, one hand covering your face as you try to recover. “God, okay, um… we haven’t… actually done that yet.”

Alba’s face flickers with surprise. “Really?”

You nod, a little shy but honest. “Yeah. She’s been… really respectful. Which is kind of adorable.”

Alexia leans back, visibly relaxing. “That’s sweet. Patri’s always been a softie underneath the sarcasm.”

You bite your lip, then laugh quietly. “It is sweet. But sometimes I just… want to be disrespected, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence, Alexia’s eyes go wide, Alba hollers with laughter and you shrink back slightly, eyes darting between them realising who they are to you as your face burns. “Oh my God wait. I can’t talk like that in front of you, can I?”

Alexia makes a strangled noise, waving her hand like she needs to shut her ears. “No. You absolutely cannot. Your my baby sister”

Alba wipes a tear from her eye. “Too late.”

You all dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your ribs hurt. The kind that breaks through walls you didn’t even realise were still up. You glance at them Alexia still slightly horrified, Alba grinning like she won the lottery.

Alexia rests her chin in her hand, watching the two of you with a soft, content look on her face. “You know,” she says, her voice quieter now, “I really didn’t know what to expect when I found out. I was angry. Hurt. But right now?” She looks between you both. “This feels right.”

You meet her gaze. “It does.”

Alba’s smile isn’t wide, but it’s real. There’s still so much to say, still so much to feel, still so much to learn, but for now, there’s wine, warmth, and the first real night where you don’t feel like a stranger.

Just a sister.

[dearlymrme]

Stronger (Roronoa Zoro/Reader)

Part of Schrodinger's Shooting Star series.

Summary: Zoro keeps a close eye on you as you accept your situation of being in the world of One Piece. You start stepping up and out of your comfort zone, unfurling into the Straw Hat pirate you're meant to be. He'll admit, he's impressed.

You sit just at the side of the crows nest with your back against the wall. On his good side and in plain sight. It's telling that you've put yourself in the position where he can still keep his routine while settling his need to keep watch of you.

You seemed to understand what he needed before even truly getting to know him. It's what made it still debatable whether or not you've sailed with a crew before. It’s a kind of consideration that comes with teamwork in close quarters.

You've hardly said a word since waking up, and he's still been trying to get a read on you. He's fine waiting. You can take whatever time you need before you start showing your true self and not this scared, twitching little thing that’s a hair trigger away from making stupid decisions.

One page into your book, and he’s already learned that there's more to you than what's on the surface. You seem to understand his need to observe, and anytime he seeks you out, you don’t try to run or hide from him. If anything, you try to find him first.

When he's not the first person you see in the mornings, you're in the company of another crew member. Reliably, all the time. It’s become often enough that he’s granted you a bit of slack on the rope.

When you're not with him, you're with Nami. When you're not with Nami, you're with Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin, and down the list you go before repeating. You seem to have made your own appointments to keep, and in doing so you’ve made it much easier for them to keep tabs on you.

You’re a considerate lucky star, but it’s clear that it’s not just for their comfort but yours as well.

He doesn't ask. The anxiety and consternation are a visible weight on your tense and coiled muscles. Your whole body is wound up and ready to spring. Your whole form is stiff and your eyes far away while you fiddle with a cut of rope that Usopp had given you to practice knots.

The knots become second nature, enough so you can tie a bowline through motion alone. Because you aren't looking, memorizing well enough now that it's not even an effort anymore.

You need something else to do. Something to actually get the gears turning in your head. Something to help slowly work through your thoughts rather than allow you to ruminate on everything all at once.

He clears his throat and winces as your head snaps to him quickly enough he can feel his own neck scream in pain. You look like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he hates that you expect them to step on you.

He gestures to the weights across from him with a vague tip of his chin.

“Get a rag and clean the training equipment.” You owlishly blink at him before you understand the assignment and hop up to accomplish the new mission.

By the time he's finished his reps and made his way over to the next weight in line, you had already finished wiping it down and stood aside. He lifted and inspected your quick work.

He tests the grip and gives you a subtle nod of his head.

“Not too much soap to make it slippery or sticky. You dried it off well. Good job.” Something so mundane yet that simple acknowledgment seems to be what you need.

He sees the tension bleed out like cutting an artery. You looked so…tired and he made the mental note to talk to Chopper about whether you've been sleeping. Not that it's any of his business, but if you're going to be staying on the ship, they've got to take care of you. While Luffy may not have asked you to join the crew yet, it's only a matter of time and a matter of a 'yes' only option.

It becomes a repeating pattern. He trains as you clean and polish the next bar in line. Then he arrives one morning to see you with a light weight in your hand and working with it, equipment already cleaned and ready.

He starts his stretches one morning and tames a smile when you try to replicate. Unable to achieve his amount of flexibility but achieving in the realm of what you can do. He begins to slow to better let you see how to follow properly.

He finishes a set and takes the water you casually offer him, having grabbed extra that morning and every morning after.

Then, one morning, he opens the door to the crows nest to see you with a steel bat and fire in your eyes. He stares at the weapon yet senses no hostility from you. Not challenging him to a fight then. You take a breath and shift your hold on its steel grip.

“Will you…teach me to fight?” Initiation, you hold eye contact despite the white knuckle grip and a heart rate like you're being hunted for sport.

"Do you have any experience fighting with a bat?" You take a deep breath and shake your head.

"If I can hit a ball, then I can break a bone, right?” Voice cracking with nerves, you clear your throat, tapping the end of the weapon with your nail. The reason befits a newcomer to combat trying to rationalize it.

A beat, and he reflects on the practicality, muttering to himself.

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve heard.”

But it's not an answer he is satisfied with, and you key in on that quickly. He gets a glimpse into your world.

"Back home…We don't really go around with swords at our hips, and you need a license to carry a gun. But carrying a bat in public doesn't get as many looks. So long as I don't brandish it like a weapon, it's the same as reading a book in public.”

There is sense in that and an amount of thoughtfulness that says you've been thinking about it. You've been planning on it. Weighing on it carefully and he wonders for how long.

This isn't a spur of the moment. Fear is there but as well as the determination and the clear constructed cover for consequences both in the immediate and the possible far off future, if you somehow were able to find your way back home.

You're thinking this through even if you may not fully know what you're getting yourself into. It seems you have some idea. You didn't have to do the warm-ups or pick up the weights, but you did anyways, all of your own volition.

“If you want to do this you better stick to it.” You nod and square your shoulders.

“I'm not going to stop pushing you. Even if you start crying.” He warns and then you smile at him.

“Believe me, I will." Cry, that is. "But that's not gonna stop me.”

And he puts that to the test.

Zoro's seen tenacity.

Luffy bounces back from anything (literally). Zoro can fight through pain with the adrenaline of a Tasmanian devil, whatever that is.

“Tiny wolf/bear/badger that picks a fight with anything breathing,” you had explained.

Sanji's entire skeleton was nearly unbreakable. Even Chopper, Nami, and Usopp had their moments where they stayed standing when they should have fallen.

And you fall.

Over and over and over again.

Every time you get back up with your arms shaking and your lungs gasping for air. Sweat dripping from your face and your bat scraping against the floor as you stagger to stand back up.

But you still get back up.

And then he knocks you down again.

Over and over and over again.

You never once let go of the bat.

Of course, there are hiccups. You’re beaten and bruised, and the welts left behind from your sessions stick like patches. Chopper has to suspend your training until they can figure out why you’re not healing. Because even at the level of Nami and Usopp, you shouldn’t still be black and blue after a whole month.

It turns into a big fiasco about nutrition that has Sanji clutching his own pearls when they realize your entire diet is lacking structure. Everything they knew about your nutritional needs compared to theirs has the cook earning his keep more than usual. Not enough milk, apparently.

But even then, when put on light training duty, you still run through the motions with him. You still meet him in the crows nest with an extra bottle of water, a smile, and this coy little question that has the cover of his lip twitching up.

“What’s up for today, sensei?”

His hits get harder, the stress mounts more and you stand your ground.

You gauge your own limitations and supersede them a bit more every session. He sets the bar for you a little bit higher every time.

One day, you look him in the eye with a familiar glint. The need to improve and break boundaries. Test the limits. See how far you can swim.

“You need to start hitting me harder.”

And he feels a new but not altogether unfamiliar kind of heat pump through him. Adrenaline and a zip of an entirely new tasting second wind.

He hesitates just for a fraction of a second, gauges your unwavering stance, the ferocity in your gaze, and sweat beads down your cheek before deciding to grant your request. The next hit is heavier, sharper, more like a true battle than a training simulation.

When the blow meets, you stagger as if hit by a shockwave, but you adjust and swing back fast enough that it’s no longer just reacting. It’s counter-attacking.

It’s no longer just about practice.

All in all. You succeed in his expectations.

He begins to think about when he was young. Challenging Kuina every day to beat her. Then challenging everyday to beat whatever bounty he was going for. Then challenging Mihawk. Then challenging his own pride.

The more he watches your stance improve, the more he has to hold his guard against your next attack, he can’t help but smirk.

'Yeah,' he thinks.

'You’re gonna be okay.'

[inkykeiji]

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.  

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.  

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs.  A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.  

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

[reflectionsofneptune]

little things I associate with the Mercury signs.

Little dreamy, abstract things I associate with the Mercury signs in Astrology.

Aries Mercury

Authoritative. When I want something, I make it clear. Crystal clear. No beating around the bush. A forceful way of speaking. Don’t talk about it, be about it. Short sentences. A hint of arrogance. Competitive edge seeping through my words. What can I say, I like to be a winner? At all times. A raspy voice. Adopting a youthful charm when it suits me. Attuned to perceiving danger in my environment. Disliking an over-emphasis of niceties in conversation. Keeping it real. Exercising to clear the mind. Pep - talks. The rev of an engine. Pedal to the metal. Talking to me, I need you to bring your A Game and something new. Conversation needs to be stimulating. 

Taurus Mercury

Savouring. Words need to be savoured. Like beauty, they only get better with age. Listen carefully and hear what I stand for. Slowing down. Something about the handwriting. Cursive. An even tone. Words flow out of my mouth like maple syrup oozes down the height of a stack of fluffy, warm pancakes. Stubbornness. When am I ever wrong? Pictures, or it’s not real. Proof being recognised from what my base senses pick up. Inspiration from nature. A level-head. Choosing to see the beauty in my environment. For better or for worse. Don’t be fooled by my lack of conversation, I peep everything. 

Gemini Mercury

Riddles. I’m not going to tell you the answer but the curve of my lip might reveal itself when you’re getting close. Starting one conversation with one subject. Finishing the conversation with a completely different one. Playfulness. Humour as a tool of deflection. Quick texts. Leading conversations. Making a best friend in the supermarket. Another one, on the bus.  Seeing the duality of things in my environment. Information is like crack. I can’t get enough. Multiple tabs, open. Nervous energy. Fiddling. Mimicking your mannerisms if I like you, verbally ripping you apart if it tickles my fancy. Or not, I get distracted quite easily so you may be let off the hook.

Cancer Mercury

Introspective. Thinking about the past. Sometimes not finding my way back to the present. Emotions filtering through my words. Perceptions are protective. A vintage film, the introduction devoid of colour. An interest in knowing where one comes from, what comforts someone. Needing to cleanse myself of everybody’s emotional baggage. Again. Pathetic fallacy. Finishing your sentences. Promise its not on purpose. Wanting security from my environment. A psychological slant to conversations. A rich inner imagination. A diary, signed, sealed and under my pillow. Withdrawing into the cocoon of my thoughts when I feel threatened. 

Leo Mercury 

Commanding. A leadership position sounds good to me. Confidence in my thoughts. Words that can brighten up your life. Disney movies. Teasing conversations. Class clown. My thoughts are copyrighted. Bluffing. The curve a chest, puffed out to its maximum, makes. Talking loudly so I’m sure you hear me. Describing something in such detail, so you can feel as if you were there. Piping hot tea. Intellect and ego tied together.  Creativity expressed through speech. Seeing my immediate environment as a stage. Conversations in the mirror. The little grooves formed at the corner of the eyes when the smile is genuine. Blowing my own trumpet because if I don’t, who will?

Virgo Mercury

Organised. Seeing flaws in my environment. A to-do list, covered on both sides. Polite but not foolish. The spine of a book, crease free. Stepping back in conversation. The few creases that appear on the skin when a nose is wrinkled. Monotone. Advice given freely. Or withdrawing all help if I see it going through one ear and out the other. Discernment in conversation. Sticky notes. Attuned to see the bullshit in conversation. In life. Helpful suggestions. Take it or leave it. Mind feels like a hamster wheel. How do you turn this thing off?  An upward line of a tick, in red. Not an excuse, but know that the harder I am on you, the harder I am on myself really. 

Libra Mercury

Flirting. Feels as natural as breathing does. A sweet talker. The stem of cherry. A gentle lilt that comes alive in conversation. A fickle mind. Forever weighing up the pro’s and cons. Birdsong, cutting through morning dew. Wanting peace from my environment. Trying to maintain peace in my environment. A white flag fluttering in the wind, atop a hill. Indecision feels paralysing. Waiting for you to finish speaking before I provide an opposing point of view. Feigning innocence. Learning about myself through conversations with others. Sometimes not liking what I see. 3 sides to a story. I am capable of a decision, I just feel better when the internal scales of my thoughts are balanced. 

Scorpio Mercury

Power. Power plays in conversation. Checkmate. Words are comparable to pieces on a chessboard. Not a fan of small talk. Unless it’s for my benefit. Intuition on point. And then some. Probing. Trust issues. Talking to someone for a minute but deducing years of their life from a single meeting. Burner phones in a drawer. The eerie silence that comes around, say 4 AM. Secrets, mine and yours, help me fall asleep at night. Receipts for weeks, days and months. I’ve got it all. Past hurts cut deep in my psyche. Eyebrows pulled together. Pretending to be deaf when convenient. Subject changes. A full stop. Knowledge is power. I am capable of sharing intimate details of myself…..you first though. 

Sagittarius Mercury

YOLO. Sending those kinda texts to the wrong group chat by mistake. Saying what we were all thinking, even if it’s not the ‘right’ time, ‘cos fuck it. Slidin’ in the DM’s. Popping up like it’s nothing. You know me. Is time even real? The underside of a desk, covered with tags, love notes, and condom wrappers. Going off on social media. For a good cause, most of the time. Falling back on spirituality when life gets tough. Thought patterns are expansive and influenced by cultures and theories different than mine. Appreciating the differences in life. In people. Gift of the gab. That person who’s laughing when no one else is. Believing in abundance because that's what my environment reflects back to me. Stretching the fine line between truth and fantasy…….’cos fuck it.

Capricorn Mercury

Blue ticks. Time is of the essence. Thoughts are disciplined. A 3 tier desk organiser, stuffed to the brim with documents. Elocution lessons. Did you know I used to stutter? Deadpan jokes. A raised eyebrow. Judging people. We all do it, it’s innate to us. Keep your friends close. Enemies closer. Voicemail. I don’t need people to like me, but respect me is all I ask. A calculating mind. Always planning ahead. Sudoku puzzles. People give themselves away all the time, you just need to listen. Believing people’s actions over words. Thoughts focused on external recognition became a burden I often didn’t ask for, weighs me down.

Aquarius Mercury

Observant. Seeing the subtle layers that make up human behaviour. People are fascinating. A 360 way of looking at things. Reverb on an electric guitar. Solution-focused. A finger on the pulse of undiscovered knowledge. Static from a radio dial. I’m not afraid to question everything. An outdated statue, tipped. A love and hate relationship with time. Flashes of intuition. Needing time to process thoughts. A cool perspective. Shades of sunglasses, tinted yellow. Including people I’ve never met in my thoughts. In my dreams. My wishes. A Brave New World? I’m still waiting for people to step up and take responsibility.

Pisces Mercury

The red and white swirls of a helter-skelter ride. The path connecting my thoughts and my words is a little beaten. But not many people have bothered to venture this way. Pillow talk during the day. Drifting off in conversation. Overspilling in conversations. Or people, overspilling details of their life onto me. Missing appointments. Two circles merging into one if you stare long enough. Tapped into Source. Weaving you a dream with my words so good, I start to believe it. The afterword in a novel. Doodles in a margin. Sensitivity in conversation. Picking up a million and one signals from my environment. Using music to lose myself and ironically, find myself in the end.

————

| little thoughts about venus placements

| little thoughts about the mars placements

| little thoughts about the saturn placements

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (7/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,244

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please note the rating change

read it below or read it here on AO3

VII.

—

Jamie swiped up on the tablet to throw the video to the feed at the centre of the table.

"Rebecca, this is everyone," Jamie said. "Everyone, this is Rebecca."

"I thought that maybe you'd been making up your Jedi friends this whole time. Nice to see I was wrong about that." Rebecca gave a little wave. "Hi, Dani. How's the ghost?"

Dani sank down a little in her seat, and her answering smile was more of a grimace. "Hi. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Yeah, about that," said Jamie. “Back on Quint’s ship, you said you knew what was happening at House Thul.”

“Oh? Finally ready to listen to me, are you?”

“Don’t push me,” Jamie growled, jabbing the tip of her finger at Rebecca’s face on the screen. “Remember. Galaxy’s Biggest Favour.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had taken the call with her back to a wall, so it was impossible to glean her surroundings. "The Empire wants a foothold on Alderaan. It's a strategic location in the Core Worlds. They have been working over Lord Wingrave after the death of his brother and sister-in-law, helping him fabricate claims to the House, claims to his niece and nephew, claims to a position in the Republic Senate. You know the drill. Traditional blackmail."

"What else?" Jamie pressed.

For a moment Rebecca glanced over the top of the camera as if looking at something else out of frame, but then her attention returned back to the screen. "The children are Force Sensitives. The Sith have been helping Lord Wingrave keep that under wraps, so that The Order wouldn't take them away to the Temple for training. My sources tell me that the plan was for a Sith Lord to create sleeper agents out of the children through the use of some ancient Sith device containing a ghost."

"Which Sith?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not in the business of keeping tabs on Sith Lords. By the way," Rebecca pointed through the screen at Hannah. "How have you found shaving your head? Because I've been thinking of cutting my hair back, but I’m not sure about going all the way."

Running a hand along her shaved scalp, Hannah said, "There's nothing quite so freeing."

"Good to know. Thanks.” 

"Oi," Jamie snapped her fingers. "Focus. The Sith Lord."

"What else is there to say?" Rebecca replied dryly. "They're a Sith Lord. They're scary. They're dangerous. They're not to be fucked with. Your Jedi friends probably know the drill better than me."

"I hope not," Owen said under his breath as he took a sip of tea.

Hannah sat up a little straighter, hands clasped neatly on the table before her. "Do we know where they are? Where they're going, perhaps? Any information you give us may be vital."

Leaning her back against the wall behind her, Rebecca pursed her lips in thought before answering with a shake of her head. "I know they want the children, and I know they want the holocron. So - Alderaan."

"But the holocron isn't on Alderaan," Dani pointed out.

"They don't know that," said Rebecca. "Peter lied to buy himself time, and told them it was still in the estate of House Thul."

"But -" Dani frowned. "House Thul has its own militia of guardsmen. I know Sith are powerful but the Empire would need to send troops if they wanted to break in and hold ground."

"Then I guess the Sith Lord will be invading with troops as well."

Sighing deeply, Jamie lowered her face to her hands, letting her fingers scrub through her hair. Then she looked up again, hands hooked behind her neck. "Right. Guess we're off to Alderaan, then."

Rebecca laughed. When nobody else joined in, she stopped. "Wait. You're serious? Did you not just hear me say 'Most likely a Sith Lord is going to invade House Thul?' As in — with a shock legion. As in over a thousand soldiers led by a malevolent Force User, who can and would probably kill a room with a snap of their fingers?” 

Lowering her hands, Jamie said, "Yeah, you - uh - you mentioned that. Good thing you'll be right there with us."

"You have got to be joking."

Jamie said nothing. Just gave Rebecca a long look.

"Jamie," said Rebecca, her expression horrified, "You can't be serious. When I said 'favour' I didn't mean 'suicide.'"

"We can’t let them have those kids. Trying to mobilise Republic troops or The Order without enough evidence is a fuckin’ waste of time. We need to get into the estate of House Thul," Jamie gestured around to everyone at the table. "You're a smuggler. So, smuggle us in."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alderaan is Republic territory. Why do you need me to smuggle you onto the planet, when you can just fly and land there yourself?"

"Because of her." Jamie gestured towards Dani, who looked both startled at being mentioned and guilty. "I don't want Pasha and his Troopers linking Dani to this in any way. They can't know she returned to House Thul. She has to come out of this squeaky clean."

Groaning, Rebecca said, "Fine. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as possible," said Owen.

"I'm -" Rebecca looked over the top of the camera again, craning her neck slightly. "Thirty two hours from Alderaan through hyperspace. Meet me in orbit around the planet. How's the ship I gave you?"

"Rude," Jamie said blandly. "It keeps insulting me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca's mouth and she began tapping at the buttons below her screen. "That sounds like Jane."

Jamie's face screwed up. "Jane? It has a name?"

"It's a JN class droid uploaded into the ship’s mainframe. It likes being called Jane. Didn't you ask it?"

"No?"

"Well, no wonder it's rude to you. By the way, I’ve just dropped you those pictures of my godson that you asked for last time. They should be appearing on your device now.” Rebecca waved with a little flutter of her fingers. “See you in thirty two hours.”

The video feed winked out. 

"I rather like that young woman," Hannah said.

“Get in line,” Jamie grumbled. 

The video had been replaced by a file icon. Jamie clicked it and brought up the first photo of Rebecca carrying a blue-skinned Twi’lek child on her back, both wearing big beaming smiles. 

“Oh, they’re adorable,” Owen sighed. 

Fuming, Jamie flicked to the next photo, which was equally adorable. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. They are.”

—

After cleaning up in the dining room and kitchen, Hannah gently nudged Jamie's arm and indicated she should follow her. Jamie glanced over at Dani, but she was engaged in a lively conversation with Owen while they dried dishes together. Dani's smile had lost its tentative edge the longer Owen spoke to her, but there was still a tenseness to the way she held her shoulders, the same tenseness that had been present back in Ho'kyn's bar on Telos IV, as though she were afraid someone would batter down the door at any moment.

Jamie followed Hannah, who led her up a set of stairs to a mezzanine floor where the walls were floor to ceiling scrolls and books and objects of cultural curiosity.

"Find anything new?" Jamie asked. She leaned back against the railing of the mezzanine which overlooked the lounge below.

Hannah plucked a tome from its shelf, dusted it off, and opened it to a page that had already been marked with a length of ribbon. "Yes and no. Nothing helpful, anyway."

She came to stand beside Jamie so that she might also look at the book. Jamie peered at it from the corner of her eye, not recognising the script around the drawing of a grey-skinned woman in dark red robes with a deep cowl.

"That a Sith?" Jamie asked.

Hannah hummed a curious note. "A Witch of Dathomir. Dark-aligned, for the most part, but not Imperial. They're the only practitioners of possession I've been able to find record of at all. I believe The Lady might have been an early precursor. Or perhaps they developed similar techniques independently."

Jamie stood straighter, hands tightening around the railing. "Wait, so - you can reverse it?"

Hannah snapped the book shut. "No. Though a visit to Dathomir might be in order, should we survive. However, if you chose to go, I won't be accompanying you. They dislike Jedi as much as they dislike Sith."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

"I doubt they'll see the difference," Hannah said, and she tucked the book beneath one arm. "Failing that, the only other people who might know anything about this ghost are the Sith themselves."

Jamie scoffed, smiling. "Right. I'll just sail into their capital on Dromund Kaas and ask for help, then. Great advice."

A flick of the Force against Jamie's ear made her wince.

"Don't be cheeky," said Hannah.

Rubbing at her ear, Jamie opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Beneath them Dani and Owen walked into the lounge, still talking. Dani moved her hands when she spoke, and Owen watched her with a fond if guarded smile.

"I am afraid for her," Hannah murmured so that they would not be overheard.

Jamie nodded. "Yeah."

"For someone like our lovely Miss Clayton, the Dark Side is not a lure so much as it is a glue trap," Hannah mused aloud. "It has a gravity of its own, the darkness. And once there, it becomes more and more difficult to claw your way free. Even if you want to. Even if you know you should, but can’t bring yourself to try. Fear is her failing. And fear is the relinquishment of logic."

Jamie glanced at Hannah. "Can you teach her when this is all over? You're the best of the best in The Order when it comes to balance in the Force."

Without looking at Jamie, Hannah lightly smacked her arm, just a dismissive tap with the back of one hand. "Don't try your flattery on me. I've known you too long for that nonsense."

"That nonsense," said Jamie, "has gotten me out of more sticky situations than you know."

"But it won't get Miss Clayton out of this one."

Muttering a curse under her breath, Jamie sank down a bit, gripping the railing as she did so until she stood bent over and leaning against it. "Don't you start, too. I had Owen in my ear last night about it."

"Good man," Hannah murmured appreciatively.

"Bloody hypocrites. The both of you."

"You can't solve everything with your curmudgeonly charm," said Hannah.

"I fuckin' can."

"Sometimes," Hannah turned, leaning her back against the railing, arms crossed over the book gripped loosely to her chest, "a helping hand can only do so much. A person needs to want to help themself."

Jamie scowled. "So, what? If we can't help her we just ship her off to the Empire? 'Here, have a new Sith apprentice?' You haven't even given her a chance, and you two are already lecturing me on how I need to let go." She shook her head with a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

And of course Hannah remained infuriatingly unflappable, her voice calm when she replied, "I will do everything I can, as I know Owen will, too. But — even should we survive this ordeal — our time with her will be limited. She will not be safe on Tython, where some overzealous Knight will surely sense her presence and jump to conclusions."

Jamie's mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Then where am I supposed to take her for training?"

Hannah smiled and placed a warm hand on Jamie's forearm. "Wherever you want, dear. So long as you're there."

Face screwing up in confusion, Jamie straightened. "But you just - You were just telling me how I needed to keep my distance and all that shite."

"Was I?" Hannah murmured, and she let go of Jamie's arm to instead toy at a gold earring. "I don't recall saying that at all."

And with that she crossed back over to place the book on its shelf.

"What do you mean? Hannah?" said Jamie, turning around.

Humming to herself as if she hadn't heard, Hannah drifted off down the stairs.

"Hannah," Jamie repeated, louder this time.

"We really must pack, Owen," said Hannah, ignoring Jamie completely.

Hitting her fist against the railing, Jamie turned back around to glower down at Hannah, who appeared on the floor below. Hannah urged Owen down a hallway with instructions to pack for the trip, leaving Dani standing in the middle of the lounge, alone. Dani looked up, and Jamie's fist loosened.

The last time Jamie had seen her from this angle, Dani had been in the full thrall of The Lady back on the luxury cruiser, her red-gold gaze piercing through a camera in the ceiling. Now, Dani blinked up at her with none of that cold malice to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Hannah's voice called down the hallway.

"Miss Clayton, what's the weather like at House Thul?"

Dani turned and began walking towards the sound, already answering Hannah's question, and leaving Jamie staring after her from the mezzanine floor, lost.

—

The gangway automatically lowered to the ground when Jamie got within a certain distance from the luxury cruiser still docked where they had left it.

"Good afternoon, Bollocks," said the cultured male baritone of the ship's computer. "You've brought guests."

Beside her, Owen mouthed the word 'bollocks?' at Hannah, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jamie rolled her eyes and shooed the two of them up the gangway, trailed by Dani. "I have, yeah. Anything interesting happen while we were away, Jane?"

There followed a pause that was slightly too long for a droid of this calibre, and then the ship's computer replied, "Nothing of note. I did not tell you to call me that."

"Oh? Don't like it? Should I call you bawbag instead?"

Another pause, this one affronted. "Jane," said the ship's computer, "is perfectly serviceable."

"Glad to hear it, mate," Jamie drawled and stepped into the ship proper.

As Dani stepped up behind her, the ship's computer said, "And a good day to you, too, Miss Clayton. You're looking very alive today."

"Uh -" said Dani, and she ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks."

The gangway lifted and sealed behind them once everyone had entered the main atrium, where the ship’s computer had already sent out a small service droid on trundlers bearing glasses of some kind of pale carbonated alcohol. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Owen murmured, picking up a glass and taking a sip. He made an appreciative noise. 

“Where would we like to go?” the ship’s computer asked.

Jamie waved the service droid away when it tried to press an insistent drink into her hand. “No, thanks. Jane, calculate a route to Alderaan. We need to meet someone in orbit around the planet in thirty two hours.”

“Route calculated,” the ship’s computer replied almost immediately. “The journey is only expected to take twenty one hours through hyperspace. I will chart a circuitous route so that we arrive on time. If it would please you, you may make your way to the dining lounge. I have prepared a light lunch before we depart.” 

Frowning, Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did you even know we were coming?”

“I have access to the station’s security cameras and systems.”

That gave everyone pause. Owen froze in the act of draining his glass, while Hannah and Dani shared looks. 

“You hacked the station’s security system?” Jamie said.

“Negative, Bollocks,” said the ship’s computer. “I asked the mainframe for access very nicely.” 

“Are you lying?” Jamie turned to Hannah and Dani. “Can droids lie?”

The ship’s computer did not answer. Which wasn’t concerning. Not at all. Owen suddenly looked a bit queasy, and he gingerly lowered his near empty glass back onto the tray held out by the service droid. 

“You need not fear for the condition of food and drink aboard this vessel,” said the ship’s computer. “I am programmed to care for and protect any legitimate member of this crew as designated by the Captain and owner.” 

Jamie pointed jokingly at Owen and said, “Better watch yourself, then.”

Placing a hand over his chest, Owen pretended to look insulted, then followed Jamie further into the ship towards the dining lounge. 

“May I ask,” started the ship’s computer, “what are we going to be doing on Alderaan?’

Jamie dragged her hand along one of the polished white walls as she walked. “Getting in over our heads.”

“Please clarify.”

“We’re going to have a fight. Why?” Jamie asked dryly. “Do you also happen to have ion cannons strapped to your shiny exterior?”

“Negative. But I do come equipped with some accessories the crew might find useful in the event of a boarding attempt.”

One of the panels beneath Jamie’s hand pressed inwards, and a whole section of the wall peeled back to reveal racks upon racks of blaster pistols, blaster rifles, grenades, vibroweapons with wickedly curved blades some small enough to strap to the leg, others long enough to be wielded with two hands. Everything that would make a Republic Trooper get all hot and bothered.   

All four of them stopped in their tracks and stared. 

“Definitely an ex-Czerka ship,” Hannah muttered under her breath.

Hand on the hilt of the lightsabre at her hip, Dani said, “I think I’ll stick with this. I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot.”

“Likewise,” said Owen. 

Meanwhile Jamie reached out and hefted a blaster pistol. She turned it over in her hands for closer inspection, careful not to graze anyone with the barrel, but all defining marks or serial numbers had been either scrubbed off or hadn’t made it far enough in manufacturing to be stamped in the first place. With a shrug, she took one of the holsters and belted it around her waist. 

Owen gave her a look. “Really?” 

“What?” Jamie holstered the blaster pistol and waved at the other three. “You all have lightsabres, and we’re going up against who only knows what. Am I supposed to just hide behind a pillar while you lot do all the fun stuff?” 

Before they could answer, the ship’s computer chimed and said from its hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Not to interrupt,” said Jane, “but the tea is getting cold.”

Immediately Owen’s eyes brightened. “Oh, tea?” 

It was in fact high tea. Three tiered platters. Fine bone china. Petit fours. The whole lot. They amused themselves in the various lounges and quarters of the ship for hours before departure, at which point the ship’s computer insisted upon harnesses being secured. The jump to hyperspace left Jamie feeling on edge, as though she had left her stomach behind on Tython. And she couldn’t have been the only one. Their talk had been too forced, their laughter too loud, Owen and Jamie swapping stories to the delight of Dani and Hannah, who would chime in every now and then. And when Jane rolled out a more formal dinner, it felt like some kind of last meal before execution at dawn by firing squad. 

Jamie couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the meal. Every bite tasted like ash. The ship’s computer on the other hand seemed thrilled that its crew was finally taking part in its carefully scheduled meals and activities. More than once Jamie thought she heard a low-pitched contented hum from the belly of the ship. Or perhaps that was simply the engine room. 

Eventually, Jamie made her excuses and left the others to their own devices. Jamie walked into the same bedroom she had taken during the initial trip on this vessel. First one on the left from the main lounge. There were at least four other rooms of generally equal size and accommodation on the ship; Jamie had simply picked this one because it was closest to the helm, easy to access and nothing more. 

Jamie sighed and stopped in the middle of the room. She unslung the holster and pistol, dropping it to the ground, then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt she had stolen from the medbay. Back on Tython, Hannah had offered her a spare set of robes, which she’d declined. Jamie hadn’t worn robes since she was a padawan, and after years of boilersuits and undershirts, she wasn’t about to start again any time soon, thanks. Even if it meant dumb slacks and collared shirts made of some anti-wrinkle fabric that cost more than her apartment back on Telos IV. 

She just needed to make it one more day. Just one more day. The last few weeks had shaved off a good few years from her life. Probably. And by this time tomorrow this whole ordeal would be over, alive or dead. Probably. 

There was a knock at the door. With a frown, Jamie turned, hands paused in the act of unbuttoning the shirt halfway down her stomach. “Yeah?” 

The door hissed open and shut again behind Dani as she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Jamie blinked. “Hey.” 

For a long moment Dani did and said nothing. Her mismatched gaze flicked down to the narrow v of skin and the dogtags revealed by the open shirt, only to dart quickly away again, studying the bedside table with a fixed intensity it did not deserve. 

“Sorry,” said Dani. “I just - It's been a few days since we’d really spoken, and I wanted to check in.”

Jamie nodded. “Ah - yeah. I’m good. Are you -?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Another lengthy pause.

Dani gestured to the door behind her. “Hannah and Owen are very nice.” 

“They are, yeah. Good people. Trust ‘em with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.” Jamie tried to smile, to make light, but Dani had turned that wide-eyed fixed intensity upon her now. It was difficult not to squirm in place when Dani looked at her like that.

Dani took an abortive step forward, only to stop herself before she could venture too close. “Are we okay? It’s just - on Tython you seemed to want your own space, and I thought -” She paused to clear her throat, glancing briefly down at her feet. “Did I mess this up or -? I mean - I know I’m not the best option for anyone, and you deserve someone nice, someone who’s not completely messed up or possessed by an ancient Sith ghost or something. But I -” she paused to close her eyes and draw in a deep breath. “I really like you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me after this is all over, I would completely understand, but I -”

Jamie tried. She really did. But the next thing she knew, she had taken a step forward and pulled Dani in for a kiss. Dani made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat that Jamie chased after, feeling her respond in kind, feeling the Force welling up beneath Dani’s skin like a hand reaching out in offering. 

“Do you think -” Jamie said, pulling away just enough to speak, “- that I did all this because I don’t like you?”

Dani gave a breathless little laugh, her hands cupping Jamie’s jaw then sliding to cradle the back of her head. “I thought you did it because you’re good and noble and you’re drawn to a lost cause.”

“Can be lots of things, can’t I?”

They were close enough that Jamie could feel the pull of Dani’s smile against her own lips, their noses brushing. 

“I know you like your life to be boring. So, I was thinking," said Dani, "how nice Corsin must be at this time of year. Just a getaway planet in the middle of nowhere. No Sith. No Jedi. That could be boring, couldn't it?"

Jamie swayed forward, eyes half lidded, and murmured, "Could be awfully boring."

Hannah and Owen be damned. The little voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea be damned. Dani was kissing her again and every thought flew right out of her head until there was nothing but this. Nothing but today, this moment, the call of blood in her veins, life as it was and nothing else. 

There was not push towards the bed, no drive to action beyond this. Still Jamie paused, one hand remaining anchored at Dani’s waist.

“You can still go alone,” Jamie said, “if you want. Doesn’t have to be with me.”

Even as she said it, Jamie dreaded the answer. Knowing Dani’s predilection towards shrinking away from things that were too difficult to face alone. Knowing her own history of always being the odd one out, passed from place to place, from Corps to Corps, unfettered, unwanted. 

Dani’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her close. “Want it to be with you.”

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani kissed her again. Want this, too.

Removing Dani’s cloak and tossing it onto the floor beside the blaster pistol had never felt so easy. Kissing her, unhooking the lightsabre and setting it onto the table had never felt so easy. Unzipping Dani’s vest while Dani finished unbuttoning what Jamie had started had never felt so easy. Being with someone else had never felt so easy. 

Jamie’s shirt was discarded onto the ground beside the bed just as Jamie sank to her knees there. Dani’s hair was mussed, her mouth parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking as Jamie began to slowly drag down the zipper of her trousers. She toyed with the chain of Jamie’s dogtags, winding it around her fingers at the back of Jamie’s neck. 

When Jamie began to tug down the material, Dani sat on the edge of the mattress so her pants could be peeled off and placed aside. Jamie leaned forward and stroked her tongue along the soft skin of Dani’s inner thigh, feeling a hand grip her hair when she bit down gently, and making a low dark sound in the back of her throat. 

Already Dani was moving her hips in small motions and Jamie hadn’t even started yet. Jamie laughed softly.

“What?” Dani breathed.

Jamie shook her head, but the movement was restricted somewhat by the tight grip Dani had on her hair. “Nothing,” she murmured and bowed forward to place her open mouth against slick wet and wanting heat.

Wanting nothing but this. The spread of Dani’s legs on either side of Jamie’s head. The taste of her when Jamie swiped her tongue in long slow strokes. The sound of her name gasped in Dani’s voice. The ache between her own legs as Dani rocked her hips to the rhythm Jamie set with a barely restrained urgency. 

Where last time had been fast and hard, Jamie did the opposite now. She traced Dani with the tip of her tongue as if trying to map her to memory, finding the best reactions and storing them away for later, for a time again with her that may never come. One of Dani’s heels came up to press into the small of Jamie’s back, and Jamie could feel the way the muscle of Dani’s inner thigh trembled against the side of her face. The same way her fingers trembled as they combed back Jamie’s hair. 

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani’s groan ended on a broken noise, as Dani’s hips arched up to press more firmly against her mouth while Jamie offered only a gentle suction. Want her. Want us. 

Dani hauled Jamie up by the chain around her neck to kiss her deeply. The kiss was slick and messy and tasted of her, and when they parted Dani was panting. 

“Did I mention,” Dani said breathlessly, “that I really like you?”

Jamie laughed and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the bed. Smiling broadly, Dani kissed her and rolled her over to start unbuttoning Jamie’s dark-washed slacks. Before she could do more than flick open the first of two buttons, Jamie placed her hands and Dani’s hips and encouraged her to rock against her thigh.

“That’s -” Dani swallowed back a reckless sound, her eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to ruin your nice slacks.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Dani’s answering laugh was breathless. “Do you mean that literally, or -?”

The question died on her tongue when Jamie pressed her knee up and wedged a hand between them just enough that she could brush her thumb just so. She watched as Dani’s face screwed up, as her mouth dropped open and her hips bucked out of time until she came again — smaller this time, but no less gratifying.

Dani slowed to a halt, trying to catch her breath. “All right,” she said. “It’s definitely your turn.”

When they’d finished, Jamie sank bonelessly back onto the mattress. Their clothes were strewn all about the room, and the ship’s computer had set the lights to dim automatically to match a normalised sleep cycle, so that the ceiling was a map of constellations. Dani was stark naked and wiping her hands clean on a shirt with a self-satisfied expression before she crawled back up the bed and snuggled into Jamie’s side.

Jamie rolled onto her side and draped an arm across Dani’s waist to hold her loosely there. She needed to take a shower, but couldn’t find the energy within herself to get up. Not when recent sex had turned her bones to jelly, and not when Dani started to trace the curving lines of Jamie’s monochromatic tattoo. 

Exhaling slowly, Jamie sank further into the mattress. Her eyes slipped shut and she allowed herself this moment of brief respite. 

“Do you ever think,” Dani asked softly, “this was supposed to happen?” 

Blearily, Jamie opened her eyes, lulled half asleep by the way Dani was touching her. “What d’you mean?”

Dani shook her head, admiring the way her fingertips drifted across the pattern of ink on Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just - When I chose the ship to Telos IV, it wasn’t the fastest or the cheapest or even the one leaving the soonest. I was still in shock, I think. From what had happened on Vurdon Ka. There was another transport leaving three hours earlier, heading towards the Outer Rim, but when the droid asked me what ticket I wanted I bought the one to Telos instead.” Her words slowed to a mumble, and her caress stopped. Dani stared at the flowers on Jamie’s skin as if in wonder. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie offered, watching the flicker of Dani’s brow in response.

Dani seemed to be trying to remember something intently. “Maybe, but it was so strange. I had this - this feeling. And when I landed on Telos, you know, I -” She broke off with a small incredulous laugh. “I walked straight to that bar. Just - straight there. Didn’t even ask for directions.”

Jamie blinked, more awake now. That hum of energy had returned, threading between them like an arc. Dani’s presence was stalwart, nothing wavering or questioning about it. 

“I don’t know anything about the Force,” Dani continued, “but I’m glad to have met you.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. It was brief but the warmth pooling in her chest was verdant and budding. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Rebecca’s ship dropped out of hyperspace only three kilometers from the luxury cruiser, so that the two vessels drifted in orbit around Alderaan side by side. The planet below was a vast curved horizon of blues and greens, struck through with white cloud. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Jamie noticed how Dani’s gaze kept drifting towards the broad windows of the left wing, staring out at the planet below with her shoulders tense and her hands clasped behind her back. 

The moment Rebecca’s ship came into view, Owen leaned over Jamie’s shoulder and hit the comm button, requesting a transmission, which was immediately picked up.

“Hello again,” Owen greeted jovially down the line. “We see you’ve just arrived in orbit. And might I say - your ship is exactly what I expected from a smuggler.”

“Aww, thanks,” said Rebecca, her video feed flickering into view. “I worked hard to get it just right.”

Rebecca’s ship was a single bladed shape of stark grey material, like a shark’s fin parting the surface of water. Jamie knew from experience that its small size could mislead larger ships into underestimating its speed and firepower. She also knew from experience that the sleeping cots were cramped and uncomfortable, and that more often than not Rebecca slept in a hammock strung up in the cockpit itself. 

Jamie elbowed Owen in the gut so she could have more room. “Status report?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “What are you? Fleet Commander Taylor?”

“Just tell me how we’re getting down to the surface without being noticed,” Jamie said.

“Funny you should ask that,” Rebecca replied, trailing off.

Owen made a face. “Oh, no. Is it bad?” 

“Well…”

“Get it over with,” groaned Jamie. She could hear Hannah and Dani walking closer to join the conversation. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rebecca hit a few buttons to switch over the feed, and the screen suddenly displayed a scene much nearer to the surface. She must have hacked into a few security cameras, because the view turned slowly alongside her tapping away in the background. A towering estate in slate greys with parapets like speartips jutting into the sky dominated the screen, flanked by snowy mountains. A broad bridge led to the front entrance, and a hundred or so guardsmen had set up allacrete bollards behind which they were taking cover to avoid incoming fire, peeking over to return volleys before crouching down again.

“That’s,” Dani said slowly, pointing towards a crest-emblazoned purple and red banner hanging from the manor walls on the screen, “House Thul.” 

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“They’re being besieged by the Sith Lord,” said Rebecca.

“I said don’t tell me.”

Hannah peered over Jamie’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Can you get us to the surface?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “But after that, I’m all out of ideas. I told you: I’m not a Core World girl. I don’t know Alderaan from a bottle of spotchka.” 

“I do.” 

Jamie opened her eyes and lowered her head. Beside her Dani had lifted her hand slightly as though waiting to be called on in class. “There’s a side entrance used primarily by servants and staff.”

“What? A side entrance dug all the way through the mountains?” Owen pointed to the snowy peaks pressed in tight on either side of the estate. 

“No, it’s here.” Dani tapped her finger against the screen just off to the side of where the camera was currently showing. “It’s where the guards sleep. You go through a security checkpoint and then down a tunnel which leads into a room off the great hall.” 

“Don’t think the security checkpoint won’t be a problem this time,” said Jamie.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca slowly as a guardsman on screen was shot dead and slumped to the ground, only to be pulled back over the bollard by one of his comrades. “They look a little occupied right now.” 

Chatter fizzed from another speaker on the dashboard. Frowning, Rebecca sat in the pilot’s seat and turned a dial until the frequency better matched. They could hear a staticky voice shouting frantic orders over the comm.

“That’s a Pub frequency,” Rebecca said. 

“The Empire has revealed its hand,” Owen said. “The Republic will be arriving with reinforcements soon.”

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Jamie muttered darkly. 

Hannah hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, yes. A fully fledged Sith Lord? They can tear this estate apart and be out with what they want before Republic troops make it into orbit.” 

“Yeah, well, hopefully we can do the same.” 

From the sidelines, Dani suddenly spoke, “Can we talk about the children for a sec?” When she had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath and continued, “What’s going to happen to them now that we know they’re Force Sensitive?” 

She looked towards Jamie, who raised both hands and shook her head, pointing towards Owen and Hannah. Hannah was looking at Owen, who shrugged and made a gesture, which Hannah reacted to with an emphatic tilt of her head, the two of them engaged in the kind of silent conversation only two people who had been together for so long knew. 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Jamie drawled. “Or are you two lovebirds just going to keep having your weird psychic talk that nobody else can hear?”

Hannah gave Jamie an arch, brook-no-nonsense glare, while Owen stuck out his tongue at her. 

“I think it best if we take them back to Tython,” said Hannah to Dani. “There they can be trained in the Force properly.”

Some of the tension held in Dani’s jaw slackened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear that.” 

“Anything else we need to discuss before we leap into the fray?” Rebecca asked from the pilot’s seat. 

Silence. 

“Right,” said Jamie, hand on the holster of her blaster pistol. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

[sparklingchim]

OK, SO I HAVE THOUGHT(S).

The boyish grin on his face fades. Jungkook looks like a kicked puppy when the realisation starts hitting him.

HA. now, i kinda feel bad about him. he’s really making efforts to win their friendship back. but, again, he deserves it, you know. he needs to try harder, work more. feeling bad about him now doesn’t really compare to all the things he put her through these past few months.

“Jungkook,” you warn, scowling at him. “Don’t be rude.”

i think, so far, jimin didn’t really do anything to jungkook—well, besides being cheeky and full of mischief and just overall jimin as his sexy self—for jungkook to be so huffy with him. i think jungkook’s just acting on his feelings towards oc right now—feelings we still don’t understand what really mean—that’s why he’s easily provoked by jimin’s presence.

He read your favourite book? That doesn’t make sense. He would never pick up a book. No matter how many times you’ve wanted him to read one of your favourites.

But as you flick through the book you see all the little notes he wrote with his black pen on the side of the pages. Sometimes there were sticky notes attached when his thoughts were too long to write next to the paragraphs. It’s a thick book as well, so you’re stunned to see almost every page marked with his black ink.

ANNOTATED BOOKS ARE SO PERSONAL !!! at least for me; i annotate my books as if it’s my diary. and if i ever give it to someone, that someone must be a person i truly trust and comfortable sharing my private thoughts with. so seeing jungkook do that to miss oc..... *emotional noises*

i feel like i truly grasp the idea of why you wrote that part, why you made jungkook’s gift her favorite book. most importantly, the gesture is more meaningful because jungkook is not a bookworm. and if you made a non-bookworm read your favorite book AND annotate it with full details, that’s some kind of a personal achievement! they really come as best friends first and foremost 😭 i love this pair so much, angsty hidden feelings and all.

fine. i’m kinda moved now by his little action. all butterflies and giggles for now, like what oc is feeling 🙄 i’m very moved by it, yes, but do we forgive him? a little. like 0.5%! but still... he has a long way to go.

also, i don’t want to get my hopes up. jungkook doesn’t show much growth from his dumbness still. he might do something after this and disappoint us all over again, and i’m sure he will.

and i’m still loving the TENSION with all three of them. i wouldn’t mind reading more of it. thanks for another update! <3

p.s are we going to get jungkook’s thoughts about what happened or...? is the next chapter about how they spend the day according to jungkook’s plans?

p.p.s nabi is so cute ⭐🌟✨💛🤱🏵️🌻 🌞🌜🐤🎉😻

first off, thank u sm for taking ur time to send me this!! i always love reading your thoughts n i'm so grateful that u take the time to send me an ask!!! <3

i annotate my books too!! some time ago i had someone over and the book i was reading was on my table n they grabbed it n i just went 😳😳 pls pls pls don't open it n look at all the lines i put tabs on 🏃‍♀️. luckily they only read the synopsis of the book in the back🥴

anyway, so that annotated book is rlly special to oc for obvious reasons n now she is all soft for jk again 😔

the next chapter will be about oc and jk hanging out so we won't get to see jungkooks thoughts about what happened!

have an amazing day/night love <3

[the-lack-of-errors-in-star-trek]

MIDNIGHT FLIGHTS - 0.1

Chapter 1

In a library, a young teacher, and a young FBI agent were browsing the same aisle of books on adolescent psychology, making efforts to stand a safe distance away. The first thing that Natasha noticed was a tall man with odd posture and interesting quirks for selecting a book, almost as if he were browsing psychological literature for fun. The first thing that Spencer noticed was that a relatively short woman was searching for two specific titles listed on a wrinkled sticky note, more than likely for the purposes of bettering her career. Both persons considered the other interesting for choosing to be in a library on a Friday afternoon when colleges, schools, and most workplaces were observing a winter break a week from Christmas.

Natasha is the first to leave the section with her two required readings, Spencer loitering around selecting three titles to occupy his afternoon in the library. While Natasha is checking out her books, she receives an incoming call, checking the number quickly before answering, expecting her mother on the line.

"Privyet, mama, what's going on?"

A familiar voice enters her ear, "Oh come on Nastya, I've been waiting on you for an hour now. Your mother is trying to get me to eat another bowl of borscht, please save me." The voice of her best friend, Anna, brings a light chuckle to Natasha.

"I'm almost done at the library, I promise, I'll be there in less than a half hour." She answers, handing her library card to be scanned by the sitting clerk.

"Da, please just hurry." Anna repeats her plea and hangs up, leaving Natasha to collect her items and hurry out of the lobby of the library, headed directly to the metro.

As promised, Natasha enters the small apartment above her family's store with 25 minutes to spare from Anna's disappointment. "Ya doma!" She calls out, a small "yay" can be heard from the kitchen as she sets her bag down by the door. Walking into the sitting room connected to the kitchen, she spots the clock as being 19:36.

"You need to eat dinner, Lisichka" her mother calls out to her, wiping down the counter and sipping on a coffee, lit cigarette in hand.

"And right after, we need to change, hurry." Anna demands of her, walking from the small kitchen to the living room couch, eyeing the news playing in the background.

Natasha's adult life was very much consistent, after a long week of teaching and grading middle schoolers, Anna would be right there to take her to the newest clubs in the D.C. area. Natasha took a moment to analyse her friendship while eating her borscht and bread. They had met in the local Eastern Orthodox church in D.C. Nowadays, both only practice in the name of tradition instead of the belief they held as children, but that bond was set when they spoke for the first time during a church meal, and most of the Eastern European community probably only went to church for that same reason, tradition. Nastya and Anna were practically sisters, and had felt loss in the same way. When Anna was 16, she lost her brother in a car accident, and finally understood why Nastya carried an air of grief around her. Losing family was losing a part of your soul, and that was an unshakable moment between the two teens, leading them to live in similar ways. For Nastya, she put her heart and soul into teaching, making the world better for young scholars one English class period at a time, and for Anna, working as an intern in a law firm while working towards the bar exam meant giving her family name a better reputation than just "some Russians" living in D.C.

Later that night, the metro ride to the heart of downtown was largely uneventful, both women dressed for a fun time in the city, Anna wearing her blonde hair up in a twist, exposing a black sweater and gold necklace, slacks and heeled boots to go with. Nastya was dressed in a similar fashion, a red sweater from light fabric and dark jeans going with her worn black heeled boots, both women holding their purses close while holding the same rail. Leaving the metro meant walking fast from the station to the club, as the cold December air placed a chill over their bones. Neon lights could be seen all over the city, entering a small queue where a bouncer was checking IDs for entry into a new and definitely not prestigious club.

With a side eye from the bouncer, most likely from the last names on their Virginian licenses, both Anna and Nastya enter the club with no further event. The lights were strobing different colors, the music was loud and pumping, and both women sought a beeline for the bar, hoping to clock in a few shots prior to dancing. The bartender is a kind woman who obliges in pouring the four shots, taking payment from Natasha immediately.

"I'll cover the next four," Anna states, washing the second shot down with a sip of coke.

"You better!" Natasha laughs, lightly tapping Anna's shoulder, and turning to look at the crowd. Both were thankful for the fact the club had a coat room, ensuring the only thing needed to carry was their phones and some cash. "Dance?" She asks her friend, looking to the floor.

"Definitely!" Anna shouts over the music, dragging Nastya by the wrist to the floor, alcohol keeping their chests warm as they begin to dance by themselves and next to each other. A few men pass by briefly, none getting too close, but a quite muscular man saunters over, seeming to try and seduce Anna. Nastya takes this as a cue to find something stronger from the bar, leaning over to Anna's ear.

"Have fun, don't leave without me." She commands, receiving a thumbs up from her friend before closing the gap and dancing up on the bald man who approached them. Nastya can overhear their introductions as she walks away and towards the bar. She orders a gin and tonic from the lady behind the counter, and sips on it while walking the perimeter of the floor, attempting to spot her friend. Assuming they went towards the middle of the floor, she hangs back, taking the next ten minutes to slam through her drink, leaving it on the bar counter before finally spotting Anna's figure at a table of people, the man she was dancing with not even 15 minutes before standing next to her. Nastya walks over, tapping Anna on the shoulder.

"I thought I told you not to stray far," Nastya starts in Russian, "I couldn't find you for a solid ten." She finishes in English.

Anna shushes her, "Dude it's fine, look these guys are awesome! They work here! In the D.C.!" Liquor had always taken Anna faster than Nastya, she was just hoping she could keep tabs on her. She shakes her head at her friend before looking at the table, spotting an oddly familiar face across from her.

"Are you two Russian?" A skinny brunette asks the both of them in broken Russian, alcohol makes anyone a polyglot with the right vocabulary. Both women nod, answering with a curt "Da" waiting for more conversation to enter the table.

"Well we love meeting new people, your friend already told me her name, I'm Derek, what's yours?" The tall buff man asks Natasha.

"Natasha, nice to meet you Derek, don't move too fast on her, she gets tipsy faster than I do." Natasha cracks a friendly comment, getting a laugh and a light slap on the shoulder from Anna.

"Nice to meet you both, I'm Emily." The brunette introduces herself to both young women on the spot, moving to point to the two people sitting next to her. "This is Penelope," she says, pointing to a slightly chubby and eccentric woman with cat eye glasses and an outfit to match, plenty of colour in comparison to the rest of their group. A short and sweet "nice to meet you" leaves Penelope's lips, moving to chew on her small bar straw in her red cocktail.

"And this is Spencer, our workplace genius." Emily finishes, the familiar man waving but finally looking up to face both women.

"Wait, I saw you in the library earlier today," he starts, shock coming to most of the table's faces. "Adolescent psychology, what was that for?"

"I'm a teacher." Natasha answers shortly, "I could ask you the same thing."

"Just light reading material." Spencer answers in the same matter of fact manner, the interaction leaving an odd air around the group.

Emily moves over slightly, "Please sit, the more the merrier, we can keep drinks going." Anna is the first to oblige, her boots new and not nearly as easy on the feet as Nastya's.

"Come on, Nastya, don't be a stranger, you need more friends than just me." Anna slaps the spot next to her, Nastya giving into the demands of her friend, as Derek excuses himself to grab shots for the table.

"So you know our professions," Nastya starts, "what brings you four together?"

"We work in the same office," Emily answers, her tone always warm and welcoming, definitely appealing to Natasha in opening up. "Federal agents, gotta cut loose every once and awhile."

Anna and Nastya nod, Anna piping up first. "What is that even like?"

"A lot of paperwork most of the time, but keeps us on our toes." Emily and Penelope seem to be the most talkative, the blonde answering the question this time around.

"Really?" Derek asks, coming back to the table and conversation with plenty of shots for everyone. "You're the one in the cave, Garcia, these girls were asking about our action packed adventures."

Everyone except Spencer takes a shot after making a cheer, catching Nastya's attention. "What is it, Mr. Spencer? Vodka not for you?"

"Actually it's Doctor Reid," he answers, taking Natasha aback, "and I've just never been crazy about drinking in general."

"Jesus, how old are you?" She asks, genuinely curious how a man looking so young could be that smart with a PhD.

"I'm 26 years old, a bit of a high IQ and fast reading will take you pretty far." He answers.

"Seriously? We're like the same age and you already have a doctorate?"

"Three of them, actually." This answer causes Anna to choke on her drink, an amused look from Spencer's work friends.

"Fucking impossible!" Anna calls out, "There's no way, you're too young!"

Derek laughs, "Anything is possible when this dude graduated high school at the ripe age of 12." Derek and Anna look at each other and nod, an unspoken agreement that both were bored and wanted to dance. Nastya moves to let Anna out onto Derek's shoulder, and takes her place at the table.

"So when did you leave Russia?" Emily asks, alcohol keeping the conversation on getting to know everyone.

"I mean, I was born here, by my parents left right at the start of the Glasnost and Perestroika," Natasha answers, no harm in answering the question no matter how odd it was to be talking to the FBI off duty. "Anna's family was a bit more lucky, her grandparents snuck out of the eastern bloc, making her second generation."

Penelope is the next to engage in conversation, "I can't imagine, have you ever travelled there since the wall fell?" She asks and it's a harmless question out of curiosity, but it places Natasha on edge. She shakes her head as a response. It was her time to ask questions.

"What even do you guys do?" She asks, not meaning to come off in a mean tone, but luckily Spencer sees through it and answers.

"We work behavioural analysis, most people assume that to mean we work to catch serial killers, but it's not just that, there's also arsonists, kidnappers, and rapists, and any crime in which behaviour can be studied."

"What a mouthful," Natasha responds, Penelope and Emily chuckling in response to the interaction.

"He's always quiet until he has something he can info-dump on you" Emily assures Natasha, keeping the same warm smile. It was certainly a nice group, but after an extra hour of small talk, and a few more rounds of shots, in which Natasha snags the numbers of all three at the table, it becomes evident that Anna had a very high chance of going home with Derek instead of back to Natasha's family apartment.

"You lost her?" Spencer asks, towering over her as they pack up to leave the club.

"Seems like it, metro should be loads of fun." Natasha eyes how Anna is practically climbing all over Derek.

Spencer looks between the two, and comes to a conclusion. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm driving for Emily and Penelope, I can drive you too. The crime rates at this hour skyrocket, especially if you're taking the metro by yourself."

Natasha decides to take up the group on their offer, making sure Anna left with Derek safely first. When stepping onto the street at a bright one in the morning, Natasha can't help but notice how far the temperature has dropped in just the past few hours. The group of four head to Spencer's car, and pile in.

The ride is largely uneventful, address after address meant that Spencer was left to drive Natasha home after Emily and Penelope, both remaining silent on the drive to the outskirts of D.C.

"It's this store right here, thank you." Natasha responds when Spencer pulls up.

"You live in a store?"

"Above it."

"Oh, yeah that makes sense..." He trails off, pulling into the side of the road. "It was nice to meet you, have a good night."

"Thanks again," Natasha answers, exiting the car with her purse, both of the adults creating an awkward silence between each other. "Good night." Spencer drives off right when she backs onto the sidewalk, getting into the store apartment with no alert to her mother.

As Natasha fell asleep that night, she wondered what kind of story Anna would have for her the next morning, as well as how the fuck the FBI got a lanky kid to hunt down serial killers, but couldn't teach him how to hold a conversation.

Taglist: @iwannabemorethanme​

[prompt-wars-in-the-stars]

Sorry it took an age! Here's the D&D Modern Star Wars AU with bonus Jango x Obi since you gave free reign with parings.

Obi-Wan was not quite sure what to expect when he had been invited to Anakin's 'campaign'.  He'd understood his little brother had began playing a role-playing game once he started college and had been happy to see how it helped Anakin bloom in confidence and his moods mellowed out as he befriended his 'party members'. Obi-Wan had gone to a game shop and the young woman working there had happily helped him purchase some dice and books for Anakin when he'd realized his brother was not going to let this hobby go anytime soon. Seeing Anakin beaming when he opened the presents had made the disbelief and judgement of the worker's worth it. Apparently Obi-Wan did not look sufficiently 'nerdy' as the teenage worker, A. Tano had explained. 

Obi-Wan was fairly certain nerd was supposed to be an insult. It certainly had when he was younger, but the girl had said it with pride and he'd seen the merchandise bearing the word. So perhaps he was just out of touch.

When he'd received Anakin's invitation, it had been a text that had been followed by 'only if you wanna', 'our DM really wants some new blood', 'we don't see each other much any', and 'IGNORE THAT IT WASN'T FOR YOU'. Obi-Wan had spotted the obvious lie and felt instantly guilty. They had been spending less time together with Obi-Wan's new book and promotions for the movie and Anakin being at college and with his friends so often. It would be a good structured way to see each other each week. Anakin had tried to be nonchalant when he'd said yes, but Obi-Wan knew he'd been grinning and vowed to make sure it was a good game and threw himself into research. 

A. Tano, who finally introduced herself as Ahsoka, had been happy to help and had turned out to be a player herself, explaining classes and races and lore to him as they looked through dice and The Player's Handbook. She'd offered to just send him her PDF's of the book, but he'd declined though it was sweet. He preferred physical books and enjoyed being able to tab and write in them. Although he did accept the many websites she directed him to that were quite helpful.

All in all with a few texts to Anakin, who sounded more and more wary of his specific game related questions, he felt quite confident in his character and emailed the DM, whose name Anakin had failed to supply, his typed up storyline and sheet for approval.

The man, presumably one of Anakin's classmates, and it was an odd thought to have a 20 something with some authority over him, had approved it and complimented his storyline with something along the lines of, 'It's always nice to have another story and roleplay player in the group. I was concerned Anakin had invited another Murder Hobo, but you will do nicely Kenobi.' Anakin had sent him a long line of 'lols'  when he'd asked what a 'Murder Hobo' was and promptly forgot to explain it as he instead asked for romantic advice. 'For a friend.' After she'd finished laughing, Ahsoka had, yet again, proved much more helpful in explaining and managed to get Obi-Wan to buy another set of dice, a lovely blue shade that glimmered and had gold numbers. He had yet to play and he was becoming quite fond of collecting the different colored sets. His first one had been 'Lawful Good' at Ahsoka's insistence.

All in all he felt confident as he drove to the address Anakin had texted him and the DM, who never signed his emails, had confirmed. He'd been expecting some first time apartment or perhaps, at worst, a dorm. Instead his GPS led him further and further into the countryside outside the city Anakin went to school, until he was turning down a gravel driveway. The road was covered in trees on both sides that bent over it, cutting off the sky as the outstretched branches blended together and pretty soon he was going up a small hill, into the large forest he had spotted from the freeway. Obi-Wan was somewhat nervous, but his GPS assured him this was correct and then he was pulling into a large lawn spotted with cars and staring at a beautiful sprawling cabin style home with a full wrap around porch, garden out of a fairytale and picturesque pond with a small pier.

That was not a college student's home, but he could clearly see Anakin on the porch talking enthusiastically to an older looking young woman with a besotted look Obi-Wan recognized. Perhaps it was one of Anakin's friends' parent's home? Obi-Wan realized he was suddenly nervous at the realization that besides Anakin, his neighbor, and his agent he hadn't really socialized with anyone since they'd moved here two years ago. That was a bit embarrassing. 

Before he could consider it too long he parked beside one of the other vehicles and saw Anakin look up and grin like the sun at the sight of him. It made Obi-Wan relax. He would be fine. For goodness sakes he was a friendly grown man he could socialize fine. He'd even been called charming on more than one occasion. 

It would be fine.

Obi-Wan hurriedly collected his binder and then grabbed the cloth bag containing the snacks. Ahsoka had insisted that snacks were a must for any game and helped him select a collection beyond Anakin's favourites. Obi-Wan got out and just managed to brace himself in time for Anakin to launch himself at Obi-Wan and wrap him in a tight hug. Obi-Wan stifled a laugh into his brother's shoulder and returned it one armed only protesting when Anakin tried to pick him up. The boy, young man now, laughed at his protest but dropped him. He looked up into familiar blue eyes on a tanned face framed by a mess of long curls and felt something inside him soften.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, full of affection and then to distract from it reached out to gently tug the curls. "It's gotten even longer."

Anakin rolled his eyes pulling away, grumbling but still grinning.

"Qui-Gon's was longer," Anakin pointed out,  the same argument he'd used when he said he wanted to start growing it out. "And it's nothing compared to your mullet."

"It was not a mullet," Obi-Wan protested by rote and was surprised when there was a soft feminine laugh from behind Anakin.

Obi-Wan looked over Anakin's shoulder to find a lovely young woman a few years older than his brother. Her brown hair was done up in a lovely curling style and she smiled brightly. She wore an odd dress that was deep blue dress frames with black lace with odd white square patterned corset that resembled windows on the waist. There were swirling shapes in the blue and he could see up close that the top of black bodice said "Police Box" in white lettering.

"Oh, hello there," Obi-Wan said, slightly surprised. Anakin looked askance at the greeting which made Obi-Wan want to roll his eyes. Instead though he smiled and side stepped his brother to offer the woman his hand, shifting the handle of the snack bag to his wrist. Anakin had the absurd idea that Obi-Wan was an unconscious flirt, which was ridiculous. He may have bantered with others on occasion, but it was all very lighthearted and he hadn't pursued a flirtation in years. As it was he was suspecting he had become too much of an odd hermit to be all that appealing despite Anakin's insistence of 'seductions'.

He was even convinced that Obi-Wan's neighbor had some kind of crush on him rather than a strangely intense hatred and disapproval.

'Hello there' was not his 'signature move' despite what Anakin liked to claim.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said, ignoring Anakin's betrayed look as the woman shook his. Her hands were small but strong. 

"Padmé Naberrie," the woman returned with a dimpled smile of her own.

"Queen Amidala?" Obi-Wan asked, startled and Padmé looked just as surprised but then beamed laughing.

"You follow my blog?" She sounded torn between flattered and embarrassed. 

Obi-Wan nodded. "Your analysis is very thoughtful and it's been helpful for developing my more political character's thought processes as well as provoking me to consider my own--How did you put it, 'civic duty and impact on my government and holding them accountable'?"

"Oh," Padmé said with a smile and her face sharpened with interest. "Anakin mentioned you were a writer. You're focusing on something political?"

"A bit of alternate history fun," Obi-Wan admitted lightly. He was very much not thinking on the stacks and stacks of posted notes covering his desks, hours of recorded footage from documentaries, and books that were more sticky notes and highlighting than text. He was ignoring the hours and hours of time thrown into research spirals.

"What are you changing?" Padmé asked, eyes bright and interested. 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a loud clap beside them. They both turned to find Anakin standing there hands together looking embarrassed and vaguely panicked. Obi-Wan stared, confused as his brother went pink and started speaking, rushed and stumbling.

"Alright. Don't wanna be late for game!" Anakin choked up and ducked between them grabbing Obi-Wan's arm. "COME ON OBI-WAN YOU CAN SIT BESIDE ME."

Obi-Wan allowed himself to be dragged, stunned by this but Padmé laughed lightly behind them. He noted the color on Anakin's face deepened at the sound and he felt something inside him soften. He had not imagined the besotted look then and he had most likely found the one behind the advice for Anakin's 'friend'. 

Obi-Wan hid a small smile as he followed Anakin inside. It was loud, though the noise seemed to be coming from down the stairs to the immediate right. The first thing Obi-Wan saw was a very comfortable living room with some weapons hung on the wall, one wall reserved for what appeared to be an album's worth of family photos, a large TV, and several glass cases that seemed to contain figurines and models. Children's toys were scattered haphazardly throughout and this along with the colorful quilts, the homework and crayons spread out on the coffee table, and baby pen folded in the corner seemed to soften the room.

Obi-Wan's smile stayed firm until he looked at the man in the middle of the room who was collecting the scattered toys to place in a box. Clearly older, closer to Obi-Wan's age and likely the parent of Anakin's friend. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to greet him only for the man to look up and for Obi-Wan to come face to face with familiar brown eyes.

His words died.

The man looked just as stunned--even more handsome than when Obi-Wan had last seen him, part of him pointed out--half bent over, one hand wrapped around a stuffed dragon and the other stabilizing the toy box he was carrying. He was slightly rumbled in soft worn-in sweatpants that clung to his thighs and a white tank top that fully displayed his arms. The outfit was finished by a lopsided crown of dandelions and wildflowers, resting on his head. He looked so much softer, older of course with wrinkles around his eyes and a few small scars, but there were smile lines and he looked so much more in his element in a way that made Obi-Wan's heart squeeze and a worry he'd carried for two decades unfurled.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin's voice knocked them both out of the staring. Obi-Wan jumped and turned to Anakin to find him frowning and then flickering a quick look to the man. "Do-do you know Jango?"

He sounded so baffled by the concept.

Obi-Wan honestly wasn't sure how to answer or how much was his to share.

"We're old friends," Jango said smoothly stepping forward to offer his hand and a smile as he met Obi-Wan's gaze.

Obi-Wan took it, feeling the warmth and calluses of his palms without quite believing this surreal moment was happening.

"Yes," Obi-Wan confirmed, voice thankfully not showing the strange mess of his thoughts. His eyes were focused on Jango's taking in the color he'd used to know so well. "Very old ones."

The warmth lingered as the broke apart and Obi-Wan felt strangely bereft at that and curled his palm closed as if to keep the memory of the sensation from fading.

"Time for game," Jango said, firmly and Anakin looked ready to protest, but a soft touch on his shoulder had him following Padmé down the stairs leaving Obi-Wan alone with one last suspicious glance.

Alone with Jango. Who he hadn't seen since he was sixteen and completely besotted.

[darknytemare]

No Words pt 4

BTS - V Imagine - Tall Girl - Interracial - Dirtyish

Note: Life happened. Sorry for the long wait! We’ll be back on schedule this week. Remember, don’t be shy! Any and all thoughts, criticisms are appreciated!

“You know I hate when you make me wait, Tae.” The maknae narrowed dark eyes that trailed down the length of Taehyung’s body. 

...and the tight grip that Tae had on the front of his pants. 

Jeongguk’s eyes narrowed on his, strangely quiet friend. The towel draped around his broad shoulders as the tip of his tongue poked out against his cheek. Taehyung did his best to not flinch at the motion. He knew that little tick; they were all very familiar with it. A boxy smile was flashed at the maknae as Tae turned around to drop his bag into a waiting chair. 

“Jeongguk-ah, don’t be like that.” Tae’s face contorted into a playful pout. He willed the erection away, thinking of all sorts of depressing things. All kinds of unerotic things. He refused to let the echo of her moans stifle his thought processes. Jeongguk gave an errant sniff as Tae moved around him, a clap to the shoulder followed. “I fell asleep in the van. It took them a moment to wake me up.” Tae sighed deeply as he turned on the bathroom faucet. The cold water was a needed wake up call. “...You guys were already here and upstairs. You got a head start.” Jeongguk gave a slight tick of his head. It was the truth. They all arrived and piled from their cars. They were ready for food, showers, and rest. The sweltering heat seemed to make everyone move just that much slower. 

“Y-yeah, I guess it was really hard performing today.” The youngest member pulled up a chair, yanking the top off one of the trays. He sat down, still toweling his hair. There was something that seemed strange, though. Jeongguk couldn’t shake this...scent in the air. Everyone knew he was sensitive to smells, amongst the whole group. Tae let the tension ebb from his shoulders as the maknae changed the subject. 

His hands braced against the sink, the veins throbbing as a flicker of memory set him on edge. Maybe it was the water? Perhaps it was the sudden whiff of her scent stuck in his clothing. His nostrils flared as he remembered what happened in that elevator. His fingers tucked into the waistband of his sweatpants at the sticky residue on his abdomen. Before Jeongguk realized it? The shower thumped on again. “I’m starting without you, Hyung.” 

“That’s fine!” Tae peeled out of his clothes, hopping under the spray of water. He made quick work of cleaning off the heat, and the evidence. He blasted himself with a spray of lukewarm water before stepping out of the shower. The flickers of a wet shower dream threatening to undo him again. Keep it together! He chastised his reflection before wrapping a towel around his waist. He grabbed another draped across his head. A soft sigh announced his presence as Jeongguk smiled up at him. The maknae’s smile faltered a measure as Tae walked by.

Tae toweled his hair fluffing the strands a measure as he looked out of the hotel window. Jeongguk’s eyes narrowed again as he chewed on a bit of steak. “Hyung…” The maknae’s gaze returned to his plate as he went to slice off another piece. 

“...you should come to eat. It’s delicious.” Tae turned to the small table and nodded. He sat down, uncovering the lid on a cup noodle. The noodles were swollen, but it was his fault. Well, technically - it was no one’s fault.

Tae smiled, “Sorry, Gguk-ah. I shouldn’t have kept you waiting.” He stirred the, still hot, contents with a sigh as his body relaxed in the chair. “Ah, food! Finally!” He dared to steal a piece of the maknae’s meat, before slurping noodles right after. “Ahhh! That’s the stuff.” He followed it up with another few pulls from the noodles. He popped the tab on the cola, taking a large gulp. 

He closed his eyes, letting all his favorite things settle in his stomach. Jeongguk watched him, hawklike, as he went through the typical eating theatrics. “So, Hyung..” Tae leaned back, rubbing his stomach with a lazy smile. 

“Mmm?” Tae clasped his hands behind his head. Don’t ask how it happened - but somehow? Taehyung had gotten much taller than the other members - Jeongguk included. It was a creeping few inches, but it was noticeable. Especially when Tae stretched himself out. His left leg was jutting out from under the table as he sighed. 

“I think we’re going to try and go out later,” Ggukie smirked as he watched Tae sprawl. The other man opened an eye as the youngest spoke. The maknae nodded softly, “Yeah, apparently the staff is going to go have a drink or something. I know Jimin wants to go…” Jeongguk looked up at Tae expectantly. 

“I don’t know, Gguk-ah. I’m really exhausted.” Tae frowned softly. “...maybe depending on how much later they go?” Jeongguk shoved another piece of meat in his mouth. 

“That’s up to you, Hyung. I just know that with having the next few days off? Well, the staff is entertaining when they drink.” They both shared a wicked grin. The staff upon realizing they don’t have a schedule for at least two days in a row? They would practically rent out half a restaurant to eat, drink, and laugh. It was the best part to celebrate a job well done! It was nice to laugh while acting as normal as they could. 

Taehyung’s rumbled a deep laugh at the thought. “I don’t know. I might sleep this time.” He grabbed up the cup of swollen noodles, slurping them and the soup down. He stole another piece of Gguk’s steak, slowly this time, he savored it. The cola was grabbed up as his thoughts began to wander. “You’re going to miss out, Hyung,” Gguk smirked at Tae. It seemed as if Jeongguk was trying really hard to convince him. He just didn’t know how much energy he could muster aft- “...you know that all the pretty PD’s will be there.” Jeongguk watched Taehyung’s body tense, their gazes met as the younger leaned across the table.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Tae spoke before taking a sip of his drink. His gaze traveling back toward the window. The cola was settled down as he swallowed hard. Jeongguk’s chin rested on an upturned palm. “Come on, Hyung. We all know you have eyes for that one PD.” Tae’s leg began to bounce under the table, his lips pressed into a flat line. The younger man’s nostrils flared as he watched the other start to unravel. Tae broke into a natural, too quick, smile while waving his hand. “Ah, stop! Why are you like this, Gguk-ah!” He crossed his arms, a playful look to admonish his friend. “All of our PD’s are pretty. I understand that you’re starting to get older…” Tae continued like a father preparing to have the ‘birds and bees’ talk to his son. He kept the mirthful facade going without missing a beat. “...and that girls are strange creatures, but…” “How’d you get that scratch, Hyung?” Jeongguk interrupted him. The smile faded from Tae’s face, confusion settled in. 

“Wh-what ...scratch?” 

“On your shoulder, Tae.” Gguk’s irritation was apparent as the outline of his tongue prodded at his cheek. Tae felt the softest puff as he flared his nostrils. The youngest clasped his fingers underneath his chin. “...it’s very noticeable. I wonder what you did that made someone scratch you like that?” A brow arched in Tae’s direction.

Shit. 

Taehyung sat in the heavy silence as he remembered the moment where she pushed back. When she wrestled control from him, making him scramble for the bars on the wall. When she dug her nails deep into his shoulder as their hips smashed.

“I knew I smelled something familiar,” Gguk smirked. While most of the staff chose clean, fruity scents - there was one staff member who did not. She decided something profound, almost buttery, musky? It was deep, sweet, and lingering. To the point, you could tell where she had been on any given day. There was always a faint trail of it in the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitely distinctive. 

And Jeongguk got a whole face full of it as Tae disappeared to the bathroom moments ago. Taehyung scoffed softly, his head rolling slightly as his lips pulled back on his teeth. “Jeongguk-ah, she helped me while we were at the studio. So, naturally, you’d smell her on me. I was exhausted, I was slipping, and she tried to help me stand up.” The two traded heavy gazes before Gguk leaned back in his seat. Plausible? Sure. Whether the maknae believed? He gave no indication as his chair pushed back. “You’re right, Hyung. She helps out a lot, so it wouldn’t be too strange for her to lean on us.” Tae’s boxy smile didn’t reach his eyes as Jeongguk placed a hand on his shoulder. The fingers sliding up until Tae’s gaze lifted to the youngest. “You should rest, Tae-Hyung.” That thick silence befitting the deep connection they held, was slightly uncomfortable. Their energies, secrets, swirled like hypnosis between them. Tae coughed, reaching for the rest of his cola breaking the spell frequently picked up by others who watched them together. Jeongguk smirked at the top of the Visual’s head as he avoided his gaze. “I’ll tell the others that you won’t be able to make it.” The maknae sauntered by, the click of the door opening signaling his departure. “Just know you’re not the only one looking at her, Hyung,” Gguk smirked, the door slowly closing on the next phrase. 

“I’ll send you pictures if truth or dare comes up.” The maknae’s chuckle left him suddenly incensed. He waited for a good five minutes before scrambling from his chair. The light in the bathroom flicked on as he turned toward the mirror. And there it was. 

Scratches. 

The angry red welts scattered on both sides of his shoulders like sordid wings. His brow furrowed while fingers raked through his hair. How? And when did sh-

The sweep, dance, and tangle of their lips drowned out the shuffle of fabric. She grabbed the metal bar behind her to hold herself upward. One hand dug into his back as he picked up speed. 

The veins in his arms pulsated as his knees buckled with the flicker of memory.

Her hips undulated as they devoured each other in ravenous kisses.

Taehyung grit his teeth against pushing to a stand. The cold water turned on as he splashed himself vigorously. 

She moaned his name like a sacred prayer to god's long dead.

“Ahh!?” The baritone growl filled the darkness as he turned the lights off. He flopped on the bed with the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The sound of each inhale, and exhale, tore at his nerves. Taehyung closed his eyes and prayed for the dream to come to snatch him again. He wanted to dream about her still. The blood boiled in his veins shooting straight toward his cock. 

“Fuck.” A sound of despair as he turned on his side. A deep breath in, and out, as his eyes closed. The exhaustion caught up with him pulling him into the sincere promise of sleep. For all of forty-five minutes, he slept.

        ….Just know you’re not the only one looking at her, Hyung.

Taehyung’s eyes popped back open as he heard this strange sound filling his ears. He sat up on the bed, letting one hand run over his face. Then he realized that it was the sound of his teeth grinding  -as if it would keep the growl at bay. 

A pair of linen pants paired with a button-down Gucci shirt. A matching belt. A comfortable pair of black loafers. A spritz of the Atelier. A slight tint to his lips. There wasn’t a need to accessorize heavily.

It’s a good thing he didn’t need a mirror. He wouldn’t have recognized his face…

...or the murderous intent darkening his gaze. 

                                                  ...you’re not the only one looking...

[currebunz]

Burn The Candle At Both Ends Ch 5

AO3 Link

The next morning when you awoke, Dabi was gone. The empty side of your bed had been neatly dressed with the duvet. You were tucked in loosely, still nude from the previous night. Your body felt sticky and gross. You felt like showering and washing your bed linen for good measure. Thankfully, today you didn't have to work at the Hero Ranking office, but tonight was another shift at the club. Speaking of work, you hadn't even checked the time.

You checked your phone for the time and noticed Dabi had texted you. At first, you began to think he wanted to cut things off. You dismissed the thought, hoping he sent some mischevious message, like stealing your underwear again. When you opened the messenger, it was neither.

<Good Morning, sorry had work to do.>

Work? Come to think of it. Dabi never told you anything about his life. Granted, you never asked. As you prepared for your shower, you pondered ways to bring up the questions without causing a problem. While the water beat down on you, anxiety hung over your shoulders. What if he has someone already and this is an affair? What if he is a criminal? What if he is just toying with you?

You locked those thoughts deep into your heart. You wanted to believe in Dabi, so you had to trust him. Last night, you could tell something was up with Dabi. You had to talk to him, otherwise, he might not talk about it. As you left the shower, you grabbed your towel while thinking of which question to start with tonight. That is if Dabi showed.

Part of you wondered what would guarantee him to show tonight. A saucy idea crossed your mind. You were naked, dripping wet and skin was probably flushed. With shaky fingers, you did your best to take a 'million dollar' nude. Granted, the towel-covered up part of your face. Basking in its lewd glory, you sent it to Dabi with a bright 'Good Morning'.

You immediately deleted the picture of your phone and dived into your bed again. A rush of excitement and embarrassment shot through you. Doing something like this was well out of your comfort zone. Something about Dabi made you try new things, albeit of the sexual variety. Even so, a change was happening to you as a result of your meeting Dabi.

Your feelings were still foggy as the day burned into the night. As you were preparing for your shift, your phone buzzed with a reply. Without thinking, you checked to see who it was from. Dabi. Of course. You sat down on your bed and took a deep breath. Surely, you were prepared for this. But were you really?

You opened the messenger, noting that he had replied with a photo himself. You scrolled to the image and felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Not only did he reply with a compliment, in Dabi's terms. He had sent you a dick pick of him. His hand was wrapped tightly around his shaft. His cock standing painfully erect and dripping with pre-cum. You were staring too long, suddenly feeling the warmth pool in your core.

<Look what you made me do.>

You swallowed as another idea came to mind. You weren't fully dressed for work yet, lounging around in your underwear at this moment. You hastily tossed your blouse over your shoulder and posed for another nude. You threw in a wink for good measure, feeling more confident about it this time. You sent it quickly, typing out the bait you were setting.

<Come by for a drink and I'll take care of you.>

You cringed a bit, it was so uncharacteristic of you to say something like that. But now you had no doubt Dabi would show tonight. He would definitely come by and not pay for his drinks, which you would add to his tab. He would be at your mercy, allowing you to interrogate him. Then afterward you'd both come back to your apartment and break the bed-

Wait

How are you going to stay focused after all this?

You slipped into the back of the club, the usual entryway for workers. You prepared your counter for the people, setting a towel on the seat you wanted Dabi to choose. It was close to the end, further away from the music. You watched as the people flooded in, your tip jar became stuffed as the orders fired out one by one. Thankfully, you knew most of the orders and could pour and shake as they came. Everyone knew to bring exact change or forfeit the rest as tips. Even heaven had rules.

By the time everyone had their fill, they switched to the cheap "vodka" the tweens sold near the dance floor. You waited patiently, cleaning the counter idly. You saw someone approach the counter out of the corner of your eye. Your palms felt sweaty as you anticipated Dabi. Would he jump straight to sex? Or would he sit down and talk first? You didn't have time to think further, someone was leaning on the counter.

You looked up and held back a grimace. It wasn't Dabi. You could tell why he was leaning on the counter, he was drunk. "Hit me with another..." he drawled out, his head lolling down. 'Or I could just hit you' the sharp glare you gave him had the man sobering up. "We don't let patrons go beyond their limit, help yourself to the cheap stuff" you pointed to the vodka tables. He followed your gaze tiredly, slowly bringing himself back to you. "But I want a drink!" he argued.

You pressed your lips into a fine line. If it's a drink he wanted, then it's a drink you'd give him. You fashioned together one of the special drinks, it was bland as hell and would do the job. "Here, a Zen Star" you slid the round glass to him with a strained smile. The man slapped down a handful of money, which was way over the actual price. You quickly gathered the money and waited for the show. The man downed his drink, dazed by how bland the drink was. The aroma of alcohol set in, the aftertaste hitting him hard.

You smiled as he rushed off to the bathroom, barely able to keep the vomit in. "Thanks for the tip" you hummed to yourself as you pocketed your money. You heard a slow clap from the other end of the bar. Your eyes met Dabi's, a playful glint in them. "That was rather evil of you" he chuckled as he walked over to your side. "It's standard protocol, make them sick so they stop drinking for the night" you explained, drumming your fingers on the counter. "Sadistic and cunning, I like it" Dabi lifted the towel and sat down in the seat you wanted him at. You took the towel from him, rolling your eyes. "It's more logical than letting them drink themselves sick" you defended your case strongly.

"You care an awful lot about your patrons" Dabi leaned on the counter, coming closer to you. "No, I care about not having vomit on my bar" you corrected him. That earned you a dry chuckle. "I want another one of those good drinks" Dabi ordered with a wry smile. "Dabi, I'm going to tell you the name once and I will not make it if you don't say it" you shot him a glare as you prepared his drink. Dabi hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes following you as you went about.

"The drink is called 'Bad Touch'" you bit back a laugh as you said it. Dabi was less amused. "What a shit name for a good drink" he complained. "Yeah, the guy who named it gets slapped all the time" you laughed. You set down a full glass and slid it to Dabi. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the drink. Dabi took a long sip from the glass. "It's what he deserves" he sighed delightfully. You found yourself smiling, the air around you both was light and humorous.

Which made the perfect opportunity. "Dabi, what kind of work do you do?" you asked out of the blue. Dabi cocked a brow, pausing mid drinking. "You left early to do 'work', so what is it?" you asked. Dabi set his drink down, blinking at you slowly. "I'm in a gang," he said so normally you almost laughed. "Okay? Elaborate? Drugs? Weapons?...." you really hoped it was one of those and not one that terrorized women. "No, more like we keep our terf quiet and keep the crazies away" Dabi picked up his glass and resumed drinking. "So I take it 'this' is your terf?" you raised your arms to indicate the club. Dabi shrugged, setting the glass down. "Close enough, I like this part of town" he admitted.

"I'm glad I live in your part of town" you hummed. That wasn't so bad, at least on the surface. Dabi didn't appear to be angry by your questions. Maybe you could get more from him. "What about these?" you leaned on the counter so you could trace your fingers over the wrinkles on his face. Dabi swallowed, it was the alcohol. "Why are you so interested in me?" he raised his hand to press his palm against yours, fingers interlacing together. "Well, you know a lot about me, why can't I be curious about you?" for once, Dabi appeared dumbstruck. It didn't last long, his stoic demeanor returned sooner than you liked.

"You just want to see me naked" he chuckled, releasing your hand. You pouted, resting on your elbows. "I do, but that's not my intention right now" you confessed. Dabi glanced around, he idly fiddled with his glass. "You have secrets you won't tell me, right? Well so do I" Dabi looked off to the side. This wasn't like him, some reason he couldn't look you in the eye. "That's true if I talk then will you?" you offered. It was a dangerous wager, you had your own skeletons you didn't want to share. But, if it meant getting closer to Dabi then it was worth it.

"Only if I get to undress you" Dabi grinned as he downed his drink. Your lips made a thin line, of course, he remembered your texts. "Fine, but there is something I want to try tonight" you compromised on that note. Dabi didn't hide his curiosity. you could see his face light up with excitement. "Deal, your place or?" he nodded upstairs. "My place, wouldn't want someone to interrupt" you gave Dabi a confident wink. It took everything in you to do that one, it was so worth it. Dabi quickly leaned over and pressed a hot kiss to your lips.

"Keep that up and I won't make it to your place"

The entire time back, you had to swat Dabi's wandering hands. He took you through a back way, which appeared dangerous at first. Anyone you came by quickly got out the way or went the other direction. You kept your head low, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Dabi stayed close as you headed to your apartment, you figured he was trying not to be spotted either. The second your door shut, you were pressed against the wall. Dabi used one hand to remove your shirt while his other held your shoulder.

"That last picture you sent me nearly made me come here and fuck you until you couldn't walk" he sighed into your ear. You bit your lip, embarrassed by the memory but turned on by his voice. "That's exactly what I was going for" you used your free arm to stroke his crotch gently. "Oh? You were trying to provoke me?" Dabi chuckled. He pulled back, taking your hand and guiding you back to your room. You kicked off your shoes as you went, abandoning them in the middle of the floor.

Dabi ushered you into your room, making you sit on the edge of your bed. "So tell me, what did you want to try?" he asked as his hands roamed your body. You shivered as he slid your blouse off your shoulders. He spent a long time tracing the area of your collarbone. You felt your shirt flutter off, leaving you in your bra and bottoms. "I wanted to try...getting to know you better" you muttered in a low voice. Dabi rested his hands against your chest. He appeared deep in thought as he fondled your breast through your bra. "D-dabi..." your voice wavered, unsure of his response. He hadn't responded, instead, he squeezed your breasts roughly. "Dabi!" you gave him a smack on the head, earning a chuckle from him.

"Sorry, I was really thinking but then boobs happened" he laughed. "But yeah sure, we can" Dabi's hands went behind your back and unclipped your bra. Your breasts fell freely in front of him, soft and supple under his rough touch. "Fine, but I'll only answer what I want to" Dabi argued. As much of a contradiction as it was, it was still progress. "Since we're on the topic, I also wanted to try something" Dabi reached into his coat and pulled out a long candle. You stared at him curiously, urging him to explain before he went any further. He saw your shoulders visibly tensed at the sight of the long, thin candle. "Relax, I'm offering waxplay not a fucking double penetration party" Dabi sighed as handed you the candle.

"I've never really done it before..." you twirled the candle in your fingers. It was light and smelled of sandalwood. "Don't worry about it, I'll do all the work" Dabi reassured you. He placed the candle down and pushed you down on the bed. He kissed you roughly, trailing down your neck. "Strip the rest off while I get the prep materials" he whispered against your skin. As quickly as he came, he left for your bathroom. You began to protest, at what point did he learn your apartments' contents??? But you shook it off. It was better not to worry about it, for now at least.

You sat on the edge of the bed, naked as the day you were born. It wasn't odd to be naked in your home. Nope. But it was unnerving knowing Dabi was slinking about your home. He reappeared after a few minutes, holding a towel balled up in his hands. "Didn't mean to take so long, wasn't sure which towel was okay to use" he deposited the towel onto the bed. It was damp, coddling a bottle of lotion and some bandages. "Why bandages?" you asked. Dabi shrugged, slipping his coat off. "Let's hope we don't have to use them" he laughed darkly.

Dabi took the bottle of lotion and squeezed out a large amount of it on his hand. "Be still" he warned as he started at your legs. He was surprisingly thorough, making it feel like more of a task than sensual. "Oh, it's not a sensual as the movies make it out to be," you said aloud, turning so your back was to Dabi. That was your first mistake. "Oh?" Dabi hummed in a low voice. His lips were so close to your ear, you felt the vibrations. You shuddered as you heard him take breaths, chuckle, and hum as he rubbed your sides down. "Should I take that as a clear to do whatever I want?" Dabi's hands slipped around your waist. He moved up just below your breasts, coating your skin in lotion.

"No..." you watched as his fingers drew tiny circles into your skin, inching up your breasts. "Tch, no fun" Dabi clicked his tongue as he lazily massaged your boobs. Once he was sure your body was ready, he grabbed the towel. "Lay on that, I don't want to hear you whine about a mess later" you did as he instructed, your stomach against the towel. You looked at Dabi, he was holding the candle and watching his arm. "What are you doing?" you asked. "Testing the temperature" he replied coolly. You blinked, bewildered by his statement. The candle wasn't lit, it wasn't even melted already. Dabi's eyes looked over your curious face, smiling wickedly.

"You never did ask about my quirk" he walked behind you, just out of the corner of your eye. Before you could argue, you felt a warm sensation on your back. "Gah!" you jumped as the feeling sent waves across your skin. It didn't hurt, but it felt oddly warm. "Relax, it was only one drop" Dabi scolded you. A few more drops of warmth landed in the middle of your back. You hissed out, trying to calm yourself. "Does it hurt?" Dabi asked, tilting the candle upwards to halt the dripping. "Not particularly..." you sighed out. Dabi was quiet for a moment. What was going on...

You let out a loud moan as you felt warm drops on your lower back. You immediately covered your mouth in embarrassment. "I knew it" you heard Dabi snicker above you. You turned to him with a glare, your eyes catching his hand. A low blue flame emanated from his palm, melting the wax. "It's so pretty," you said without thinking. Dabi used his free hand to turn you forward again. "You haven't asked me anything yet, at this rate the candle will be gone" he pointed out. Oh right, questions.

"W-well, are you dating someone?" you asked nervously. The drips were now going along your back and shoulders, Dabi moved your hair out the way as he went. "Hm, was kinda hoping we were dating but no" he spoke so casually it was almost humorous. "It would help if you actually took me on a date" you complained to him. Dabi smeared the wax on your shoulder as he rubbed his fingers across your skin. "Sure, I know a good place" he sighed. You made a mental note to make him uphold that promise. "Why did you come to the club?" you shivered as he dripped more near your lower back again. Your ass felt hot as he drew circles on your cheeks with the melted wax.

"I was bored, it looked interesting" another plain reply. You felt Dabi push your shoulder with the back of his hand, prompting you to roll over onto your back. You felt drops of wax warm your stomach, running off your sides and to your back. "That's it?" you pressed him for more. "Yeah, I just wanted a drink and that's it" Dabi's eye flickered between you and the candle, he was focusing on not causing an accident. "S-so do you like me?" you blurted out, causing him to drop more dribbles than he wanted to. Your back arched, causing the wax to run along the underside and map out the curve of your breasts. "Hehehe..." Dabi's laugh came out so low you almost missed it.

You didn't like that response. "Dabi" you called out to him, annoyance seeping from his name. "Well, I wouldn't be here if I didn't" he grinned. His hand smeared wax over your breasts, cooling quickly against your skin. "B-but I mean are you fine with me?" you asked again. Dabi halted his movements, staring at you. The flame had been extinguished, the melted candle cooling against Dabi's palm. "I mean I'm sure you could find someone better..." you began. You felt the bed shift, your eye closed in fear of what was to come.

Imagine your surprise when warm lips pressed against yours. Dabi's tongue didn't wait to enter your mouth, aggressively pushing to the back of your throat. Your knees bumped together as your thighs clenched closed. You had already felt yourself becoming aroused, but this kiss was pushing you overboard. Your hands tugged at Dabi's shirt, begging him for air. He didn't move, stealing as much breath as he could from you. Once you began hitting his back, Dabi broke away slightly. Saliva ran from the corner of your mouth as you panted for air. Dabi was breathing heavily too, a trail of saliva connecting to your lips.

"No more questions" he sighed, dropping the candle. You felt two fingers slip into your pussy, scissoring inside you. Your hand grabbed Dabi's wrist, trying to halt him. "S-slow down!" you begged, your legs shaking as he assaulted your core. Dabi's relentless pace did not waver despite your cries. His thumb drew circles into your clitoris, making your body shake in need. "D-dabi! I want you!" you cried out, clutching the towel under you. Dabi lowered his head and kissed you again. He swallowed your pleas and your moans. All you could focus on was Dabi's rhythmic thrust and the wetness pooling between your thighs.

The tight coil of pleasure tugged at you, begging you for release. You tried to hold it back, you wanted to hold it back. But his fingers filled you more than your hands did. The rough callouses felt like fire against your sensitive skin. Dabi's tongue invading your throat set you off. You came hard around his fingers, hips raising and shaking from pleasure. Dabi withdrew from our lips and withdrew his hand. He examined your clear fluids dripping from his fingers. He watched as it leaked from your core, enticing him. "Don't get sleepy on me just yet" Dabi carefully unbuckled his belt and tugged his pants down. You were still coming down from your high, unable to focus as he freed his hard member from its confines.

Dabi shifted you so that your legs dangled off the bed. He grabbed your thighs and lifted them, locking your legs behind him. You felt the head of his cock prod near your entrance. He ground his hips into yours, coating his dick in your fluids. It felt hot and hard, your sensitive skin stung as a reminder of what happened before. "I-I'm still sensitive..." you moaned. Your thighs had Dabi in a vice grip, allowing him to let go and grab your waist instead. "Too bad" Dabi plunged inside you without warning. Your eyeshot open wide in surprise, your mouth open in a silent cry. Your shock was short-lived as Dabi began a ruthless pace. His hips snapped against yours, roughly pushing your body against your bed.

The furniture creaked and crooned, the headboard beating against the wall. "Too h-hard..." you whined out. You clenched your teeth to have some type of grounding for this assault on your body. You could hear Dabi release a shaky sigh, his eyes were closed as he rammed into you with reckless abandon. He groaned loudly above you, he couldn't risk looking at you or he might cum. In the heat of it all, he forgot the damn condom. You didn't seem to notice, otherwise, he assumed you'd have said something. Dabi felt your hands tug at his shirt, hitting him roughly in the chest.

"Here, please" Dabi's eyes shot open hearing you whine softly. "Ha?" Dabi felt himself get harder. Did you mean you wanted...

"Come...here" your fingers curled in a beckoning motion, like a child wanting their favorite toy. Dabi let out a throaty chuckle, he felt silly for thinking such a thing. "Sure" he leaned down and allowed you to wrap your arms around his back. Dabi's face buried into your neck, kissing along the expanse of your skin. Your hands clawed at the thin material of his shirt, feeling his toned back under your fingers. Again, the coil in you tightened with the need for release. You moaned out your warning to Dabi, wanting him to make you cum with his cock this time. Your legs trembled against his body as you climaxed. Dabi continued to thrust into you, ridding out your orgasm until you fell back onto the bed with fatigue.

Dabi quickly pulled out, grabbing his dick roughly to keep himself in check. He released spurts of long, thick cum onto your stomach. He cursed at the sight of it. You were on your back spent, legs parted, skin flushed, cum flowing from you like a damn waterfall, and his thick release on your body.

It was enough to get him hard again.

"Come on" Dabi tugged the towel from underneath you. He used it to clean up the sticky mess from your stomach and between your thighs. You whimpered as he came into contact with your folds. "At least this much is fine" he sighed tossing the towel to the floor. Dabi dropped onto your bed next to you, watching you breathe heavily. "What about me?" he suddenly asked. "Huh?" you gasped, you reached for his hand and held it tight.

"Do you like me?"

You were so tired, your mind was still a mess. Maybe if you had been in a better mind, you'd have used better words. For what you said next, set something off in Dabi.

"I love you"

[discordantplains]

The Records

The first thing on Sonja’s mind when she woke up that morning was whether or not she should put Tucker out of his misery. The second was that she felt bad for her boyfriend. His sniffling and sad, wretched coughs had made finding sleep difficult, but she could only imagine how bad it must have been for him. That didn’t stop her from wishing for some peace and quiet.

When she ended up walking the streets of Ihatchu later, she found herself wishing the opposite. It was dead silent. The sort of silent that made her feel guilty about the sound of her own footsteps for disrupting it. She almost feared getting in trouble for just walking around, expecting Honey to pop up around a corner and drag her away for disrupting the peace. 

To be fair, Honey wasn’t that extreme. After all, they had finished their three days of supervised mining without incident, but she was still really intimidating. Sonja wanted to stay in her good graces. If not for her own sake than for the sake of Tom, who would likely get in trouble and need someone to bail him out. 

But that wasn’t news. Neither was the reason for all this deafening quiet. There was absolutely no one in town. She had noticed that on their initial tour around, and the alternate alternates had mentioned it themselves, but it only stuck out now without her friends clamoring around her. With how big the town was, and all the houses scattered about, there surely had to have been other people who lived here, at some point. 

Where had they gone?

The more she thought about it the more the question tugged at her mind. It wasn’t suspicious by any means, after all what SkeleTom and Mericho mentioned during the day of their tour made sense. But she couldn’t help but feel like there was some sort of twist, like on Ruxomar. If there was a reason that people had left the city there had to be a reason they shouldn’t be here, beyond wanting to be in their own dimension. It seemed safe right now, at least, with Honey and the others.

But still. The people. She should look into why they were gone. As far as she could tell, most of the houses had been empty for a while. Of course, that was only what should could guess from peeking through windows from the street. Not the most reliable method of getting information. Her best bet would be to find a library or see about poking around town records.

If she could remember the tour well enough she should be able to navigate to the library fairly easily.  It was located near the Town Hall, which was right in the town’s center. Or was it in the Town Hall? As long as she found herself in the right area it’d be fine.

It wasn’t long before the sparkling waters of the City Fountain towered before her. The Town Square was by far the most elaborate and extravagant part of the city. However, the Mianite Temple was the least inspiring of the buildings there, though it seemed to be the oldest. Rather, the Town Hall was the most detailed and carefully crafted, with defined pillars that rose at least two stories high and golden accents that curled along edges.

Her eyes roamed over the nearby buildings and down the other streets. None of the buildings jumped out or looked like a library sort. Not that she was expecting large signs pointing to the library saying “Get your free information here! Everything you need to know and more!”, but she was certainly hoping that it was at least be easy to distinguish from the other buildings.

Sonja made her way into the Town Hall. There had to be some sort of information desk in there, at least. 

The foyer featured a two story ceiling that allowed for the upper walls to be lined with windows that let in natural light during the day. Right before the front doors was a long deep blue carpet that led to the front desk. The desk held the allusion of having been used recently; there was a neat stack of papers off to one side in front of a sign in clipboard and a basic computer, as well as a cup of pens and a vase with pale yellow flowers that looked freshly cut.

But if when one looked further a fine layer of dust could be seen settled over everything. Someone had to be cleaning up the area every so often, Sonja surmised, for it to look more put together than the rest of the deserted town. Sonja rounded the side of the desk after giving a quick look around the area.

No one was here.

She carefully flipped through the papers on the desk. Most of them were citizen complaints, a few were asking about changing the stricter rules of Ihatchu, and there was one that was a formal request to be allowed to sell food in the town and be able to compete against Mericho’s market. None of them had any feedback, but they all were dated. If she could figure out what today was, maybe she could start onto how long the city had been empty.

She turned her attention to the computer. A shake of the mouse resulted in nothing. Sonja checked the actual computer for a power button and turned it on. The monitor stayed blank. She rolled her eyes and turned the monitor on as well and quietly sank into the computer chair.

The loading screen processed for a moment. It displayed a waving, random company name and a spinning circle as she tapped her fingers on the desk. 

She wasn’t used to waiting so long for a computer to load. The computers in Ruxomar had clearly been far more advanced. As she looked at the setup, she could see many wires connecting to the bottom of the chunky, box like computer. It looked and felt old. Except, the Town Hall would be the one place you’d want all your tech to be new, right? So this had to have been the latest upgrade.

The actual computer was bigger than her torso.

Yikes.

At least the computer and the monitor weren’t shoved into the same device.

It booted up to a login screen with a friendly series of beeps that made her cringe. The sound felt too loud for the oppressing silence of the room. She took a quick look around again, making sure that no one was coming over to check out the noise. It would be a little embarrassing to be caught rummaging through official town paperwork. Her ears stayed perked up, but she returned her attention to the screen.

As unfortunate as it was to be password locked, it would make sense for the Town Hall computers to be login protected. Sonja shuffled through the drawers hoping that someone wrote down some form of login.

The first drawer had nothing but blank forms and sticky notes. The second had pens, paper clips, and batteries. The next was filled with a space to file away papers, folders shoved inside to the point of barely being able to fit. The last was empty beyond a ring of keys.

Should she take the keys? Obviously they would get her somewhere she wasn’t meant to be. And she didn’t want to get on Honey’s bad side when she’d shown them nothing but hospitality after they dropped by out of the blue. Besides that, weren’t town records normally public access?

Sonja left the keys, reluctantly.

Closing the drawer, she turned back to the drawer full of files. She tabbed through each one, checking the labels for something helpful. ‘Addressed to the Mayor’ -who was the mayor?- ‘Addressed to the Champion of Mianite’, ‘Addressed to the Champion of Ianite’ -this one was falling apart under the amount of papers shoved inside, which Captain Captain likely never looked at- ‘Addressed to the Champion of Dianite’, ‘Pertaining to Rules’, etc. The tabs were mostly boring and unsurprising. It wasn’t until she got to ‘Office Needs’ that she looked into a folder. 

The folder contained mostly lists of supplies they needed shipped in, along with forms to order more, and some notes between offices. She was about to move on when a sticky note barely peeking out from the back slipped forward a little. On it, she could read ‘pas-’ that had to lead to a longer word. She pulled it out.

Bingo.

Neatly written out was a username and password that presumably would let her into the computer. Typing in the information proved her right. A rush of energy ran through her. She was getting somewhere.

Except she couldn’t get into anything else. ‘Staff Database’ was login blocked, ‘Record Retrieval’ was login locked, even ‘Building Layout’ was login locked! Sonja pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting sick of passwords and usernames.

She rolled her head. Her eyes trailed over the desk again. They settled on the papers. Or rather, the dates on them. She checked the date on the computer. Twice. Then she checked to make sure the computer was connected to the internet and had updated the date recently.

The paperwork was from three months ago at the most recent.

Three whole months. Did that mean that no one but the alts lived here in that time? No. But was it weird that no one had any paperwork pass through the town hall? Absolutely.

Her tail flicked back and forth for a moment.

It was time to dig deeper.

She powered off the computer- and the monitor- and placed the sticky note back in its folder before shutting all the drawers. It was probably better to keep everything how she found it. She didn’t want to get yelled at for making a mess.

Sonja took a glance outside. The sun was high in the sky. The computer had said that it was about noon. She had time.

She turned the chair back towards the desk as she got up. The carpet ended after the desk, leading to polished hardwood that had a simple pattern running along it. Right after the front desk was a split set of stairs that led up, each with a hallway that went underneath them. There were signs before the stairs that read ‘Staff only’. The hallway underneath had signs that read ‘Offices and Meeting Rooms’. 

She went upstairs.

None of the rooms seemed useful- the ones that did were locked.

Sonja checked the ground floor.

Besides the mayor’s office and some public relations rooms -which were, of course, locked- there wasn’t much useful there either. Lovely.

At the end of the hall was a set of stairs leading down. She peered around the corner to try and see where they lead. Most places put their valuables in the basement, right? Maybe the records room was down there.

Her footsteps echoed painfully in the small space, but the staircase was blessedly short. When she finally made her way to the next floor, her heart surged. Nearly immediately to her left was the very room she had been searching for. Even better, she found the door inside was unlocked!

She made her way inside, but stopped short. Where the rest of the empty building had been mostly undisturbed and nearly immaculate, the inside here was messy and looked more lived in.

Someone had been here recently.

Footsteps sounded from the stairs. Sonja backed out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind her. She didn’t want it to look like she was snooping through someone’s research. 

Her head turned towards the stairs just as the person moved into her sight.

Honey.

The stoic woman raised her chin and narrowed her eyes, but her ears perked in a way that betrayed her stern look. She was startled to see Sonja here. Sonja tried her best to look relaxed and keep her body posture casual.

“You shouldn’t be down here.” Honey stepped closer to her, eyes looking between the room Sonja had only just vacated and back to her.

With a sheepish expression, Sonja did her best to cover for herself. “Sorry,” she brought a hand up to rub the back of her neck. “I really should have asked before coming down here. I was looking for the library so that I could study up on the town’s history and figured the Town Hall might be an ok place to look. I couldn’t find the library.”

Honey relaxed ever so slightly. “Ah. I can escort you to the library, if you wish. This area of the Town Hall is off limits to citizens.” She curtly explained.

Sonja perked up at that. “Oh, that’d be great! I didn’t mean to wander into a place I’m not allowed, I just figured that there might be a library down here? That sounds kinda silly now that I say it out loud, but generally town information would be kept in the Town Hall, right?”

Honey nodded. “Generally, yes. You’re more likely to find town records, which is-”

“Off limits to citizens?” Sonja finished for her. The corner of Honey’s mouth quirked upwards. She nodded.

“In any case,” Honey started again. “If you follow me, I’ll show you to the library. Was there anything specific in mind that you were looking for? You mentioned the town’s history, but what about the history are you interested in?”

The two briskly made their way back up the steps.

“I’m mostly interested in why it was founded, and how long it's been around. Did it start as a small village that grew, or was it planned to be this large?” Sonja queried, sending a glance towards the front desk to see if it had been disturbed by Honey. Everything was as she left it. Good. “The streets and blocks definitely seem planned. It’s all very meticulous.”

“You are correct in that assumption. This city was made for the gods. Or, rather, the champions of the gods were given the task of building the city. It was meant to be a show of peace between them.” Honey held the front doors open for Sonja, closing them tight as they passed through.

“Meant to be?” Sonja inclined her head to look back at Honey.

“It still is. The gods have been at peace for some time now.” Honey left no room for argument in that statement.

Sonja hummed. That crossed out the gods as a reason for the town’s residents leaving.

“That’s good to hear,” Sonja flexed her fingers. “In my universe, the gods were seldom at ease with each other. Well, there were times of ‘peace’,” she pulled her fingers up to make air quotes around ‘peace’, “but never any real sort of peace. Mostly just that tense, calm before the storm type of thing.” Until Dianite died. But she wasn’t about to start on that story with Honey. She didn’t want to distract her from the little bit of information she was giving her.

Honey spared her a glance. “A shame. You’ll be able to enjoy the peace while you’re here, at least. I’ve made it my personal objective to make sure no one steps out of line.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Sonja gave her a kind smile. “You seem to be doing a fantastic job. Other than Captain Captain getting a little forward, I feel like anyone would feel plenty safe here.”

A dark look passed over Honey’s face for a brief moment. “If Captain Captain ever causes you trouble, let me know. I’ll have another talk with him.” Her face smoothed back out into her typical stoic, but also sort of stern, expression. “We want you all feel that you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“We appreciate that. I doubt we’ll stay too long, though. We’re all itching  to get home.” Sonja thought back to the day before, when Honey stayed back to talk to Captain Captain. Again, she pondered the stress of keeping him in line.

Honey shifted the conversation to talk her through getting to the library while they made their way towards it. When they got close, she pointed it out. It was very unassuming and humble. The building itself was fairly plain and only two stories high. Though the front featured a few pillars and big, clear windows that showed numerous bookshelves, it was easy to mistake it for any other building.

“Here you are. Let me know if you need anything else.” Honey cast a look in her direction, eyes narrowed. “And don’t go places you don’t belong. Ask me if you are unsure. Good day, Sonja.”

With that, Honey turned around and headed back towards the Town Hall. Her words left Sonja a bit unsettled. The last bit had sounded a little more threatening than she felt was warranted. But maybe Honey had to be that harsh to get certain people to fall in line.

She trusted that Honey was just doing her best to keep them safe.

~~~

Sonja researched late into the day. The first few hours weren’t all that useful. To start, she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for. Surprisingly, the ‘History’ section was rather small. Most of what she found wanted to talk about the world as a whole, rather than the town. She had parsed through a number of books that talked about great events of gods and their respective civilizations, and wars and battles, and even milestones in advancement of technology and such. The most recent ‘technological revolution’ was the simplification of making computers, which greatly assisted in further research of making computing easier and cheaper. It ended with a picture of nearly the exact model of computer she’d seen in the Town Hall.

This was a far cry from what she was looking for.

She found more luck, amusingly, in the ‘Divinity and Gods’ section. This particular section took up nearly half of the bottom floor. That should have made sense, in hindsight. Honey had told her that the city was made for the gods, or something like that. It probably would have been better to start here in the first place.

Most of what Honey said held true: The city was made in the gods’ interest and glory, but not all the champions were told to make it. In fact, Captain Captain did rather little in helping ‘build’ it, so much as he just showed up one day because Ianite told him to. According to the first book she found- which had only taken breaks from talking about how great and glorious Mianite was, and how his good grace and humble justice was the shining light of the realm to talk about Ihatchu ‘a city that reflected his most glorious self’- most of the work was lead by Honey. Of course, that was the most biased book she’d ever read.

And she’d read some of Dec’s books on the gods.

When she cross researched, she found that the city was founded more on an agreement between various higher up followers of the gods and, surprise surprise, wizards. Pretty typical. What she found out as more interesting was that the town was founded roughly 10 years ago.

That was longer than she had been found herself in the land of Mianite.

The history of the town that she could scope out was mostly uneventful. Strange. Most of the books didn’t report much in the last two years, and those that did hadn’t really gone into the sudden drop in citizens.

To say that she was frustrated was an understatement.

Sonja was ready to give it a rest for the day when she noticed a piece of paper sticking out from one of the books she had pulled. There was a pile of books she hadn’t gotten into yet, mostly because she was trying to compile some sort of notes on the history of Ihatchu. It was time consuming.

She pulled the book out from the stack and flipped to the page the paper was stuck in. The chapter she found herself in was on some basic stuff about Ihatchu she’d already read about. The paper, however, was not related to the chapter. It read, ‘What is happening to everyone?’.

That was unsettling.

Did something happen? Sonja tapped her fingers on the book cover. How recent was the note? What was it referring to? Had people been going crazy? Had they been dying? The note only raised more questions.

She carefully folded the note and put it in her pocket. A glance outside told her the sun was going down soon. It would be best to give it a rest for today.

Sonja took what books she had finished going through to a book return cart- though she doubted anyone would come around to put them away any time soon- and made sure the books she wanted to read later were neatly stacked on the table she had claimed.

When she got back to the bed and breakfast she took the time to go over her notes. Ihatchu was made for the gods. It had been a big draw for people of all faiths, and was at one point a very populated- and popular- town. During the ten years it's been founded, it has seen only peace between the gods.

And, at some point, something happened to the people.

Not the most useful information, but better than not knowing anything. Maybe she could check for newspapers or journals to see if there were any local coverage of strange things. That could give her a better lead.

For now, she ought to get some sleep.

~~~

The sound of Tucker dying greeted her long before the sunrise did. Beautiful. She stayed in bed for a moment, lamenting on her lost sleep. Honestly, it would be so easy to go over to Tucker’s bed and put a pillow over his face and-- She sighed. Murder was not the answer.

Sonja pressed her pillow over her head. What were the chances she could get at least another hour of sleep? 

A hacking cough from Tucker told her there was a very small chance.

She begrudgingly got dressed. Jordan’s bed was empty. Still. A quick peek downstairs showed him slouched over his work. Of course.

Sonja made her way outside, giving a nod to Wag who had started to wake up. He blinked sleepily at her.

The walk to the library was as quiet as ever. Empty town, empty streets, empty houses. The question echoed in her head: Where did they go? She really hoped that there was something in the library to point her in the right direction.

As she passed a smaller street, stretching her arms far above her head, getting a satisfying few pops from her spine, light caught her eye. It was outside the town. The lights she had seen on her first day. They sparked her curiosity. 

Maybe she would check them out later.

For now, she was off to the library.

When she got there she set off to find a section of old newspapers or journals. Which was harder than she thought. Unsurprisingly, there was a bigger focus on actual books than newspapers. It was annoying, but she persisted.

She went through the ‘Restoration’ section- which was mostly old or ancient books- the ‘Documents’ section, and the ‘Other’ section. Not a single newspaper or journal. Not a single one! And there wasn’t a section for either of those.

Her luck finally paid off when she found a room in the back called ‘Periodicals and Associated Clippings’. Inside she found what she assumed to be all of the libraries storage of newspapers, journals, and some other graphic material.

Score.

Sonja set to work sorting through all of the papers. Most relayed typical news- the weather, general town information, more significant weddings, any recent crimes- but a few caught her eye.

They had increasingly larger sections on families leaving town and people dying. Not that people were getting murdered once a week, but over the course of months the rate climbed. There was no linkage to who was committing the murders- though there was a particular Captain that she could guess played a role in the event- but it definitely seemed like something that would drive people away.

It lined up with what the alts squared had told them, after all.

Was that the reason? A slow increase in murder? Surely with Honey and other Mianitees around, that shouldn’t have been such a big issue?

She thought back to the note. It was unhelpfully vague, but maybe that’s what made it interesting. Surely if Captain Captain- and Ianite- was the only reason for everyone leaving then it wouldn't have been that vague at all. 

Maybe she was just used to Ruxomar, and how there was always something more going on than it seemed. 

Her thoughts were broken off when she stumbled upon a very familiar name in an article. ‘Local engineer missing after strange accident in his home just outside of town.’ The engineer? None other than the man who got them out of Ruxomar: Deviser Gaines.

The lights outside the city came into mind. Was that his house? Better yet, was he here? It was way too coincidental for them to end up in Deviser Gaines’ dimension after going through a portal he made for him to not end up here.

That, or it was some extreme form of irony on both their parts.

Nevertheless, it was worth it to go check out that house, now that she had seemingly reached a dead end. That wasn’t to say that there was necessarily anything more to it but Deviser Gaines might have more information for her. His ‘disappearance’ had happened in the thick of people leaving.

It gave her a break from sitting around all day, at the very least. Her stomach growled as she stood up. Maybe it would be good to stop by the bed and breakfast for some food, too.

The sun was about halfway to the horizon when she stepped outside. A gentle breeze was making its way between the buildings. For all the eeriness of Ihatchu being empty, it was such a beautiful town. Truly fit for the gods.

Things had to have been bad for all those people to leave.

But that didn’t mean things were bad now. The people here were more than kind- other than Captain Captain, but even he wasn’t that big of a nuisance. The open plains made her miss her home, though. All of the space reminded her of the budding civilization of Mianite, and how it felt like the whole world was at your fingertips. It would be a relief to be away from established cities after all the trouble in Ruxomar.

When she got back to the bed and breakfast she went downstairs to check their chests for food- and to check on Jordan. He was busy getting everything set up for their portal home and barely spared her a glance and a welcoming smile before returning to his work. A bag of cookies sat next to him.

“I hope you’ve been eating something other than cookies all day, Mr. Sparklez,” Sonja teased him, lightly nudging him in the side with her foot. “Wouldn’t want you to go on a sugar rush and crash in the middle of your work.”

Jordan glanced at the cookies. “I mostly forgot they were there.” He raised his eyes to her. “Though I have been snacking on them a little here and there.” He pushed his arms out in front of him in a stretch. “How have you been?”

Sonja shrugged, shuffling through her chest. “Oh ya know. Busy, yet not. I’ve been looking into the town history and stuff. Trying to figure out why there’s no one here but our alternates.”

Jordan’s head jerked towards her. “There isn’t?” He pondered that for a moment. “I guess I remember SkeleTom mentioning it.”

She gave him a fond eye roll. “You’ve been cooped up down here a while.” She pulled a few pieces of hard bread and a couple pieces of meat. Typical plain jane style of food, and not much of it. They’d have to find something more to eat pretty soon. 

“Did you want any of these?” Sonja turned her head to see Jordan gesturing at the bag of cookies by his side. “SkeleTom dropped them off earlier. There’s more here than I think I’ll eat.”

Taking a considering look at the cookies, then to her own food, and back again, she nodded. “It’d be nice to have something a little more edible in my palette. Did you want any of this?” She waved the food in her hands around.

Jordan’s nose wrinkled. “No thanks. I think I have some in my chest anyway. That is, if Tom didn’t steal it.” He rolled his eyes.

She sent him a smirk. “Ah, the ways a zombie shows you he cares.” Sonja laughed as he groaned. “I’m going to check out something I saw outside town. You’re welcome to come with me, if you fancy a little stretch o’ th’ legs.”

Jordan snorted at her eyebrow wiggle. “No thanks. If I’m feeling a little fresh air later, though, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright then,” Sonja carefully stole a couple cookies from him. “I’ll be off then.”

~~~

It was close to dusk by the time she got out to the edge of town. The sun was just starting its decent, washing the tips of the prairie grasses a lovely shade of gold.

Her first obstacle was the fence. Strangely enough, there was only one working exit/entrance to Ihatchu, and that was the one they had stumbled upon. All the others, for one reason or another, were ‘closed’. Weird.

She walked around the inside of it a bit just to double check. But when she went to go out past Mericho’s farm, his dogs followed her. It was unsettling. Though they stayed along the edge of the farm, it was clear they were watching her. She even put in the effort to put space between her and the farm, trying to show them she wasn’t going to do anything to their land.

They still followed her.

Maybe it was the fox in her telling her that having dogs- hunting dogs no less- keep track of her every move sending off alarm bells. Except, the human part was equally as unnerved.

So she chose to climb the fence.

While the fence wasn’t all that high- it only came up to her shoulders- she had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to climb over it.

Oh well.

Sonja had made it halfway over when the sound of paw steps grabbed her attention. She swiveled around. One of Mericho’s dogs stood just a few feet away, ears upright and angled in her direction. When she moved to get all the way over the fence, it let out a low growl. 

She pulled her foot back. The growling stopped. She put it down again. It growled louder and took a step forward. Sonja slowly descended the fence to stand on the opposite side of the dog. With a sniff, it stood down, watching her.

Fine then, she’d just go find a different fence to climb.

Sonja made her way through the streets, pondering how far she would have to go to escape their sight. Near the north gate, one of Mericho’s dogs stopped her again. On the exact opposite side of the farm. Alright, maybe he had followed her around.

She went back to where she first tried to get out, weaving her way through the city to try to confuse them if they were looking for. When she got back to it, not only was the dog there again, another one had joined.

Drat.

Instead, she weaved through the city again, ducking down smaller roads, getting a little lost, finding the town square, and making her way over to the opposite side of where she’d seen the lights.

What did she find? One of Mericho’s. Stupid. Dogs.

“Screw it,” Sonja mumbled to herself. She was going to get on the other side of the fence.

Her foot had only just touched the ground when the dog lunged at her, teeth bared. In a quick movement, she threw herself back towards the town, narrowly avoiding a bite to her ankle.

Okay. Fine. She’d just have to come up with a better plan.

Stupid, smug looking dog.

| ABOUT | CHARACTERS | PLOT |

[psychosistr]

A Playful Spark- Chapter 2, Early Adulthood

Summary: Jack deals with the awkward age of transitioning from being a teen to a young adult while also helping Elmo deal with bullies in a...mildly threatening way.

Notes: Just in case it wasn’t clear in the first chapter, the age gap between these two is roughly seven years.

-First Chapter-

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

~Age 18~

Jack rounded a street corner while drawing in his well-worn toy design notebook. It was the latest in a very long line of books that he carried with him everywhere until he would eventually use the last page and, like the others, leave it sitting on the bookshelf in his room for later reference. He couldn’t wait until he finished high school so he could focus on his toy-making full time, already eagerly counting down the days until graduation.

Today he’d decided to swing by one of his favorite burger joints on the way home from school for a snack, hardly paying attention to where he was going.

That is, until a familiar voice caught his attention…

“Hey, give it back!” The voice of his best friend yelled in frustration.

“Ha! Why don’t’cha come an’ get it, wimp!” Another voice teased, followed by a chorus of laughter from a couple other voices.

Jack scowled and snapped his notebook closed, looking around for the source of the voices. He soon spotted them in the park across the street:

Elmo, now standing slightly taller at 11 years of age, was surrounded by a group of boys who looked close to the same age as him but were MUCH taller than the scrawny rat. Elmo was currently trying to reach his backpack, which was being held up high above his head by a pig-boy that just laughed at the smaller kid’s troubles.

With the other kids distracted laughing at Elmo’s vain attempts at retrieving his belongings, Jack decided it would be fun to get a little payback on his friend’s behalf. He reached into his backpack to pull out the appropriate supplies and snuck around behind the group of kids using the trees as cover.

The pig holding Elmo’s bag laughed as he roughly shoved the smaller kid backwards onto the ground. “Haha! What a loser!”

Elmo frowned at the taller kid and tried to get up. “I am NOT a loser!” He countered, but was just shoved back down once again.

The other kids laughed at Elmo more and started to join in on the fun of shoving the meeker kid around, when a loud bang and some of the dirt nearby being kicked up caught their attention. “?!!!!”

There were a few more bangs, all hitting in different spots around the group and terrifying the pre-pubescent children.

Elmo looked between the kids in front of him and saw a familiar figure stepping out from behind one of the trees. “Jackie!”

Jack smirked, holding what looked like a gun in his hand as he walked casually up to the group. “Hey there, kiddies. Having fun?” He walked right up to the pig, easily towering over the younger boy. “So, you like picking on kids smaller than you? What a coincidence!” He grinned and giggled manically, raising the gun so that it was pressed under the quivering pig’s jaw. “So do I.”

The other kids screamed and ran away in fear from the apparently deranged duck. “AAAAAH!!!!”

“Now, how ‘bout you be a pal and give my little buddy his stuff back, hm?” He asked, his thumb pulling back the hammer of the revolver.

“O-O-Okay!!” The pig readily agreed, dropping the bag so Elmo could grab it while he stood up.

Jack looked at Elmo with a devious grin. “I dunno, Mo, whattaya think? Should we let him off with a warning this time?”

Elmo chuckled, easily able to tell what Jack was planning. “Nah, I think you should pull the trigger.”

The pig’s eyes widened in alarm as he looked between the two desperately. “N-No, please! Don’t! I-I-I’ll do anything!”

“Anything, huh?” Jack inquired with a raised brow. At a fervent nod from the scared boy, Jack smirked. “Okay, fine. We’ll let y’ go if you say something for us.”

“W-What is it?” The pig swallowed down his nerves, sweating bullets by now.

“Saaaayy..” Jack grinned more. “ ‘I’m all washed up’.”

“I’m..I’m all washed up..?” The pig repeated back, confusion momentarily breaking through the terror.

To the pig’s shock and surprise, Jack pulled the trigger on the gun but, instead of a bullet hitting him and ending his life, the kid found himself being sprayed with a stream of water.

“You sure are!” Jack yelled, laughing hysterically as he shoved the pig over and grabbed Elmo by the hand to make a hasty retreat.

Elmo held onto the duck’s hand tightly and followed his lead, chuckling the whole way.

Once they were far enough from the park, Jack stopped to the put the squirt gun away in his backpack and Elmo finally saw the small bag of firecrackers in the front pocket.

“Ah, so that’s how you did it..” He muttered while getting a chance to put his own bag back on his shoulders. “Thanks for the help, Jackie.”

“Eh, don’t mention it- I know what kids are like at that age.” Jack said, slinging his pack over one shoulder once everything was safely tucked away. He looked back at Elmo with his usual smile and nodded his head in a “follow me” motion as he started walking away. “C’mon, let’s grab a bite at Hungry Harry’s.”

“Sure.” The younger rat followed his friend’s lead without hesitation. “As long as I’m home by five.”

Jack snorted a bit in a failed attempt to suppress a laugh. “Seriously? You’re STILL grounded?”

“Yeeaaaahhh..” Elmo heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit. “It was just a blown circuit breaker- you think they’d get over it by now…”

Jack shrugged, giving his friend a sympathetic pat on the back. “You know how adults are: They always say ‘Be creative!’ or ‘Try new things!’, but the moment you set the bathroom on fire it’s all ‘What the heck were you thinking?!’ this and ‘Trying to make glow in the dark water doesn’t count as a science experiment!’ that.” He pitched his voice to resemble Elmo’s mother at the appropriate quotes.

Elmo couldn’t help but smile at the bad impression, snickering quietly with a shake of his head. “It would’ve worked if our electrical grid wasn’t so faulty!” Their conversation stopped briefly when they reached their destination, the pair stepping up to the counter to order an extra-large helping of fries to split and two chocolate milkshakes, Jack picking up the tab despite Elmo’s protests. After they got their junk food, the two found a bench nearby to sit on and eat their snack. “Hey, Jackie,” Elmo began to say around a few fries with a tiny dab of ketchup on them. “I just thought of something.”

“Should I get the rubber gloves and bleach?” Jack asked while tearing open five packets of ketchup at once and drowning his half of the fries in the red sauce.

“No, not this time.” Elmo took a sip of his milkshake and swallowed before continuing. “I was just thinking: You’re practically a grown up now.”

Jack gave a dramatic gasp and pointed a soggy, ketchup-coated fry at Elmo as if it were a knife. “Bite your tongue! How DARE you accuse me of such a thing!” He placed his other hand to his chest and looked away with a pout. “I am NOT a grown up.” He stated defiantly.

Elmo rolled his eyes a little and moved some of his fries away from the red-swamp that had claimed Jack’s share. “I mean..you kind of are: You’re legally able to drive and vote now. You’re almost done with school. You started telling people to call you ‘Jack’ instead of ‘Jackie’-”

“You still call me Jackie.” Jack corrected, grabbing a messy handful of what was mostly tomato paste with some potato in the mix by this point and shoving it in his mouth.

“You never told me to stop.” Elmo grabbed one of his fries, but hesitated right before he brought it to his mouth. “Did you..um..want me to..?”

Jack paused mid-chew to think the question over. He’d started telling people to call him Jack over the past year just because it felt natural to do so, as if calling him Jackie made him seem TOO young somehow. Pretty much everyone had shifted over to it without too much fuss, but, thinking about it, he really had never asked Elmo to do the same.

“Hmm..” He swallowed down the tomato-potato mush and gave Elmo a grin. “Nah.” He finally answered with a shake of his head. “It’s okay if it’s you.”

“You sure?” The young rat asked, the frown on his face easily telling Jack that the kid was worried that Jack was just placating him.

“Yep. I think ‘growing up’ is just a mental thing- if I try hard enough to avoid it, then I can live to be a million and still never be an adult.” He put his arm around Elmo’s shoulders to comfort him, looking him in the eyes with a sincere smile. “You’re my best friend, Mo, and you’ve called me Jackie since we met. So, if you keep calling me that,” Jack reached up with the hand around Elmo’s shoulders and playfully smeared a streak of ketchup across the rat’s cheek. “Then it kinda feels like I don’t have to grow up!” He laughed at the startled look on his friend’s face, nearly falling off of the bench with the force of his laughter.

“Aaagh! Don’t do that!” Elmo complained, wiping at the ketchup in an attempt to get it out before it stained his fur. “You’re such a jerk..”

He glared at the chuckling duck before a smirk lit up his face and he popped the top off of his milkshake cup. Dipping a few fingers into the cold, sticky liquid, he retaliated by leaving a glob of it right on Jack’s beak. He even placed it close enough that it tickled his sinuses and made him sneeze- actually making him fall off the bench for real that time.

Jack sat up and wiped his hand over his beak, forgetting that it was still coated in ketchup until he crossed his eyes to see all the red now visible across his bill. He stared at it quietly for a moment before he burst into a fit of laughter again, Elmo joining him this time.

The two laughed and laughed until they were breathless and holding their aching sides with quiet giggles. Deciding to be the one to offer a truce first, Elmo offered his chocolate-covered hand down to Jack so he could pull himself up onto the bench. Jack grinned and took it with his own chocolate and tomato covered digits, pulling himself up until he was seated next to Elmo once again.

As they sat together and finished their less-than-healthy snacks, Jack regarded his best friend with a quiet smile. He may have been unable to resist ruining such a nice moment earlier, but he meant what he said:

Elmo was the only one who could still call him Jackie, and he could continue to do so for the rest of time, for all Jack cared.

~Age 21~

Jack heaved a taped-up box up into the back of his beat-up old mini-van (a hand-me-down from his parents), taking a moment to wipe the sweat off of the feathers on his face using his shirt. He mentally checked off the boxes loaded into the car to make sure he had everything.

Personal toys and toy prototypes? Check.

Notebooks? Check.

Clothes? Check.

Framed pictures? Check.

Best friend hiding in the backseat? Check.

…Wait, what was that last one?

Craning his head to see past a pair of boxes, he spotted the familiar bob of brown hair ducked down in the floorboards between the front and back seats. With an amused grin and a quiet chuckle, Jack ripped a piece of excess packing tape off and slowly made his way around to the driver’s side of the car. He opened the door to the front seat, got in, checked his mirrors, and looked like he was about to start the car and drive off…

Before he turned around while pretending to check the road behind him and slapped the tape on the back of the crouching rodent’s neck.

“Ack!” Elmo yelped at the sudden contact and sat up. “Jackie!” The thirteen-year old rat glared at his friend and rubbed at the spot the tape was stuck to. “Was that really necessary?”

“Probably not, but it WAS fun.” Jack grinned, reaching back and offering the boy a hand climbing up to the passenger seat over the center-console. “So, practicing your mime routine by pretending to be a box?”

Elmo took the offered hand and climbed over so he was sitting next to Jack in the passenger seat. “Mhm. I figured if I blended in with the rest of your junk, you wouldn’t notice.” He reached behind his neck and began plucking at the strip of tape stuck there in an attempt to remove it.

Jack leaned one elbow against the steering-wheel as he watched his best friend’s struggles with an amused smile. “Hate t’ break it to ya, Elm-tree, but you’re a bit too big for that.”

“Yeah, I know..” The rat winced slightly when he finally managed to rip the tape off, relieved to find that he only removed a few bits of fur and one strand of hair. There was a moment of tense silence after he balled up the tape and threw it towards the back to be picked up some other time. He scooted forward in his seat and crossed his arms on the dash, looking out the front windshield at the driveway in front of them. “…It’s gonna be weird not having you across the street anymore…” His face was calm and neutral, but Jack could easily pick up the slight quiver to his voice when he spoke.

“Yeah..” Jack agreed, looking out at the driveway as well. “It’s gonna be weird for me, too.” He turned his head back to look at Elmo with a smile, though it was a bit more forced than his usual grins. “Look at the bright side- at least we don’t have to listen to our folks bitch at us for flashing morse-code at each other every night.”

“Mh, I don’t think my flashlight would reach that far..” Elmo tipped his head to the side as he thought something over. “Unless I gave it a few upgrades..I did want to try out that new fusion battery on something..”

Jack chuckled quietly and nodded his head in approval. “Hey, if it works you can make one for me and we’ll blind pilots every time we flash each other.”

“..Yeah..I guess so..” Elmo leaned his head against his arms on the dash with a slight frown, growing quiet again.

Jack saw the beginning traces of tears in his friend’s eyes and sighed in fake-annoyance. “Aw geez, don’t you get started or you’re gonna get me goin’, too. Was already bad enough dealing with mom and dad..” He reached over and wrapped one arm around the smaller rat’s shoulders to pull him into a hug, resting his chin on top of the other’s head. “It’s not like I’m movin’ out of town. Hell, the bus ride only takes like half an hour- and half that much in a car!”

“I know..” Elmo said quietly around a sniffle. “It’s just..weird..it’s been ten years and now..now I gotta get used to you not being..HERE..”

Jack could feel the small traces of water soaking through his shirt, but he ignored it in favor of holding the rat a bit tighter. “..It’ll be weird for me too, Mo..”

They stayed like that for a while, Jack rubbing comforting circle’s over the other boy’s back as he cried quietly into the duck’s chest. Jack almost joined him, but just barely managed to keep himself together.

Finally, the shudders going through Elmo’s body calmed down and he sat up straight again. He took a second to wipe the long sleeve of his shirt over his face before looking up at Jack again. “Promise you’ll talk to me on the phone?”

Jack smiled softly and playfully ruffled the rat’s hair. “Even if your parents get sick of me and try to block my number.” He smiled more when his friend finally smiled up at him. “And you better believe you’re coming by for sleepovers and hangin’ out: We’ll be able to stay up as late as we want, eat junk food at three in the morning, and watch all the bad movies we can stomach without any stupid grown-ups around to catch us!”

“You mean besides you?” Elmo countered with a small smirk.

Jack gasped in mock-offense and shoved the younger boy away. “You come into MY car and insult me in such a way!” They grinned at each other and laughed for a moment before Jack gave Elmo’s shoulder one last affectionate squeeze. “I’ll call ya tonight after I get settled in, alright?”

“I’ll make sure dad doesn’t block your number until then.” Elmo responded, giving the duck one last hug before getting out of the car. “Later, Jackie.” He closed the door behind himself and waved goodbye as he took a few steps back from the car.

Jack waved back to him before he backed the car out of the driveway. As he drove down the street, he glanced in the rear-view mirror.

He watched as the only home, and best friend, he’d ever known got smaller and smaller until they were both out of sight.

True to what he said, the trip to his new apartment down-town was only a fifteen minute drive away (give or take, depending on traffic). His furniture had already been moved in earlier, saving him the trouble of hauling everything up to the second floor himself. It did take him a while to get all of his belonging’s moved in, though, and even longer to unpack the essentials he’d need (toothbrush, a couple dishes, his night clothes, and some toys and journals to keep him occupied when he got bored of TV).

He finally grabbed the phone set up in the living room and sprawled out on his stomach on the couch while eating some chocolate muffins his mom had made him as a moving-out present. The phone rang a few times before someone eventually picked up.

“Hello?” The gruff older voice answered.

“Hey, Mr.S- it’s Jack. Elmo free?” He asked before scarfing down one of his muffins.

“Yeah, hold on.” He heard the older man calling Elmo’s name, followed by a quiet conversation a moment later.

“Hello?” Elmo said after a minute.

“Hey, pip-squeak. How’s my favorite mad-scientist?” Jack asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, hey, Jackie.” He was trying to sound casual, but Jack grinned when he could practically hear the smile in the kid’s voice. “We just finished dinner. How’s moved-out grown-up life going?”

Jack narrowed his eyes in warning, even though he knew the rat couldn’t see it. “Don’t make me drive back down there just to pour water on your condenser.” He warned before rolling over onto his back, head settled back on the arm-rest. “Honestly, it’s pretty boring so far. All I’ve done is move boxes, open boxes, and pull stuff out of, you guessed it, MORE boxes.” He grabbed another muffin from the coffee table. “But, I guess it’s not ALL bad- I get to have chocolate for dinner and no one can stop me!” He giggled and bit his muffin in half.

Elmo giggled a bit too. “Keep thinking like that and you’re gonna be too fat to fit in your car within a month. I can see it now- you’ll stop talking to people and we’ll all go over to find you stuck in your doorway because you gained over three hundred pounds.”

Jack laughed more as he imagined what it would be like to suddenly put on that much weight. “Even when I get out, you’ll have to roll me down the stairs like a big squishy ball of death!”

The pair laughed and talked about anything and everything that came to their minds well into the night. They discussed Elmo’s science fair project (that self-illuminating light bulb sounded pretty cool already), new toy designs Jack had come up with earlier in the week (he made a note to add giant squishy putty balls to his book later), and the ventriloquist show Jack had seen on TV when he took a break from unpacking earlier.

Truthfully, they were dragging out the conversation because neither of them wanted to stop talking to the other anytime soon. They grasped onto every possible topic they could find, making it last for hours.

After a while, though, Jack heard the muffled, distant voice of Elmo’s mother saying something to him. “Okay, mom..” Elmo said at a slight distance from the phone before he returned to it with a sigh. “I gotta go- mom wants me to go to bed.”

Jack looked at the clock on his VCR and noticed it was already after eleven. Damn, when had it gotten so late?

“Awww, I’m gonna be bored again.” He whined with a pout.

“If you get too bored, you could always go look for the present I left you.” Elmo said with a slight chuckle. “I hid it in one of your boxes. Night, Jackie!”

“What?!” Jack asked as he sat up. “You little sneak! When did you-?!” His only response was distant laughter as Elmo hung up the phone. Jack glared at the dial-tone emitting device before he broke into a grin and laughed too. “I taught that kid way too well.”

With nothing else to do, Jack tossed the muffin wrappers from his dinner into the trash and started looking through his boxes for anything that looked remotely like a present. When half an hour of searching left him with nothing, he began to think about which boxes were closest to Elmo when he was hiding in the car.

He doubted it would be in the box with his dishes, so that left- Aha!

With a triumphant grin, Jack went to his bedroom and opened up the box that contained his still-packed toy notebooks. Lifting the top-notebook out of the way, he found a small wrapped package nestled underneath.

It was flat and heavily padded to keep it from getting damaged, all wrapped up in shiny silver wrapping paper with a big golden bow. Jack carefully pulled the bow off and set it aside for later before eagerly tearing the wrapping paper and protective tissue-paper underneath off to see what his present was.

Once the paper was out of the way, Jack turned the gift over in his hands and stared at it with a look of surprise that slowly melted into a soft, affectionate smile. He hugged the present close to his chest for a moment before setting it down on the nightstand by his bed.

Deciding he’d done enough for one day, he got ready for bed and changed into his pajamas. Before he went to sleep, though, he looked at his nightstand and smiled again at the sight of his present:

It was a picture in a simple black table-top frame. The photo was of himself and Elmo from when they were around thirteen and six, respectively, and had gone out trick-or-treating for Halloween. They decided to go as a pair of stereo-typical prison convicts in black and white striped jump suits with a little papier-mâché foil-wrapped chain connecting their arms (both for costume effect and because Elmo’s parents didn’t want him wandering off without Jack). In the white boarder of the photo the words “Jackie & Elmo, PARTNERS IN CRIME!” were written in big red letters.

Jack reached over and turned the picture so that it was facing him, smiling at the sight of himself and Elmo and their big grins in the photo. Seeing his friend’s face helped him feel less lonely as he closed his eyes.

“Night, Elmo..” He said quietly before he fell asleep.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

End Notes: Yeah, for some reason, I felt the need to have them eating something with chocolate in each section of this story- I have no idea why, it just seemed fitting xP

[heartslogos]

EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT TO THE BATMAN [42]

“Listen,” Tim says as he navigates his way through the Purchasing staff, “If Mr. Wayne wants two billion in aerospace parts and equipment, that’s fine. He can want it all he wants. He can want it all day and night into next year. But if that two billion isn’t out of his personal pocketbook and is going through W.E. then I can’t do anything about it.”

“Well. It is his money.”

“It’s W.E.’s money,” Tim corrects, looking around nervously. It’s never a good idea to talk about expenditure on the Purchasing floor. Any of the Purchasing floors, but especially not this one.

Not the main Purchasing floor. The other ones he goes to just to watch them squirm, it makes him feel alive.

But on this one?

This is where all the experts are gathered. The ones who can handle the hottest of messes with only minor anxiety and consternation.

This is where the boss of the entire Purchasing department is.

“Listen, there isn’t a single penny that passes through W.E. without being overseen by Li,” Tim explains. “Every single paperclip, every single coffee stirrer, every bolt, nut, screw, sticky note, and button on people’s uniforms comes from Li. Normally she and I have a pretty sound relationship and she lets me get Mr. Wayne what he wants. But that’s because we have a quarterly expense discussion that gives me room to work with. There is no room to work with in two billion in aerospace tech. If Mr. Wayne wants his you are going to have to explain it because I can’t.”

“She lets you?” Dick’s eyebrows raise up, incredulous. “People can stop you from doing things?”

Tim valiantly refrains from pointing out that the Waynes stop him from doing things all the damn time.

“Li is…You’ll see when you meet her.”

Li is maybe a year or two older than Tim and came to W.E. the exact same way he did, except later in her life. She graduated college and joined W.E. as a temp, floated around two departments before winding up in Purchasing to fill a gap made by several employees going on maternity and paternity leave at once. And she never left.

She would’ve made it to head of Purchasing on her own, regardless of any interference, but when Tim noticed her work he fast tracked her with as much influence he could exert and now she’s in charge of every single thing that any employee so much as thinks about. It’s an understated position with a lot of power.

Li doesn’t have an office, but she has a very large table at the back of the open floor. There’s a little ticket machine a few feet in front of it, as they approach Tim sees someone grab a ticket and go back to their desk, like a meat counter.

Normally Tim would also grab a ticket; he respects Li and her system, as well as the stress of what she’s trying to coordinate on a minute by minute basis to do any less. But this is an unusual situation that’s best nipped in the bud immediately.

So Tim leads Dick straight past the ticket counter to Li’s desk.

Li, herself, is a mystery among mysteries. Unlike most employees there’s absolutely nothing personal on her desk or anything resembling a work station. In fact her station is clean to the point of brutalism. She has one black pen holder, standard issue, with one red, one black, and one blue pen as well as a single pencil. She has her keyboard and mouse and two monitors. There are reams upon reams of paper neatly stored in plain folders neatly lined up.

The most personal thing about Li’s work station is Li, herself.

There are three things Tim, and the rest of the company, knows about Li.

She’s a college graduate.

She’s married — this is known because her wife is on her insurance and is listed as her beneficiary for her life insurance policy.

And that’s it, actually. Tim thought there was a third one and there wasn’t.

No, wait. She uses fountain pens.

On the wall behind the desk are ten screens lined up in two rows of five, each displaying numbers and letters and words that mean close to nothing to Tim but are, undoubtedly, incredibly important to the continued welfare of W.E.

This department handles every single other department’s requests. Office supplies, janitorial supplies, furniture, the purchase of medical supplies for their medical department and hospitals, fuel, machine parts, raw materials, computers, everything. You have to respect the person in charge of keeping all of that in balance and making sure that W.E. still turns a profit while keeping out of hot water with state, national, and international laws.

Li is softly talking to one of her employees, looking over a packet of paperwork, before signing off on it and handing it back.

The employee gives Tim and Dick a look of utter bafflement as they head back to their desk.

Tim approaches the desk.

Li raises one finger at him, leans forward and types something into her computer. One of the screens blinks, showing the chat log the company uses. The name of the chat is PURCHASING QUEUE and it shows that Li has updated the chat with the number 47 and the time stamp of 09:48.

“Li.”

“Drake.” Li’s sharp eyes flick behind Tim for a moment. “Grayson.”

“I’m sorry to cut in,” Tim says, “It’s urgent. You know I wouldn’t otherwise.”

He’d made sure to send her a message earlier. He couldn’t get a call in so hopefully she saw it.

Li’s stare is a thousand miles away from now and unimpressed. She turns to look at something over her shoulder, then checks something on one of her computer screens and calmly hits some numbers on her phone, picking it up on her headset and says, “Stop buy on all ventilation equipment on region six. Yes. Any open as of this morning are approved, but any placed beyond opening today are to be cancelled. I want a total count in two hours. Yes. Goodbye.”

She straightens up and looks Tim dead in the eye.

“Two billion.”

“In aerospace tech.”

She turns around to the stack of shelves carrying dozens upon dozens of plastic binders and pulls one out. It’s the only one he recognizes.

“Yes, I know — “

“If you know why are you asking me to acquire two billion in aerospace equipment and technologies using W.E. funds?” Li returns.

“I’ll leave it to Mr. Grayson to explain.” Tim turns to Dick and motions him forward.

Dick looks like he’s ready to wind up with the Grayson-Wayne charm. Unfortunate. Li doesn’t do well with charm. And more than that? She absolutely loathes it when someone tells her she has to buy something. You’d think that would be counter productive as the person in control of all W.E. purchases. But it’s saved them millions in excess expenditure and audit fines. That kind of attention to detail is rare.

It’s also why Tim made sure she got put in this position. If Tim’s going to deal with the Wayne family on a daily basis he needs to make sure that there’s at least someone in the company capable of running this show without being run roughshod by the Waynes when Tim isn’t able to corral them.

Li crosses her arms, attention focused on Dick and Tim has no doubt that she’s already got the numbers ready to go in her head.

“I have a conference call in ten minutes and two more people with urgent questions to deal with before then. I’m giving you six,” Li says. “And you can start by telling me what happened to the first six billion in aerospace tech I purchased two weeks ago.”

Tim does his best not to let his smirk come through at Dick’s look of utter and complete dismay. Consequences are terrible, aren’t they? Tim bets that Dick never thought there was someone actually watching the money fly out the window. Tim bets that none of them thought anyone was keeping such close tabs on it.

Dick looks at Tim.

Tim busies himself by looking at the screens behind Li and trying to parse out what any of it means.

“Well,” Dick coughs and rallies himself quite impressively. “We used them. And through a lot of trial and error and experiments we learned a lot of things that we can use as a base for where we’re headed. So while we got a lot done, Li, we still have a lot further to go and — “

“Refurbish the old parts,” Li says immediately. “And check for excess waste. Six billion spent on experiments and not a single part of that can be reused or applied elsewhere? Unlikely. What are the total tallies? What’s the break down per category? How much of this is being outsourced and how much of it can we provide intracompany?”

Li scowls, “Where’s the project proposal?”

“Ah. It’s more of a, as the raven flies kind of thing, we’re figuring out what we need by trial and error. So it’s not exactly a perfectly itemized list as of this — “

“Then as of this time the request for additional parts is denied.”

Li turns away from Dick, “Teresa, you’re number forty seven?”

Tim takes Dick by the elbow and steers him off to the side.

“If it’s any consolation you did a lot better than I thought you would. She actually let you dig your own grave.”

“Is she like that all the time?”

“You should see her with Mr. Wayne,” Tim says. “Honestly, if she ever decided to go for my job I’d let her. You’d be begging for me to be back in hours.”

[spared-sans]

United in Hell

In which Mercy finds herself siding with Talon.

[Okay so

I got carried away.

Overwatch fanfic hath arrived. Enjoy~]

The unease began as soon as the recall was issued. Angela of course joined her comrades at their former Gibraltar base. Winston, Tracer, Reinhardt and herself were all that had arrived as of now. They were happily catching up on 10 years of stories and she could hear their laughter as she made her way down the dim hallways.

Rounding a corner, Angela entered her old medical lab. Everything was as she’d left it, if not a little dusty from the years. It was almost nostalgic as she ran her fingers along the counters. A decade away and it was almost exactly as she’d left it. Beakers in their cupboards. Everything in its place. But something nagged at the back of the doctors mind. Something was missing. Something important. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it. Perhaps she was just tired from the trip. Or perhaps not. Something pulled her forward to her old desk as she sat down and pulled open the drawers. They stuck slightly, but opened after a little wiggling, a small plume of dust making her cough softly.. 10 years felt like forever and no time at all. Her memories weren’t nearly so clear and they’d left the base in such a hurry. Still, Angela knew everything in her lab. Knew where everything was. She was meticulous in her organization. So why was she having such a hard time figuring out what was missing?

As she moved aside a small stack of papers her eyes widened. “No…” Of course. Why hadn’t she realized before now? The pieces clicked into place as she took in the room again. The dusty room. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. But her desk wasn’t. Not even her monitor or computer tower.

Angela stood quickly from her chair, it rolling back a few feet as she scanned the room. Winston had said he didn’t go into her lab. He had his own area and Athena kept tabs on his vitals, so why- Her gaze halted on a corner of the room bathed in shadow, a figure shifting slightly before moving forward and Angelas eyes narrowed.

“Moira. How did you get in here?” Her voice came out harshly toward her ex comrade.

As the scientist stepped further into the light, she crossed her arms, a pleased smile on her face. What could she possibly be so smug about? Breaking into overwatch? Somehow getting past Athenas security- No… Let through. Moiras smile widened as realization crossed Angelas features. The recent attack on Gibraltar. Of course.

“It’s nice to see you again, Angela. It’s been far too long. I’m glad you accepted the recall too.” She chuckled as the doctors eyes narrowed further. “You forgot? I was just as much a part of overwatch as you were, doctor. Did you not miss me?” Angela hissed softly. There were three people down the hall that could help her, but if Athena was corrupted, they’d be clueless unless one of them came to find her. She wasn’t nearly so defenseless, however. As much as she hated fighting, this was a battle she wouldn’t lose easily. Her Caduceus blaster was unclipped from her side and pointed at Moira in a split second, but she didn’t pull the trigger yet.

“You still won’t talk to me? No more words? You used to be better than this. Ask questions first. Heal those in need. What happened to you?” Moiras tone was a mix of condescending and… pain? No that couldn’t be right.

“You know damn well what happened, O'deorain. You sold out to Talon. Overwatch got shut down because you betrayed us. Betrayed me.” Her tone faltered for a second, but she steeled her nerves. Sentimentality would only blind her right now. No matter if her and the scientist used to be close. They weren’t anymore.

“I didn’t betray you. I found an opportunity to advance my research. You know better than anyone how much my work means to me.” Moira took a slow step forward and Angelas pistol straightened firmly, her grip tightening.

“Stop. I won’t listen to your dreams of megalomania, Moira. We’ve been through this.” The doctor watched as Moiras arms unfolded, her palms held upward.

“They’re no longer dreams, Angela. I can end this war. The advancements I’ve made can stop the fighting. Can fix everythi-“

“I said stop!” A blaster shot echos in the room as it singes the shell of Moiras ear, halting her completely. “I don’t care. Whatever you’ve done, I don’t want to hear it. You lost your chance over a decade ago when you sided with them.”

Moira seemed almost at a loss, the shot having shocked her more than anything else. She’s silent for a moment before her gaze meets with Angelas. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, if you’d just listen. Talon is shifting its movement. It’s motivations are changing as my work progresses.”

Angelas blaster lowers just slightly as she processes Moiras words. Changing? She knew she shouldn’t even entertain the idea of listening, but something in her old comrades face and tone made her hesitate. She was so cocky a few moments ago, now suddenly this? The doctor didn’t understand. She really should be calling for Winston. Instead her arm drops and she gestures to a chair, expression set hard.

“Fine. Sit.”

Moira took the offered chair, folding her hands in her lap, though angela stayed standing. She wasn’t ready to trust any of this or relax completely, but she’d listen. Best case, she got information on talon. Worst case, Moira was lying and this was a distraction. Her old fondness of the scientist made her want to believe, no matter how much she hated everything she’d done.

“Changing how?”

“Talons goal has always been purity of the human race through conflict. That is both before Akandes lead, and up until the past few months.” Moira began. “Since my recent discovery, we’ve learned of a far better way of purifying humanity and growing it to its highest potential.”

Angela was already finding herself disgusted. She knew of talons motivations. Humanity didn’t need to be purified. Moira noticed this look and held up her hands in a sort of surrender. “Listen, Angela. I never cared for their views. My only goal has been-“

“I know what your goal has been.” Angela cut her off sharply. “Get to the point.”

The scientist sighed softly, returning her hands to her lap. “My point is I’ve shown them humanity need not be purified. Not through conflict. Most of them want power. They have it. Some want only misery for others. Those people have been snuffed out. The only way to change their view completely and stop this endless war,” Moira seemed to stare into Angela, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. “is if you agree to help.”

Angela was completely taken aback. What could possibly make them listen to her? She’d fought against them and tended to those they’d wounded for years. Why all of a sudden now did they care for anything she would have to offer? “I don’t believe you.” Her blaster rose again, lining the barrel with Moiras forehead.

Moira didn’t flinch, keeping eye contact with the doctor. “I know you don’t. They’ve never stopped before, so why would they stop now for you, right?” Moira raised her right brow. “Because you are the only person in the world who is superior to me, and you always have been. If you show them the same results I’ve received, if not better, they’ll have no choice. The council will usurp Akande and Talon will disperse.”

She couldn’t believe a word of this. It had to be a trap. A fabricated lie to trick her into walking willingly into talon.  Angela steeled her nerves once more as Moira sighed and stood, moving around the doctor. “I get it. You think it’s a trap, and I don’t blame you. You have no reason to believe me. At least think about it.”

Her blaster followed Moira as she moved and she hissed under her breath. “Don’t take another step, Moira! I will shoot you.”

That made the scientist pause with an incredulous laugh. “Then do it.” A long moment of silence passed between them before the scientist glanced over her shoulder. “You never could. Call me should you decide to believe me. My number’s in your desk.”

Angela cursed as Moira vanished into smoke, the doctor dashing to the door of the lab. Her head whipped to look down both directions of the hallway, but there was no sign of her. “Damnit!”

She smacked her hand against the door frame as she walked back to her chair, sliding heavily into it. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she set her blaster onto her desk, Moiras words running through her mind. Of course she didn’t believe her. Couldn’t. The uneasy feeling washed over her once more. Why was she even considering this? She knew why. Because her and Moira used to be close once. Because she was tired of this war. Tired of seeing her friends and comrades injured and dying. Because she would gladly take any opportunity to break talon apart. She was seriously considering it. She needed to take her mind off this.

Angelas distraction came in the form of a chipper British voice startling her from her thoughts and nearly out of her chair. “Hey doc! You do know there’s beds you can use if you’re tired. Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

She forced a smile as her gaze met Lenas. “It’s alright. Just a lot on my mind. Too many memories here.” Angela stood, pushing her chair back to her desk and clipping the blaster back onto her hip. “I heard you brought earl grey with you? I could use a cup, Lena.”

Lenas eyes seemed to light up and she beamed at the doctor. “Absolutely, doctor Ziegler! I’ll get right on it!” A flash of blue and the pilot was gone.

Angela made her way to the door, hesitating as she looked back to the desk. A few short steps and she opened the left bottom drawer on a hunch. A sticky note was inside with a number written on it. Moira always stuck important notices in that drawer when they worked together. Of course she wouldn’t have forgotten about that. She stares at the note before picking it up. Everything told her to burn it or throw it away, but she stuck it in her pocket and headed toward the dining hall. She could burn it later, after her tea.

[frangipanidownunder]

Returning the Past: part 3

Mulder and Scully are honeymooning in Far North Queensland. Much to Scully’s chagrin, Mulder has delved headlong into a mysterious case of strange lights, Tasmanian tiger sightings and abductions. It’s not long, before they run into trouble…

Read the previous parts on the ‘My Fanfiction’ tab.

Her shirt was stuck to her body but the sun was burning it dry. She ran her tongue round her mouth, her lips were dry and sticky. She lifted a hand to her forehead and chin tenderly and flexed her fingers and toes. She rolled herself up and looked over at Mulder. He was still curled on the ground, out cold.

              “Mulder,” she said, looking around. The forest was dangerously beautiful and she felt stiff with fear, an outsider. “Mulder, wake up.”

              He groaned and she pressed a hand to his chest to make sure he stayed still. His face was mottled with red welts and purple bruising. A cut under his hair line had dried in the fierce heat.

              “Where’s Steph? Did they take her?”

              “Yes and I have no idea where they went. I was out for a bit too.”

              He sat up, despite her arms against him. “Are you okay, Scully?”

              “I’m fine. In a better state than you, I should say. Can you stand up?” She helped him up but he collapsed again, clutching his arm. “Mulder?”

              “My hand, it’s gone to sleep. And I feel a little light-headed.”

              She pushed his sleeve up to his shoulder and checked the skin on his arm. There were bright stripes, red-raw. “They look like scratches.”

              “The thylacine didn’t touch me, Scully.”

              “I don’t think they’re from a dog, but they look nasty, the biggest one is oozing. I’ve got a kit in the bag.” She turned to look for it. The car park was empty. “The bags have gone.”

              Mulder was struggling to sit up, twisting on to all fours. “Why would they take our bags?”

              She knelt back next to him, rubbing his back as he panted. “I don’t know, but they know who we are now.”

              His face paled as he stood up. He was trembling. “Then we need to find them.”

              The perimeter of the forest was bounded by a gravel track and the trees and ferns leant outwards, reaching towards the different air, the fresher air, lighter somehow. The sky was a muddy grey, low rumbling thunder in the distance. Scully felt her hair frizz in the humidity and watched with caution as Mulder laboured next to her.

              “We could drive for miles and not see anybody but the occasional camper, Mulder. This side of the Daintree is not on the tourist route. We don’t have a map or cells or even a compass. I think we should head back. Get you some medical attention. Alert the authorities.”

              He shook his head. “Steph might be in danger, Scully. Is in danger. She knows too much.”

              “About what?” she said, slowing down and pulling over. A smattering of raindrops thwacked against the windscreen. “Mulder, you don’t look so good.”

              He leant his head on the window and sighed. “I’m okay. A little nauseous maybe.”

              “Then we’re heading back to the villa to get you some drugs and then we’re going to the police. No questions.”

The police officer was hard to read. He jotted notes in his pad, tapped the nib of his pen against the desk and tilted his head side to side resulting in loud popping cricks. But Scully wasn’t convinced he was really listening to Mulder. She wasn’t convinced she was really listening to Mulder either, because aside from looking feverish still, frankly he sounded like a lunatic. Extinct animals, lights, abductees, thugs.

              “We saw blue lights, broad and swirling. Then white dots bouncing around. The growl grew louder then boom!” Mulder clapped his hands.

              She jerked at the sound and laid her hand on Mulder’s. “Officer Galea, we are here to report a missing person. The lights were…unusual, but I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation. Our primary concern is Steph Callow. The men that took her were violent, and struck me as some kind of militia outfit.”

              Galea sucked in a loud breath. “I understand you were law enforcement officers in the US. I expect you find us Aussies a little laid back, quaint even. This,” he said, waving his arms around the room, “is not exactly the Hoover Building, but I can assure you there are no undercover militia groups in the Daintree. We have the occasional burglary, theft, minor assaults fuelled by alcohol, but most of the time my day is spent searching for tourists who think they know the forest. Your friend has no doubt simply wandered from the marked tracks. I can send in a team, Mrs Mulder.”  The officer stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the sky was inky purple. The noise of cicadas had steadily risen as the interview progressed. The air in the room was stale, coffee-tinged.              

“It’s Dr Scully,” she said, flicking Mulder on the back of the hand as he offered her a lop-sided grin. “That would be a good start, Officer Galea. And what about the men who assaulted us?” Mulder’s bruises were shiny now and her own arms and hands bore the grazes. “We can give you descriptions.”

              The officer turned and smiled. “Dr Scully, you might like to know that we’ve checked our records and we can’t find anyone named Steph Callow. There is no Far North Queensland Alien Abductee Society registered anywhere, there is no such company as TasTiger Tours and other than a bunch of hinky stories on the web, there have been no substantiated reports of strange lights in this region. But if you would like to report this ‘attack’ then I will happily take details. Did you note the make and model of the cars the ‘militia’ men were driving?”

              Mulder pushed back his chair and the noise made Scully’s teeth twinge. She really needed a shower and a massage and a good night’s sleep. “Come on, Scully. Let’s go.”

He tugged at her arm with the intensity that signalled he was in full X-Files mode. Her fantasy of hot jets of water spraying over her, Mulder’s oiled hands expertly kneading out the tension from her shoulders, sprawling over the cotton sheets in that glorious bed, none of those things were going to happen.

 She read the little booklet, Delights of the Daintree, that outlined the history of the tropical wetland forest for the second time. The flora and fauna was thousands, if not millions, of years old, the scale of some of the vegetation was incredible, with 3000 plant species, including some of the rarest known, she had come here determined to enjoy it for its history, diversity and promise. And yet, this remnant ecosystem with its primitive vegetation and its mysteries had become another bewildering backdrop to the craziness of their lives. It was a forest of light and darkness.

She rubbed at her neck and cricked it this way and that. She needed to reset. She took in her surroundings. The balcony was a rich chestnut timber, wide and deep, with a small hexagonal table and four chairs, a free-standing sun umbrella and a monster barbecue on a stand. There were condiments – salt, pepper, barbecue seasoning, olive oil, a wine cooler. It was perfect for outdoor, evening dining. But Mulder had piled hot chips and battered fish on a plate for her and was in the process of working through the other fried junk he’d ordered.

              “These dim sims are pretty good, Scully. Want a bite?” He held out half of what looked like sausage meat in a crispy wanton wrapper and she shook her head. “What about this, the Chiko roll?” He pointed to the caramel coloured tube that looked like something she’d pulled from a desiccated corpse. She watched him dunk it into the barbecue relish.

              “No, really, Mulder. If you’re feeling better, then you eat them.” She chewed on a chip and sighed. “What are we going to do? Do you have any other contacts, or was it just Steph you were emailing?”

              Against the soft glow of the balcony light and with his longer hair, he looked younger. His fever had settled and the angry abrasions were less bold, his eyes sparkled again, his shoulders relaxed, leaning back in the chair, she could see he was processing the facts, picking over the details that meant nothing to the untrained eye, but could be the pivotal point of a case. She knew he missed it.

The Father Joe case had been too much, too soon, but it had opened up that need in him again, that need to dig, to provoke, to rattle. It was inured in him, instinctual, just like the vegetation in the forest – you could trim it back and cut it away but a seed would always find its way under the earth to grow again. For too many years Mulder had railed against the seeds of his curious nature, sinking into a fallow pit while she kept them both fed and watered. It wasn’t that she’d missed the danger or the fear or the darkness, as much as she’d forgotten what it felt like to see it unfolding. She would always be happy to see him in his element, but she knew what could happen to them if it wasn’t managed carefully.

              “I’ve been checking back over the files and there are a couple of other names. We can start with them in the morning. I’ve left messages for Steph on her cell and her landline. I think we should drive to her house and take a look around.”

              “Mulder, we can’t just break into someone’s house. We don’t have any jurisdiction here. Hell, we’re not even in the FBI any more. We don’t have anything. We can’t prove that she even exists.”

              “They’re covering it up, Scully.”

              “Who is? The police? Is that what you really think?”

              He nodded, taking a bite of the Chiko roll. Brown gunk oozed out. He licked his lips and she looked away, shaking her head.

              “He didn’t care about anything we said, Scully. He’s probably out there now talking to the thugs about how much we know, going through our bags.”

              “Mulder, even for you, you sound….”

“Like what, Scully? Like an idiot? Like a madman? Scully, these bruises are not a figment of my imagination. Those scratches on your arm are real. Steph Callow is a real person. You talked to her. That thylacine was in the forest. You smelled it. Please don’t lay this all back on me and my perspective.”

              Her neck ached and she squeezed it. “Clearly, something strange is happening in the forest. And we probably need to go back there, look for Steph, or her…”

              “Don’t say body, Scully. You looked, I looked. There was no sign of animal predation, no clues, nothing. She just vanished.”

              “Nothing just vanishes, Mulder.” The words tumbled out and she couldn’t stop them.

He shook his head and ate the rest of his meal in silence.

 The next morning the sky was duck-egg blue and looked as fragile. The heat was searing. Her shirt stuck to her back, her front, her arms. Mulder was striding to the door of the little weatherboard house that stood on stilts like most of them in the neighbourhood. She lagged behind, itching at the nape of her neck where sweat trickled. His knocking went unanswered. He called out Steph’s name but the only sound in response was the melodious cry of a magpie perched on the branch of a tree with a shiny green leaves and a trunk like crows feet where it met the ground. Scully recognised it from the Delights of the Daintree as the native red tulip oak tree. She admired it for a moment, holding her hand over her eyes as she scanned its magnificence.

              “I’m going round the back.” Mulder disappeared around the side and she heard him tapping and knocking against wood and glass. She walked through the car port attached to the side of the house and looked in the tins and buckets and plastic tubs. There was nothing to indicate that Steph lived a life out of the ordinary.

              “Scully?” Mulder’s hoarse whisper came from the front. She stepped out and saw him at the front door.

              “What are you doing inside?”

              He beckoned her and she trotted up the steps to the door. He shut it behind her. “The back door was unlocked. And look at this place. It’s a mess.”

              She walked into the small room at the front and papers were strewn across the faded floorboards. Magazines, books, bills. A small table was broken in half and a lampshade was upside down in the middle. A photo frame lay in halves on the carpet, its image curled next to it. A pair of hunters with guns over their shoulders gloating over the corpse of an unrecognisable animal. She walked back into the living room, stooped down and picked up some of the scraps of ripped paper. “The way the papers are, the mess in every room. It’s almost as if…”

              A throaty grumble rose from below. They looked down at the floor beneath them.

“As if what, Scully?” He held her arm, waiting for the noise to dissipate.

              “As if it was caused by a spinning motion,” she whispered now, as the growl echoed around them again.

              His hand on her lower back was comforting. The itch at the back of her neck was amplified by the rumbling noise. She reached up and scratched at it as they walked slowly around the rooms, searching for the source of the growl. He picked up a table leg.

              “You’re right. The debris is all scattered in a circular way, like it’s been spun and tumbled around.”

              The growl deepened and a cackle of barking pealed around the walls. They stood still. She could feel the heat emanating from the skin on his arm as he pulled her closer.

              “Mulder?” she said, as they circled around and came face to face with the open door of the back bedroom. “Is that what I think it is?”

              His loud, dry swallow was all the answer she needed. He gripped her hand now and she shook with him. The Tasmanian tiger prowled towards them, teeth bared.