#he's so nice and enthusiastic but his screams come from the pits of hell

[aquareegia]

i've seen someone calling Will Ramos a golden retriever that occasionally gets possessed by a demon and honestly they were right

[yandere-sins]

The Exception

My friend let me try playing Hades on her switch and well... I kinda liked it. Namely, I liked all the characters, so my brain went like “what if they were yandere” and I had an idea for this story that I threw together this morning before working on the Fox Wedding (: The latter isn’t done yet, but this sure is, so who knows, mayhaps some of you will enjoy it! Just tried to answer the question how we could get Thanatos to whisk us away.

Characters: Yandere!Thanatos x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Blood, War, Wounds/Impaling, Major Character Death (???) or well dying, I read into greek history for almost an hour but if I gotten something wrong then so be it

Thanatos had seen enough of the world to know that he didn't want to stay on the surface forever. 

The current battle spreading before him was a mere reason to sigh deeply as he watched bodies fall left and right, their souls soon leaving to a better, or perhaps worse, place. It was mandatory he stayed, but Thanatos was well aware of which side was winning and which was losing. It was his duty and his work to know these things, even though it didn't make the fighting any less futile in his eyes.

Letting his gaze wander over the battlefield, he watched the red splatters on the ground, heard the crushing sounds of iron against iron and the cacophony of fearful and devastating screams. He still couldn't believe Zagreus would want to come to such a place. A place where there was futile fighting and too much light, but perhaps, it was a world that fit the Prince of the Underworld, as he was the same, even if Thanatos only recognized this fact bitterly. 

Finally, the battle was closing in on its end, just like the hundreds of people that found their death because of it. The ones who weren't dead yet slowly but surely started to hesitate and retreat. Even as the personification of death, Thanatos reckoned that a pointless death was scary, even though so many humans chose it over desertion. Their death was inevitable, preordained by Thanatos sisters. Still, he had seen many hold on to the last sparks of hope that they could escape Thanatos' grasp. 

And then, on the other side of the coin, were those that practically would have offered their life to Hades and fought to the end.

You weren't an exception. Yes, your quest and pride were your downfall, and by the gleam in your eyes Thanatos could tell you knew. You knew and recognized that you'd die. However, as if you were spiting him personally, you still continued to fight ahead of everyone else, gaining questioning glances from your comrades and contempt from your enemies, which you pulled to the ground one after another and sending them to hell. 

Many before you had this overzealous compulsion to make that best out of their inevitable demise. Thanatos would admit that yes, most had a good reason for it, like saving their family or fighting for their own life. Others simply lucked out on the gift of pride and ignorance, forcing themselves and occasionally many more lives with them into the deep, dark pits of death. 

What was your reason? Thanatos wondered. 

He still had time before he needed to take action, he could allow himself a short - minuscule, really - different thought than his upcoming work, and you presented yourself so nicely to him as the incarnation of death waited for the end of today's battle. It wasn't often that he had the leisure to let his thoughts wander, so Thanatos intended to use these few seconds, which would fall under the radar, to still his curiosity.

By the looks of it, you weren't an inexperienced fighter. Or perhaps, you were just a farmer judging by your muscles. Surely, you seemed enthusiastic about your task, so were you fighting for something more significant than the glory of your country? Family? A loved one? Thanatos couldn't help but be curious about what your drive was, as he had seen so many reasons, yet they were all the same. Perhaps, yours was new?

Even so, you were graceful as you swung your sword around. What did he know about footwork, but at least, yours seemed to pay off as you weren't dead yet. When one of your foes managed to smack off your helmet, Thanatos believed that was it, but alas, you regained your strength, charging at the very same attacker. 

In a way, fighting was like an elaborate play. The only difference was that neither of the parties knew the other one's move. The person reacting better was the winner. He couldn't find joy in watching wars, but even Thanatos had to admit that it was a joy watching you. Even if you lacked the enthusiasm as the heroic shades that lingered below, like Theseus, had, you fought a fight worth mentioning in the books as well. 

Every move you made, Thanatos could see the calculations in your eyes, that keen shine reflecting in them. The sun seemed to break through the clouds just to reach out to you, making your armor sparkle in its rays. Yes, you were a formidable human, and Thanatos caught himself thinking that it was a shame you were fighting even if you looked so beautifully while doing it. 

Taking another deep breath, he could see the swirls in the air left by it. While the winter wasn't affecting him, no matter how little clothes he wore, Thanatos felt a second of pitiful understanding for everyone who had to fight in those conditions. Undoubtedly, the cold armors, freezing hands and weapons, and frozen ground were another nemesis for every soldier out here. Even if their bodies stayed warm from adrenaline and running, it certainly was another reason many of your human bodies gave out quicker, merely submitting to their fate. It was fair enough for Thanatos. It meant his work was over faster, and judging by you being circled and the other soldiers at your side beginning to see the end coming towards them with long spears and sharp swords, it was all over soon. 

You had fought bravely, that much he could give you. Perhaps you had impressed him enough to put in an unusual good word for you with Hypnos, who'd pass it on to Hades himself, granting you a shot on being put into Elysium. But your fate had long been decided, and as you fell to the ground, the battlefield erupted in victorious screams, announcing your time of death. 

And also, his start of work. 

As the winners retreated one after one, happy whenever they found a friend that survived too, Thanatos passed by them and onto the battlefield instead. Unseen by the human eye, he began his duty of reaping, one soul after the other, as mangled and frustrated over their death as they were, following his orders as he shushed them away. Usually, some pleaded and bargained with him for another shot of life, but even if Thanatos had wanted, there was no way for him to help them. But that day, everyone seemed awfully aware that there was no negotiating nor mercy waiting for them as they looked at his figure, frightened and frustrated. A pointless battle, with meaningless deaths, brought forth the self-pity in them, but this wasn't the first battle Thanatos tended to, so he felt nothing akin to that. It also wasn't his duty to take care of the souls gathered here, as it was Hermes' job to lead to them. 

He had something very different on his agenda. You. 

It was unfortunate for both of you, but when he reached you, you had yet to breathe your last breath. One eye slowly and in pain, opened, the other one damaged from the blow to the head you had received. However, as you looked at him, serene clarity laid in your gaze, and you recognized him, mayhaps by the giant scythe he carried around. Your stare was clear and less afraid than he expected you to be when acknowledging him, but you closed your eyes as a cough overcame you, hot, red blood dripping down your lips. 

"Guess that's it," you croaked, and Thanatos could only stare. Conversing… wasn't his strong suit, and there wasn't exactly a reason to talk to you.

"Are you going to kill me?" you continued, undeterred by his silence, and Thanatos weighed his actions. "No, of course not," he eventually spoke, shaking his head slowly, the hood on his head shifting along to his movement. 

"Ouch, that's cruel. You'll just wait until I die like this?" 

Your words were nothing he hadn't heard before, and he didn't feel offended by them. However, he didn't expect your lips to briefly curl into a smile, adding a jesting notion to what you said. Even that wasn't new, but… it struck a chord inside the usual stoic bringer of death. "I can't end your suffering," Thanatos explained, hoping you'd simply know about the unspoken rule that he couldn't harm you. 

"I think, I get it," you heaved, feeling worse by the minute. "You are just making sure I know I am supposed to die here."

That assumption wasn't wrong, even though there had been more playing into his service than just that. Too many kept trying to escape their fate, and sort of, Thanatos was just checking and cleaning up what would be left. You still had some time before your organs would fail and finally take you to the grave, different from the other souls that were already leaving for their new home. 

"No, you will die here," he retorted firmly. 

"I could," you chuckled, followed by another painful cough. 

"Don't test me, Mortal."

In between deep breaths, you allowed yourself a short laugh. Just like him, you were probably aware that there was nothing worse that could happen to your situation, so his threat was just a way he hoped to shut you up with. In silence, he watched over you, until eventually, your eye opened up again. This time your gaze was searching for him - or something really - but your sight had already begun to cloud. No matter how proud and achieved you are in life, in the face of death, everyone looked the same.

 "I think I did a good job. You know, fighting. Thought that if I already had to do it, I might as well give it my damn best."

More coughing. Thanatos watched the puddle of blood around you grow by the second. The spear inside your body must have been stirring up your insides the more you talked. Thanatos had expected something like this, you, young as you still were, had been led by the belief that doing your best could make up for the fact that you'd die. "But in the end, it was worth nothing, right? We lost after all."

Thanatos could only stare as he wondered what you expected him to say. He came here, knowing your life would end here, so really, the hope you had put into yourself didn't have the same disappointment to him now as it did to you. And yet, as he listened to you, seeing your body battered up with cuts and bruises, for the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to pity for you, and you specifically.

"Why did you fight then?" he asked, perhaps against your expectations. 

"Why? Because they told us too. The King ordered us to fight this battle, and only he could have known how many soldiers our opponent would bring."

"You could have run." Thanatos tried to stay as detached from you as possible, though it didn't quite work, your words taking their influence on him. "Can you?" you retorted before letting out a long sigh. Death was near, literally as well as figuratively. 

"Can you run from your duties? You don't have to do this either, do you?" 

"I do--"

"Really?"

There was no immediate response this time, your question justified, despite your little mortal soul undoubtedly never understanding the burdens on the shoulders of Gods. The world would stop if they all decided to not continue their work and fulfill their duties and expectations. If Thanatos stopped, no one would die anymore, and but the suffering of everything would never disappear too. 

"Dying sucks," you whispered, turning your head away. 

"I reckon," he muttered indifferently. Not like he could talk about it from experience. It must be painful, dreadful, and, depending on the circumstances, frustrating too. Right now, though he couldn't imagine the extent, you must have felt so hopeless and so, so scared. There wasn't much other reason for your banter.

"Thanatos… I always thought it was a pretty name, even if everyone feared it." Regaining his attention after finding himself momentarily lost in thoughts, he looked down at you again, watching as your eyelid closed slowly. "Say what you want, but you can't blame them for fearing death, and alas, me."

"Perhaps if they talked to you, they wouldn't be so afraid."

"Meaning you don't feel so afraid anymore?"

A smile danced over your lips once more, a truly unusual sight for a soul so close to their end, and especially after talking to him. Hypnos often teased Thanatos with being too formal and dutiful to be amusing, and Hades beware, comforting. Though he didn't care for his twin's words, yours did make him feel... happy. 

"Let's go then," you whispered, and Thanatos kneeled down, his hand falling to your wrist, listening to your pulse. Even with the feeling of your heart still desperately pumping blood through your body, only to lose it through your wounds, you didn't utter another word afterwards. You undoubtedly were dying, but perhaps, for now, you were merely unconscious as your lungs didn't stop reaching for air, and your heart used all your strength to function. 

Once more, the sun broke through the clouds, shining down right at you two, bringing Thanatos into the predicament of being blinded as it reflected off your armor. Perhaps he understood it now. Understood how unfair it was that someone like you, innocent and kind, was doomed to die out here. How awful his job on this day was, forcing him to take you to Tartarus and put you before the judgment of the god residing there. 

So what if... he didn't. 

He couldn't heal your wounds, nor make you feel better. But what he could do is battle the fate, earn the scorn of many, but at least, even if he took out the spear from your bloody body, you'd live. You'd live to tell your tale, and who knew, even he could apply some bandages, so maybe you'd recover some. 

It was a risk, and one Thanatos did not like taking, nor found pleasure in executing. But you couldn't refuse to come to this battle, whereas he, perhaps, after all these years, could refuse to do his job once. For your sake, and unbeknownst to him at that time, for his own even more.

His scythe disappeared in favor of Thanatos grabbing for the dreadful spear. Never before had he experience the kind of sound a wound could make from so close, and by the gods, he hoped he never would again. It was just your luck that you were unconscious, or the pain would have perhaps killed you faster than your wounds.

Leaning down, he scooped you up, his hand sullied with your blood and the dirt on the ground. The snow wasn't cold when he touched it, but your body was warm in his arms and still alive. Your threat of fade wasn't cut yet, and he wouldn't do it. With you in his arms, he stepped back, looking into your sleeping face before he retreated from the battlefield with a quiet, "Let's go."

No, the surface wasn't a place Thanatos liked to linger. It was too loud, too wrong, and too bright. But to see your smile, lively and happy, one more time, he didn't need to stay above ground. Where you were going, it was dark and, at times, lonely if you weren't a being born there. But you'd also be safe and alive for as long as you wished to.

And Thanatos would be with you, even if everyone would turn against him and his decision, for all eternity if he must.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Meeting Mateo's Parents

Here's a fic in which Shawn meets Mateo's parents. Trigger warning for mild homophobia (Basically his parents haven't come to terms yet with Mateo being gay).

There is emeto in this!

-------------------------------

In a quiet corner of the restaurant, Mateo and Shawn sat on the same side of the table. It wasn’t to engage in PDA, which Mateo made perfectly clear to the waiter when he stammered out that they were waiting for other people to occupy the other side. He wasn’t about to make Shawn sit next to his dad, for god’s sake.

Yep, they were having dinner with Mateo’s parents. This was his parents’ first time meeting Shawn. Hell, this was they’re first time meeting one of Mateo’s serious partners. He didn’t have many of those before Shawn, probably because he only ever dated women.

Anyway, Mateo was terrified.

“Are you trying to make confetti?” Shawn asked.

“What?”

Shawn looked down, drawing Mateo’s eyes to his own lap where he was tearing up a napkin into a million little pieces. “Oh, oops.”

Shawn chuckled while grabbing his boyfriend’s hands so they wouldn’t find anything else to rip up. “You’re really nervous, aren’t you?”

“God, yes,” Mateo breathed out, tearing his hands away from Shawn’s to rub his palms on his thighs. He knew his mom was going to point out the pit stains on his shirts, and he knew his dad would turn red if he and Shawn even brushed up against each other.

Don’t misunderstand; his parents knew about his boyfriend. The relationship was already a year old, and his parents knew after three months. But now Mateo and Shawn were moving in together, so they decided it was time to meet the parents.

Shawn’s mothers were lovely. They were just as enthusiastic as their son. Their energy intimidated Mateo, and he found himself completely drained after the encounter, but they were welcoming. His mum, Ava, (not to be mistaken with his mom, Quinn) had a British accent. She was blond like him, and her arms were covered in tattoos. Mateo had never seen a surgeon with so many tattoos. It made Shawn look like an unfinished painting.

In comparison, Mateo’s parents got concerned when they learned that Shawn had tattoos at all. When Mateo told them about his first boyfriend, and subsequently being gay, they were surprised to say the least. It was an awkward exchange. Mateo could tell that his parents weren’t fully convinced that this was what Mateo wanted. They kept saying things like “As long as you’re happy, it doesn’t matter what we think” and “I thought this was something people discovered during puberty.” After seeing a picture of Shawn, with his tattoo snaking up his neck, they said: “At least he has normal coloured hair”. Afterwards, Mateo had to talk Shawn out of dying his hair pink.

So, yeah, Mateo was a little nervous. His stomach let out a long gurgle, which made him wrap his arms around his torso beneath the table. “Ugh, I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t know how I’m going to eat anything.”

“Baby, it’ll be fine. What makes you think it won’t go well?”

“I don’t know,” Mateo whined. “You have rather loud opinions, and my parents are rigid.”

“Um, I treat people with basic human decency. If that’s loud, then I guess I’ll scream until I lose my voice.”

“Thank you for proving my point.”

Shawn dropped his shoulders. He didn’t like seeing Mateo so nervous, but he didn’t like the way Mateo seemed to shrink into himself. “What do want me to do? Bite my tongue the whole night?”

“No, no, God no,” Mateo stuttered, “I just—I want them to like you.”

“Yeah? Which me?”

“The real you,” Mateo said, throwing his hands in the air.

They didn’t have any more time to discuss the matter because Mateo���s parents arrived at the table, directed by the waiter who took their drink orders. Mateo got a water. His stomach was already bubbly enough that he didn’t need to fill it with pop or anything else.

Mateo stood up to hug his parents. It was nice to see them after so many months a part. His mom covered his face in kisses while Shawn grinned at the affectionate display.

His mom’s name was Rosa, so of course Shawn made a ridiculous attempt at flattery by likening her to a rose. “Aren’t you charming,” Rosa said while shaking his hand. “It’s Shawn, right? You are Mateo’s friend.”

“Boyfriend, yes.” Shawn said, shaking with both hands. He nodded to Mateo’s dad, whose name was Sal. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”

“Likewise,” Sal said, sitting down across from Shawn. “It’s been what? A year that you’ve known Mateo?”

“That’s right,” Shawn replied. “We met through mutual friends.”

“Oh yes,” said Rosa with a thin smile, “Mateo told us about the uh…blind set up.”

Shawn couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the way Mateo’s parents tiptoed around their relationship, clearly avoiding words like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘date’. He knew that it took people some getting used to, especially if they’ve known a person a certain way their whole life. Still, they had well over nine months to get familiar with the idea. Mateo’s dad didn’t seem to think that was a long time.

“A year, huh?” Sal said while chewing a piece of bread. “You know, Rosa and I didn’t move in together for three years.”

Mateo rolled his eyes. “Dad, that’s because you were in different countries.”

“And it gave us time to think about the decisions we were making.” Sal turned his gaze back towards Shawn. “Until recently, I thought Mateo was like me in that manner, calculating, pensive.”

Mateo dropped the bread that was in his hands. The bread in his mouth suddenly felt like sticky dough that had yet to be cooked. He tried taking a sip of water to wash it down, but it didn’t work as well as he hoped. It left him coughing and clearing his throat while Shawn and his dad played ping-pong with their words. Mateo couldn’t interject.

“Well, children don’t have to be exactly like their parents.”

“No doubt,” Sal said. “But I raised him to make smart decisions. I taught him everything I know.”

“And now you have to trust that your teachings made him into a confident, determined man, capable of going after what he wants.”

Shawn and his dad went back and forth for a few more rounds, trying to get the other to see their point of view. Mateo was thankful that Shawn was at least being respectful, but he couldn’t shake the awful ache in the pit of his stomach. It was stupid, really. He couldn’t stop his parents from perceiving him, and there was no denying the fact that they now perceived him differently. His dad seemed awkward with the way he glanced at Mateo, as if this were their first meeting.

It was hard to explain, but Mateo felt like he was being rude to his parents by challenging the image that they held of their son. And he was taught to never be rude. Not to anyone.

He didn’t realize that maybe he was being rude to himself.

As the dinner dragged on, Mateo hadn’t touched his meal. Every new conversation topic made him nervous. There were so many things that Shawn and his parents could disagree on. His parents had this annoying habit of thinking their opinions were facts. It didn’t help that Shawn brought up Mateo’s siblings.

Sal beamed. “Mateo must have told you about his two older brothers.” Mateo had told Shawn about his brothers, and his younger sisters for that matter, but his dad never talked about his sisters because it wasn’t as fun to compare Mateo to them. It was his brothers who held up the bar for Mateo to reach.

“They have beautiful wives who gave us adorable grandchildren,” Rosa said.

“We had hoped that Mateo would do the same, just like he always said he would.” Sal smiled awkwardly at his son. The way his lips pressed into a thin line made Mateo think that he wasn’t really looking at him. His dad was trying to see the last version of his son that he recognized. There was no look of recognition in his eyes.

“Do you remember that, Téo?” his dad asked, reaching into the past for the nickname he used to call his son. Now Shawn occasionally used that nickname, but he didn’t have the Italian accent. Actually, his parents had an interesting accent that came from his dad being Italian and his mom being Spanish. After years of being together, their voices just melded into one. “You remember? You used to say that you would marry and have lots of kids just like your parents.”

“There’s nothing stopping him from doing that,” Shawn answered while shrugging his shoulders, “if that’s what he wants. But people do change.” By the looks of Sal and Rosa’s faces, they didn’t seem convince that Mateo wasn’t going to destroy their dream of having a million grandkids. Shawn shifted gears. “Did you know I have two mothers?”

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Rosa weakly, “Is one of them your biological mother?”

Shawn leaned forward with a large smile, “You know, Mrs. Melendez, it really doesn’t fucking matter.”

Mateo coughed harshly, still choking on water and the words he wanted to say. But no one at the table stopped talking longer enough for him to cut in. He felt like he was drowning, like the water and food in his belly was rising to block his throat.

Shawn carried on. “Mateo can have a husband, and kids, and a picket fence if he wants. But only he can decide these things.”

There was silence at the table when Shawn finished talking. Well, it was quiet save for Mateo’s ragged breathing. He might as well have been dying because no one paid him much mind. Now he was suffocating from the thick tension that seemed to squeeze his neck and his belly. God, he was hot and sweaty. And nauseous.

Sal sat with his arms crossed, his face getting redder. Surprisingly, he exhaled slowly from his nose and turned to Mateo. “Speaking of decisions, I was going to wait until after dinner to make up my mind, but I don’t have to.” He shot a glance at his wife. “We think it’s too soon for you to be moving in with this…boy.”

“Dad…” Mateo said weakly. He could hardly get any words out of mouth. It suddenly felt like a lot more than just words would come out. It didn’t matter because his dad held up his hand to say he wasn’t finished speaking. Mateo clamped his mouth shut. He mustn’t be rude.

“This isn’t like you, Mateo,” Sal carried on. “I think you need to take step back and slow down. Take a break from whatever this is, and—”

“It’s a relationship!” Shawn shouted as his fist came down hard on the table. “Mr. Melendez, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m dating your son, and he likes it.” Shawn’s heart was beating fast when he closed his mouth. It had taken all of his strength not to blurt out in this busy restaurant that he was fucking Mateo.

Sal’s face got even redder. He balled his hands up, but did nothing with them. It looked like it took all of his strength not to smash his fists on the table. “I’m not insisting that—Look, I know…I know—” Sal gave up trying to put his thoughts into words. He turned to his awfully quiet son. “Mateo are you going to say anything? Your boyfriend is making quite the scene.”

“I—I,” Mateo mumbled with a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t get further than that because his stomach was in his throat. His father’s tight face turned blurry, becoming an angry blob of red that he was too afraid to look at. The whole restaurant soon turned blurry.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” his mother asked, reaching a hand out to her son.

Mateo pulled away from her as his stomach heaved. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbled before gagging into hand and running away from the table.

Rosa made a move to chase after her son, but Shawn held up his hand. “Don’t. You both already make him feel terrible about himself as it is.” Shawn looked to Mateo’s father and spoke calmly. “He worried himself sick, just hoping that you would like me. But I fucked it up by not sitting back while you wished for a different son.”

With that, Shawn left in the direction that Mateo ran, no doubt towards the bathroom.

He found his boyfriend on the floor, retching over the toilet. The water was already brown with vomit, and it sounded like Mateo was no where near empty.

“I’m here, babe,” Shawn said as he settled next to his boyfriend. “I’m so sorry. Just let it all out.”

Mateo let it all out. The sick. The tears. The snot. With every heave, he felt like he was retching up tissue from his heart. It was just mucus mixed with bile, but it hurt his chest so bad that he swore pieces of his body now floated in the toilet.

His tears dripped into the dirty water. It was more than tears of exertion. It was tears for the boy that his parents wanted him to be. The tears were of grief for the son that never really existed. He thought they would try. Mateo thought his parents would get used to the idea, especially when they saw how happy he was with Shawn.

Another heave took him by surprised, forcing his shoulders forward as he gave up the contents of his stomach. “Ugh, Shawn it hurts.”

“I know, baby, it hurts so bad.” Shawn cooed while rubbing his boyfriend’s quivering back.

“I thought,” he began but was cut off by an empty gag. “I thought they could live with it.”

“Maybe they still can. They see now how much pain they cause you.”

“No,” Mateo cried. “Not now. Not now that you….” He sniffled and spat into the toilet. “…Why did you have to provoke him like that?”

“I’m sorry, Mateo,” Shawn said, lifting his hand from the boy’s back. “but you deserve more than parents who will live with it. I won’t apologize for standing up for you. I don’t care if they hate me.”

“But I care if they hate me.”

“We don’t hate you, son.”

Mateo and Shawn froze. Mateo was still on his hands and knees in the stall, but he recognized the sound of his father’s voice. He coughed up a string of saliva before wiping his mouth. Then he and Shawn slowly emerged from the stall. Mateo sure as hell never thought his father would see that.

Sal stood awkwardly in the bathroom with his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. “We don’t hate you, Mateo. We just don’t…know you anymore.”

Shawn opened his mouth to say something, but Mateo put his hand on his chest to stop him.

Mateo approached his dad. He tried channeling Shawn’s passion and conviction, hoping that his voice wouldn’t shake. “That’s bullshit.” He never thought he’d say that to his father with his opinions made of gold. “I’m still the same person. I’ve just grown and matured, and I figured out what I want. I’m sorry that you can’t get let go of the kid you made up in your head.”

His father tapped his foot like a child trying to pluck up the courage to confess. “And what you want—”

“Is Shawn. That’s what I want, and I know it for a fact. But I want you both in my life.”

“Your mother and I want that too,” his dad said sadly. “You’re changing so much.”

“Yeah, I’m going to do that.” Mateo swung his arms by his side as if to say that this was who he was. “If you actually acknowledge the good changes in my life”—he looked back at Shawn—“and don’t just ignore the changes, then it won’t feel so jarring. You might actually see that I’m happy.”

Sal sighed deeply. “That’s all we want. Truly.”

“Good, then maybe we can try this again.” Mateo walked backed to Shawn. He grabbed his hand and pulled him into the conversation with his father. “Let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Shawn.”

Mateo watched as his father and boyfriend shook hands awkwardly. What do you expect? They had never met before this exact moment.

[darkeninganon]

(So, this storyline now has a name; it is the Ender Family AU! Dream’s design was based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream! They are awesome and do amazing artwork, and this story would probably not exist if they did not  share their art! Warning for gore, blood, very heavy torture, passing out (as a fear/pain response), forced drugging/drinking (Potions are canonically drugs/alcohol), unwanted contact (Dream doesn’t like people touching his fur), and (there is no nice way of saying this) flaying. If you spot something else, message me and I will add it and apologize profusely. The beginning is deceptively sweet btw, just as another small warning.)

Ranboo looked between Tommy and Tubbo. His face was burning, but only one side showed a tinge of color.

"You mean you really don't remember staring down Quackity?" Tommy found it hard to believe, and was currently the main person opposing such an excuse.

"Really, I don't! You know how much I hate eye contact."

"He's got a point..."

Michael oinked in agreement. The trio were currently in the zombie piglin's room, Ranboo holding the child as the little monster drew something. Tubbo was kneeling next to the table, head partially resting on said table. Tommy was the only one standing, arms crossed, glaring at Ranboo.

Ranboo sighed, shaking his head. "Even if you don't believe me, it is the truth."

"Oh, I believe you, I just want to know why this is the first time we are hearing about it!" Tommy hissed, throwing his hands up. "I mean, if you hide that, what else are you hiding?!"

"Oh come on Tommy! Ranboo wouldn't-"

"Quite a bit because I would rather NOT be the reason someone kills Tubbo or Michael." Tubbo snapped his head towards Ranboo, horror plastered on his face.

"WHAT?!"

Michael snorted, holding up his picture. It depicted Ranboo holding a red square, and speaking in scribbles. Ranboo groaned as Michael proudly displayed his picture. The baby zombie piglin still had yet to learn to speak, but his writing skills were far beyond where most thought he should be at.

Tubbo stared at the picture, clearly concerned. "Michael, sweetie, have you seen daddy act weird?" Michael nodded, borderline enthusiastically. The little zombie pigling then grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbling most of it in red crayon before writing three large letters on it, and handing it to Ranboo.

Tommy and Tubbo stared.

"So, I guess I blew something up." Ranboo stated, staring at the crudely drawn TNT. He looked back to Tubbo and Tommy; "I think it's about time to tear down the walls of your old house."

"Damnit Ranboo!"

"I'm sorry?!"

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Dream stared, listening to the murmur of Quackity and Sam talking outside the wall of lava. It is a new day, Quackity is back. Dream could only wonder what Quackity was going to do today. Maybe he'll take my teeth, that would make sense. Or perhaps my other eye. Yeah, that sounds like something they could justify doing. Dream sat up as the lava fell away, Sam and Quackity standing at attention. Quackity was decked out in netherite armor. Enchanted netherite armor. Dream's ears fell back as a low growl fell from his chest.

Quackity made his way across the pit of lava, standing across from Dream with nothing in his hands but a potion and a pair of shears. Once the lava covered the opening again, Sam came through, glaring at Dream.

"Huh, what's the special occasion?" Dream smirked, tilting his head. Of course Sam; dear, dear Warden Sam; would want to help Quackity. "Don't tell me I actually scared you two." The prisoner chuckled, glancing between the two.

Quackity held out the potion; it looked like mud mixed with glitter. "Drink this."

"Excuse me?"

"Dream, do as Quackity says. I really don't want to have to force you." Sam stated, monotone. Dream stared at the warden, incredulous.

"No! I'm not drinking anything that crazy moron brings in here!" Sam sighed, striding over to Dream. "Get the hell away from me!" Sam went behind Dream, locking the prisoner's arms in an uncomfortable hold. Dream began yelling, kicking his legs out as Quackity approached. Quackity took Dream's jaw into a tight hold, digging his nails right into the joint and forcing Dream's mouth open. Once that was done, Quackity tore the cork from the bottle, shoving it into Dream's mouth.

Dream gagged, coughing and thrashing in an effort to get the bottle out of his mouth and not swallow the bitter liquid. Eventually, the potion's effects won out over Dream's own desires, his body going limp and his struggles ceasing.

Dream's eye darted around the cell. He wanted to move, wanted to cry out, wanted to not be sitting still. No matter how much he tried though, his body just sat there, even as Quackity removed the bottle and let go of his jaw.

"Hell yeah!" Quackity cheered, throwing the now empty bottle into the lava. "I told you it would work!"

Sam let go, gently resting Dream's head on his lap. "Yeah. You're sure he can't feel anything?" The warden sounded worried as he placed Dream's tongue back in his mouth and closed his jaw.

Quackity chuckled, "Yeah, I'm sure." He dragged his hand through Dream's fur, drawing lines at seemingly random points.

He's lying. Dream wanted to scream, Quackity's hands were cold and he hated as the "visitor" ran against the grain, causing the fur to stand up on end. Sam, he's lying! Please! But he couldn't say anything.

Sam, for his part, was staring at Dream sadly, carefully petting the prisoner as if he didn't co-sign this. He jumped as a hand snatched his wrist, holding it still. Sam looked to Quackity, who was still smiling.

"Seeing as how Dream isn't going to feel it, why don't you feel how soft he is!"

Sam looked at the prisoner, resting helplessly in his lap. Even though Dream's body couldn't move, his eyes were glaring at Sam. Still....

Curiosity won over the Warden as he took off his glove. Even with Dream unable to move, Sam was hesitant to touch the fur. When Quackity had entered the prison, that was all he talked about. It was just fur, what made it so special? What it because it was from Dream, and the prisoner never let anyone touch it?

Quackity groaned, snapping Sam from his thoughts. Without warning, the visitor grabbed Sam's hand and buried it in the mane around Dream's head. Sam could only stare. It was... So freakishly soft.

"Right!?" Sam glanced at Quackity, who was smiling like the cat that got the canary. "Seriously though, seeing as how he's going to be trapped in here for eternity, he really doesn't need this fur. He'll just overheat!"

No, I won't! Sam, please stop this! Tears fell from Dream's eyes, his mind racing. Taking his fur was the one thing he never expected.

Sam nodded, resuming petting Dream. "Just... be as quick as possible."

Quackity nodded as Dream's eyes darted to the man with the shears. "Let's see... Let's start here then!" Quackity stated, opening the shears and pulling Dream's skin right at his hip. Dream watched in horror as Quackity carefully cut a thin layer of skin and fur from his body, pulling and cutting just enough to make a starting point for him to continue. "Man, this is going to take a long while. Sam, would you mind grabbing a few more potions, just to be sure?"

Sam nodded, carefully setting Dream's head down on the obsidian floor, giving the prisoner one last pet before drinking a potion and diving into the lava.

As soon as Sam was gone, Quackity looked at Dream, and slid his hand between the skin he had just cut free, and the lower levels of skin and muscle. Dream tensed, the salt from Quackity's hand burning the fresh wound. "Man, this must really suck for you." The visitor laughed, a cruel smirk coming across his face as he wiggled his fingers in the wound. Dream gave a weak whimper, tear pouring from his eyes as the wound became wider and burned more. "Do you have any idea how hard is was to get the potion just right? Make sure you can't move, can't talk, but also heal you and make sure you can feel it? It was hard, man." Quackity finally removed his hand from the wound, marveling at the lack of blood. "This is probably what Tommy felt like. I have no idea what the afterlife is like, but maybe one day, I'll ask him."

Quackity straightened up as Sam came back, carrying a bag filled to the brim with the potions Quackity had made. The visitor smiled, turning back to Dream and resuming his work. Dream watched, heart racing as he finally saw what his fur and skin hid. Thin muscle hung from bones that showed painfully through in some places. It only took about two minutes for it to look like Dream was wearing a furry shirt or hoodie; a quiet whimper bubbling up from his chest as the first “hem” was finally completed.

Sam snatched a potion from the bag, opening Dream’s mouth and doing his best to make sure the prisoner didn’t drown on the vile liquid. Quackity gave Sam a weird look, getting ready to cut open Dream’s front.

“Really? He has another hour or so on the first potion.” Quackity muttered, pulling the skin up with his fingers, smirking as the muscles underneath twitched in pain.

Sam cast an unseen glance at Quackity, removing the empty bottle and throwing it into the lava. “He must have some form of tolerance, even after all this time. The numbing factor wore off I think.” Sam sounded distant, did Sam even believe his own words? Surely he knew.

“Well then let him deal with it. It’s not our fault he’s weird.” Quackity retaliated, making one final cut right at Dream’s collarbone, stopping as he noticed Sam flinch. “Hey, I’m sure Tommy felt way more pain than whatever little pin pricks this monster is feeling. Need I remind you-”

“No!” Sam winced, “No, I don’t need to be reminded.” He repeated, softer. Through the thick lenses of the mask, Dream could see Sam’s eyes darting between the prisoner and Quackity. Sam went back to petting Dream, unaware he had stopped for so long.

Quackity shrugged, cutting a gracefully curved line around Dream’s collarbones, stopping about halfway on either side. He grabbed Dream’s arms, inspecting both before dropping one to the ground, and making a quick slash around the whole wrist.

Blood poured from the fresh wound, diminishing to a trickle as Sam’s hand wrapped tightly around the small wrist. “Quackity! What the hell?!”

“Wow, language Sam.”

“Screw the language! What the heck were you thinking?! Get the bandages out of the bag now!” Sam glared at the visitor. Removing Dream’s fur was one thing, but getting so close to such areas… Sam would not stand for it.

“Will you relax? Look, it’s already closed!” Quackity pried Sam’s hand away, revealing a thin, bare scar circling Dream’s wrist. “Nothing to get pissy about.” He huffed, grabbing the prisoner’s other hand and doing the same. Sam was quick to cover the wound again, glaring hatefully at Quackity. “Alright. I need you to turn him onto his stomach so I can finish up the neck. I was not going to risk cutting your legs.”

“Quackity…”

“What? Don’t tell me you actually feel bad for this piece of trash.”

Sam looked between the visitor and prisoner. Dream looked terrified. Sam held out his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Quackity stared at Sam, hesitantly handing him the shears. Quackity watched as the Warden made a shallow cut along the back of the prisoner’s neck, breathing heavily and muttering. Sam practically threw the shears back to Quackity, petting Dream as soon as they left his hands. “There, done.”

Quackity nodded, looking down at the paralyzed prisoner. He struggled to pry Dream’s skin open, humming and inspecting where it connected. Quackity took out a netherite knife, sliding it under the skin and between the muscle.

Dream watched, muscles burning and twitching. A ringing filled his ears, his heart racing, his lungs tight. He couldn’t breathe, and he felt way too hot… no, he was cold… Well, his body was cold, his arms freezing, but his face felt like it was right next to the lava. Sam… Sam something’s wrong… SAM! Sam please! SAM! Dream was suddenly in a void, screaming and wailing filling his head. He blinked, back in the cell. Quackity was further along in removing his skin. He could see his ribs laying right underneath the smooth muscle, his vision flitting to Sam, distress hidden by dark lenses. Sam’s head snapped to look at Quackity, muffled words demanding something. Dream’s mouth was pried open, another bottle shoved down his throat.

Black consumed him again. Back to the cell. Something hard and soft was in his mouth. Sam was holding his head, forcing him to look at the warden. Sam kept calling his name. Black again. Back to Sam. Black again. Sam. Black. Sam. Black. Sam. Black. Cloth?

Dream could feel his mouth was open; he could feel something wrapped around his body, arms, even his legs. Everything hurt. His eyes were wet, not from the cloth.

“S….Sam…?” His voice sounded too quiet. A hands was suddenly placed on his head; a gloveless, unarmored, calloused hand.

“It’s…”

“Sam… I’m sorry… I’m really, really sorry…”

Sam sat there, staring at Dream. Dream’s whole body was covered in tightly bound gauze. He looked almost like a mummy rather than��� whatever he was. The only parts of him that still had fur were his head, hands, and knees. Sam had to fight with Quackity over leaving the fur on his knees. Sam sighed, closing his eyes as he took a breath, one hand resting on Dream’s chest while the other continued to pet him. “I know you are. I know.” Sam opened his eyes, staring at the creature laying on the floor before him, “It’s not me you have to apologize to though.”

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Quackity held up the pure white pelt. He had just finished cleaning it.

“Damn.” Quackity turned, smiling wildly at Schlatt. “Where the fuck did you get a coat like that?” The goat-man ghost lit up a cigarette, reaching out and touching the fur. “Again I say this: Damn.”

Quackity laughed, “I got it from my dear friend in prison.” Schlatt paused in his appraisal of the fur, staring at Quackity as if the still living man had grown another head. “Not like he needed it with how hot that place is. Besides,” Quackity pulled the fur away, brushing the soft hairs against his face. He froze, jolting to look at Schlatt, “Did you know his fur was this soft?”

The ghost stared, Quackity had a look to him that made Schlatt happy he was already dead. “No…” He spoke softly, lowering the cigarette he had. “I had no clue.” Schlatt watched as Quackity skipped way, the beautiful white pelt held close. Schlatt shook his head. Not for the first time in his life was he thankful that Quackity was on his side.

[angelic-serenade]

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

request: 🌟 Hellou!! I love ur work!! ❤️❤️❤️ Is it possible tó ha e a Alastor and younger(like 4 years younger) reader who have nightmares of his death sonetimes, cause she saw itt Back then, and go to big bother Alastor for comfort? 🦌

requested by: anon

a/n: okay so this was supposed to be a quick one-shot but my hand slipped and I wrote 9500+ words instead. oops. anyway, I hope this meets your expectations, enjoy!

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

pairing: Alastor x sister! reader

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

warnings: mentions of death, bit of angst, traumatic events, toxic relationship if you squint, Alastor being Alastor but softer for reader

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

It never rained down in Hell, no matter how ardently you had sometimes wished to feel the drops pouring down your robes. Even during your longest nights, the ones haunted by nightmares and long-forgotten memories resurfacing at your weakest, it would never rain like it did in those Gothic Novels your darling brother used to read you back in the day: you were no virtuous protagonist and never would the skies cry for your misery. It was probably one of the worst downsides of being stuck in Hell for all eternity: the equally eternal blood red sky forever looming over your head, serving as a reminder of your infernal punishment.

When you'd wake up in the middle of the night, after a particularly vivid nightmare, there was no pouring rain to muffle the sound of your hopeless wailings, no thunder to distract your spinning mind from its panic. Therefore, you found yourself continously seeking comfort from the only person you held dear to your now dead cold heart: Alastor, The Radio Demon, whom you had the privilege to refer to as your darling brother (at least in the privacy of your own bedchamber) - older brother to be precise, even if only by a few years. You had always been extremely fond of your sibiling, looking up to him as a role model - definitely not your wisest decision since it had landed you among the sinners of Hell. That's not to say you had any regrets, Heaven seemed like an awfully dreadful and boring place if you were to be completely honest.

Alastor, on his part, had affectionately doted on you back on the surface, taking his little sweetling under his protective wing as if his sole purpose in life had been to take care of you. As a consequence, on more occasions than you cared to remember, you had felt utterly asphixiated by your brother's undivided attention all your life, and quarrels had been a daily occurrence whenever his protective behavior clashed with your own desire for freedom. Your lovely mother had always been there to try and defuse your heated altercations, the poor woman; your dear brother and you, however, both shared the same stubbornness and desire to prevail on others, so that whenever your strong personalities came to oppose, trouble was always certain to follow suit.

You wished you'd appreciated his concerns more when you had been given the chance. Now in the afterlife, shows of affection were hard to come by. Mayhap that had been the worst punishment inflicted upon you after death: the privilege of having your dear brother by your side without actually being able to cherish and bask in his caring regards. Mayhap the illustrious Dante had been right in his musings all along: the law of retaliation had taken away from you the one thing you had never really appreciated in life, making you realize just how much you had taken for granted. Now that your brother had become Hell's greatest menace, an overlord to make things worse, weakness in any shape or form could and would not be tolerated under any circumstance, for both his and your sake.

Luckily, no demon in the seven circles suspected that the feared Radio Demon had any siblings to begin with, thanks to Alastor's foresight.

Your identity was to be kept secret at all costs in order to avoid undesired repercussions. If anyone were to even suspect you had any kind of connection to the Radio Demon - Alastor had told you - overlords and lesser demons alike would be at your throat in the span of a heartbeat. If given the chance, no enemy of his would ever hesitate to stoop as low as to attack him were it hurt the most, where he was most vulnerable. And that chance, he was not willing to give any time soon. You both had already died once and you were not keen on repeating the experience.

So you had followed his every order ever since your fall into the pits, leading a life death away from your darling brother and his chaotic ways - the one thing he hadn't been able to prevent in life -, keeping a low profile as a common denizen of Hell. Alastor would unsuspiciously check up on you every now and then, but his visits had been as rare as it was to see an angel in Hell - seeing him once a year was truly an unfair torture. Time went by and you grew more and more lonely as you mostly kept to yourself and wasted your days away in a nice apartment away from prying eyes. You were a nobody in Hell, and that was how things were meant to be.

Things changed when Alastor unexpectedly showed up at your doorstep for the second time in a year, blabbering about the newest project he'd involved himself with. His words betrayed unusual enthusiasm, a mood you had learned to be usually spurred on by the prospect of carnage and bloodshed or his precious radio broadcasts. Whenever he came to see you, he always showered you in gifts and praise, but it had been centuries since you had seen your brother so excited over... anything, really. Therefore, witnessing his cheeriness brought a genuine smile on your face. You were a little jealous you weren't the reason why he felt so giddy, but you couldn't complain as spending time with him was the greatest gift you could ever ask for these days. So when he told you you'd be moving into this phantomatic Hazbin Hotel, where he'd be staying for a while as well, you were impossibly ecstatic. Alastor had gently caressed your cheek and, in one of his rare moments of tenderness, softened his voice as if to lull you away:

“My dear, it has always pained me so to leave you here to your lonesome, but I am certain you understand that I always ever meant to protect you from harm.”

Unexpectedly, as most of his actions were, your dear brother spun you around into his arms as if he were coaxing you into a dance - which would probably be the case, knowing him. His words were impossibly haughty now, as if a switch had gone off in his mind:

“But now sweetling, now the time has come to finally put an end to this painful arrangement. You'll be joining me at this whimsical Hazbin Hotel our dear princess is so enthusiastic about!”

You knew better than to question Alastor and his ways, so you simply nodded your approval, glad to finally be able to leave that god forsaken apartment you had been locked in for far more than you cared to admit. And so you moved to the hotel - still keeping your true identity a secret, mind you. You were introduced as one of Alastor's acquantances, much like both Niffty and Husk were. Nobody questioned your unexpected presence and Charlie (much more than everybody else) welcomed you with opened arms into her precious hotel. When you offered to lend a hand with whatever she needed, she was utterly ecstatic. All in all, you were quick to adapt to the new situation.

The new accommodation, however, brought about quite a lot of new issues as well.

Spending so much time with Astor, for one, even if pretending not to be as close as siblings should be, awakened long forgotten memories about your life on Earth, most of which you would have preferred to keep locked away. During your very busy days, you were able to distract yourself from your scattered thoughts and memories; at night, however, your subconscious relentlessly haunted you in the form of nightmares and there was nothing you could really do to prevent it.

It was inevitable that you'd start losing sleep, as the only way to evade the cage that your mind had become was not to sleep at all. Astor had grown increasingly worried about your sleep-deprived state, even if he tried not to show it, masking his concern with his usual smile and charming talks:

“You will chase away any potential patrons looking so disheveled and shabby, my dear. Charlie will surely be heartbroken.”

You wouldn't have put it past him to manipulate you through guilt, but you knew that Alastor was truly worried about your health. His gaze, cryptic to most, felt all too familiar to you, just like the expressiveness of his smile held no secrets from you anymore. Needless to say, as fond of him as you were, you tried to sleep once again.

Then one night everything changed: it had been the worst night of your undead life, and the best one too.

The deafening sound of gunshots had echoed through your unconscious mind, increasingly loud footsteps and dogs barking so loud that you subconsciously jerked in your sleep. A call to your name, desperate, hopeless and scared. You saw him, his beautiful maroon eyes that had once only pooled in fondness for you, now dark and miserable. But they held promise too, a promise to fulfill maybe someday, in another life.

“I'm sorry (Y/N)”

His smile had dropped.

So had you.

You woke up screaming, trashing about in your bed. Sweat clung to your brow, your mind in a frenzied panic searched for something concrete and real to cling to. Was your brother alright? Satan, you hoped so. He had to be, he couldn't leave you again, you had to go to him, to see him, you didn't want to lose him again, you wouldn't bear the pain - you almost tripped in the bedsheets as you scrambled to the door.

When you arrived to Alastor's door, you had yet to calm down. You rapidly knocked on the hard wood, agitation evident in both your jerky movements and shivering hands.

“Alastor, Alastor, please. Open up. It's me” you desperately whispered.

As the door gently opened, your brother stepped into the darkness of the hallway and you unceremoniously flung yourself to him, clinging to his neck as if it were your lifeline. Your tears wet his robes, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to apologize. You felt like you had almost lost him again after all those years of seclusion.

But he was alive and he was with you. That's all you could hope for and far more than you thought you deserved.

Alastor uncharacteristically started to pat your head, as if trying to console you even though he had little to no experience in that area. His movements were uncertain, but as you lifted your head from his chest to gaze into his eyes, you realized no words would ever convey as much affection as Alastor's eyes did in that brief moment. His smile never faltered - even if it had become a bit strained - but you hadn't expected it to. It made you smile through your tears, despite yourself. You realized in that moment you'll forever be the only one allowed to touch Alastor without eliciting his wrath. That fact alone enough for you to truly appreciate the amount of control he'd give up in order to comfort you. He gently brought you to his bed and sat you down next to him.

“Are you quite alright sister dear? You know, those awful tears don't suit you at all! I rather much prefer your blinding smile!”

You smiled wider this time, for him, to let him know that you were indeed grateful.

“Oh, now that wasn't so difficult, was it?”

When he kissed your forehead, you almost broke up crying once again: it had been so long since you and your brother had been so close. The gesture warmed your long dead heart and you tried to return the favor by kissing his cheek. Nobody had ever been that intimate with the Radio Demon and lived to tell the tale, but in that moment he was no demon of hell: he was just Alastor, your dear brother who had doted on you in life and kept protecting you in death too - even though his ways weren't the most orthodox.

“I missed you Al. Please, don't ever leave me again.”

“I most certainly shall not, my sweet little darling. It's a promise.”

You were glad he let you stay with him for the rest of the night. No words were needed as he brought you close and took your hands into his. You both laid on the bed, in a rare moment of peace and quiet. It reminded you of your childhood on Earth and how you'd always sneak out of your room during the night to sleep next to him - you had always been afraid of the dark after all. Only in your adulthood had you learned that there are worse things than darkness one should fear.

After eons of suffering and terrible loneliness, everything finally fell into its rightful place.

Alastor was safe and so were you.

That was all that mattered.

[shinadog]

Alright, here’s my first attempt at writing something Yakuza related - inspired by a freakin nightmare I had, here’s MOB! It’s a multi-chapter plot oriented story based on an alternate ending for Yakuza 5 (so be careful, it will spoil that game).

Summary : Something happened after Haruka’s concert.

PART 1 - The Crowd

The crowd was completely silent as the girl spoke.

No one really knew how to react - how could they? This is not what they wanted to hear. They came here tonight (they paid an exorbitant price for a ticket, for the right to stand in a pit with hundreds of others) for one thing only. To hear a trio of teenagers sing about love, dreams, and all kinds of other nice things. Not to have one of said teenagers make a heartfelt but ultimately uncomfortable speech about…

About what, by the way?

The fact that she, Haruka Sawamura, was now standing on a stage, something most people would KILL for, and that it wasn't what she wanted? That the beautiful moment she had lived tonight just wasn't good enough for her. That she wanted to go back home. To her family.

When she started to explain what she meant by family is when she really started to ruin the mood, though.

It's not that the people in the crowd were cruel.

If you asked them "can a former yakuza turn over a new leaf and raise a kid", they'd probably say yes. If you asked them outside of an idol concert that was now pretty much ruined, that is. For some reason, hearing that girl talk about her love for her criminal of an adopted father didn’t sound as reasonable when she was standing on a stage and the crowd was standing beneath her, forced to listen. Forced to realize the perfect little picture they had in their mind, the cute upbeat innocent girl who came here to sing nice songs and thank them for their attention, never existed.

They felt cheated, somehow.

Still, they said nothing. There were a few whispers here and there, some questions asked a bit louder, but other than that, Haruka bowed down and left the stage in an unnerving silence. Her two co-stars eventually left too, and for a moment, the crowd was lost.

Was this it?

That was the moment people were starting to show the first signs of agitation. When the crowd started to feel less quiet. As the staff started to get them to leave, apologizing profusely, more and more people were starting to object. They paid to be here, to spend a nice wholesome moment, and all they got left with was this vague feeling of disappointment. Worse than that, they felt betrayed.

That girl practically told them, to their faces, than this dream, being an idol and having the incredible chance to perform at the Japan Dome, an once in a lifetime opportunity, wasn't good enough for her.

That's not how it was supposed to go.

The crowd was lost.

Eventually, they had to move. Hundreds and hundreds of angry, upset people walking into each other to get out of here. A human wave, grumbling and complaining about how short and ultimately upsetting that whole experience had been.

But they were reasonable, well adjusted citizens, after all. They would leave without making a fuss. Go back home, make some angry social media messages about the concert and move on.

That would have been nice. Reasonable.

Instead of that, the crowd ran into a fleeing girl who, like them, was trying to get out of here.

There was an awful moment when they stared at each other. The idol and her fans. The girl who rejected them and the angry people who felt as if they had been personally betrayed by someone they loved. Someone they swore they knew.

It wasn't clear who started it.

Who threw the first punch.

Who pushed who.

Who first started to run.

When the crowd of reasonable, civilized music enthusiasts became a mob.

When instead of cutesy pop tunes, the air was now filled with the screams of people being caught in the stampede.

No matter how it happened, in an instant, chaos had erupted. The mob was a loud angry wave now, crashing into itself, stomping mercilessly on the poor souls who had the misfortune to fall.

When asked about it, later, well after the dust had settled, people who had been part of the mob will say they don't know what happened. They'll say they were scared - and they were. The threat of being crushed by other people in the absolute chaos of it all had been terrifying. They'll say they were sad that it happened. That the girl didn't deserve that.

They'll never admit they felt a self righteous anger that almost turned them into monsters.

After all, they were well-adjusted, normal people.

******************

Kiryu was not smart.

A smart man wouldn't have run to fight some asshole all on his own after being shot and punched a bunch of times, only to collapse in the snow like a moron trying to get back to home. Hell, a smart man wouldn't have joined the yakuza at 16 just to run after the respect and love of the man he wanted to call father. And, of course, a smart man wouldn't have been convinced to abandon his family so that his child could become a pop star.

While he wasn't smart, Kiryu had a good instinct. He knew when something was up, deep in his gut. So when he woke up in a hospital bed, his whole body screaming as the pain woke up with him, he knew. Something was wrong.

Not because of the pain. That, he expected. He had no idea how long he had been out, but it hadn't been long enough to heal, that much was certain. Every muscle in his body felt sore, and the burning ache where he had been shot was still there. If Kiryu had to guess, he'd say he wasn't unconscious for more than four days. Not that he cared about that right now. What he wanted to know was why he woke up with this feeling of dread. With an alarm blaring in his head, warning him that something was wrong. It might have had something to do with the friendly yet incredibly worried faces in front of him.

Saejima, standing with his arms crossed near the room's door, and Akiyama, sitting on a chair near the end of his bed, were both staring back at him, stuck in an uncharacteristic silence. It was especially jarring for Akiyama, who had opened his mouth when Kiryu had turned his head in his direction, closing it just as quickly, as if he didn't know what to say.

Kiryu frowned.

Then all the things that were wrong with this scene struck him at once.

The way Saejima was standing, stiff and tense, completely still even as their eyes met.

The small "fuck" that finally escaped Akiyama's mouth, and the way he immediately stared at the door, as if he was hoping for some needed interruption.

The wrinkled clothes, still covered in blood in places, that both men were wearing and the heavy bags under their eyes, as if they had been up for days.

The fact that they were the only two people in that room, when Kiryu remembered separating from three companions on that fateful night.

The blurry memory of a man making the promise he'd protect his daughter. A man who was not here today.

The horrible realization that Haruka was not here, either.

And, finally, the fact that the heavy, oppressive silence was still here as his brain painfully connected the dots.

"What happened?"

All things considered, his voice didn't sound as weak and shaky as he would have expected. It wasn't his usual voice, though, it was tainted by the panic that was now compressing his chest, making it sound way less threatening than usual. Maybe it was weak and shaky, after all.

He was met with more silence, and it both scared and angered him.

"Shit, he woke up?"

Majima's head poking through the open door startled him.

Not that being startled by Majima was anything special. The man had found many ways to surprise him through the years, and hearing his shrill voice was usually enough to make Kiryu brace himself for whatever was coming for him. He was less of a wildcard these days, sure, but Kiryu had learned it never hurt to be on his guard anyway.

Still, Majima's sudden appearance in the room wasn't what made him suddenly straighten up in his bed, ignoring his body's complaints. No, it was the way his expression shifted as their eyes met. That weird horrified look, one he never saw in that lone eye, as Majima dragged himself inside the room, closing the door behind him - now THAT was startling.

"What the FUCK happened?"

Alright, so his voice was definitely shaking. It wasn't weak anymore though, he had pretty much roared that question, trying to get up despite the pain being hard to ignore by now. He was a mess. He didn't care, he needed some kind of answer. Akiyama’s hand was on his shoulder, he wasn't sure when that happened. When he spoke, the man's voice sounded lower than usual, and that hushed tone did nothing to calm him down.

"We can talk later, that's the first time in eight days you've been truly awake, maybe you should take it slow."

Eight days, huh. Not the four days he imagined earlier, but still not his worst. It didn't tell him what happened while he was out to make everyone stare at him like that. Kiryu had been awake for what felt like minutes and no one had done anything to give him an answer. Which only made the alarm in his head blare louder.

He strained his neck to look at Saejima across the room, still motionless:

"Saejima, please."

Kiryu wasn't sure why he was singling him out. And if the way the man raised his eyebrows was any indication, Saejima was surprised to hear him call for him, too. Maybe it was because both Akiyama and Majima were already starting to tell him to calm down and consider going back to sleep, the former mumbling something about fetching a doctor. Maybe it was because he had the feeling Saejima wouldn't lie to him.

Eventually, the tall yakuza made a few steps to stand near the end of the bed, his expression unreadable as he started:

"Our plan mostly worked, but-"

"Where is Haruka?"

Kiryu thought he could let him talk - he wanted too, even, but the second he had started explaining, he had to interrupt. He had to know. Saejima looked at the others for what felt like an eternity, and finally-

"She's alive."

No one in the history of the world had ever said "she is alive" to talk about someone who was safe and sound. He couldn't have picked a more worrying wording if he had tried. Kiryu focused on the man in front of him, ignoring once more his exhausted body begging for him to at least lay down again.

When Saejima started talking again, he didn't dare interrupt this time, horror taking over with each words:

"The concert, uh, it happened. Shinada got the shooter, and we took care of shit at the Millenium Tower too."

Kiryu couldn't care less about the events at the Millenium Tower. If he had to guess, he'd say Majima and Saejima had to fight, maybe even fight each other, as they were sporting a variety of bruises. All he wanted was to know what went down at the Japan Dome.

"At the end of that one song, Haruka, she…" Saejima took a deep breath, and Kiryu swore his heart had stopped. " She made a speech. ‘bout ya. Said she wanted to go back home and stop the whole singing thing."

Uh.

That wasn’t really what Kiryu had expected. Months ago, he would have been overjoyed to hear those words. Days ago, even. But right now ? All he could hear was the voice in his head yelling that it wasn’t right, that something terrible had happened. He managed to mouth a small "...and ?", urging the other to continue.

At this point, Saejima looked as if each word was costing him a lot. Kiryu would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t on the verge of having a bloody heart attack. Majima must have felt his brother’s distress, because he eventually took a step to get closer to the bed :

"The concert got to an end, people were pretty pissed about it, and Haruka, she just ran away. Tried to come get ya."

"It’s my fault." Akiyama blurted, looking more serious than Kiryu had ever seen him. " I’m the one who called her. To tell her you left for HQ and that we didn’t know what happened there. I’m so fucking sorry."

Asking "sorry for what" was on Kiryu’s mind, but somehow he didn’t manage to form those words – there was a heavy lump in his throat by now, and he felt so tired that he was afraid he was going to faint before those fuckers finally spit out the truth.

It eventually came, from Majima, his voice horribly serious for once, deeper and full of pity, which Kiryu realized was awfully scary to hear :

"When she got out, she ran into some folks from the audience, and a fight broke out."

"It was more like a stampede than a fight," Saejima added, contempt in his voice. "Those stupid motherfuckers just started running and they crushed everything in their way."

Kiryu was finding it harder and harder to focus on what was being said. Or to picture what happened. Or to just stay awake at all. He knew his body enough to know that he was about to drop and sleep for a couple more days, and he knew that he couldn’t. Not before he knew-

"Four dead and too many wounded to count."

He blinked. He wasn’t even sure who had said that. Akiyama, maybe. Kiryu somehow didn’t register a voice, just a number. And the word "dead" ringing in his ears. Saejima said she was alive, he told himself. She is alive. Four poor fuckers were dead, but she was alive. She had to be.

"Haruka ?" He asked, his own voice sounding like it came from far, far away. He was really starting to lose it, he was out of time-

"The mob got to her before any staff member could react, she was already outside and there was too many fucking people…" This time he was certain it was Akiyama’s talking. Probably. The scene was getting pretty blurry, by now. Words had mostly stopped making sense, but he still listened. "By the time they got her out of here she… She had been through a lot."

"She’s in a coma right now. Doctors said her vitals are good, she has a good shot at waking up"

The word "coma" still made sense.

In fact, it made so much sense that it made all the blurry noise surrounding his senses disappear, leaving him with nothing but dread.

Dread and stupid, impulsive anger, of course.

He got up.

Well, he tried to.

He almost managed to put one foot on the ground before Saejima shoved him back in the bed, humiliatingly easily. "Don’t fucking do that. I know it ain’t easy but you need to calm down."

"I need to see her."

"We’ll go once you’re strong enough." Akiyama said, his hand uselessly pressed on his shoulder, as if Saejima needed any help to keep him pinned on the bed. "Date is with her right now, so she isn’t alone. It’s probably better if we wait a bit, she’s… It’s a lot to take in."

You don’t fucking say, he wanted to shout.

"This isn’t how it was supposed to go..." Kiryu heard himself say, his voice breaking slightly, before a new spike of anger made it get louder. " Where the fuck was Shinada while all that shit was going on ? He said he’d protect her !"

"Well, when it started getting bad he did try to find a way through the crowd, but…" Saejima shook his head, looking more tired than ever. "It was an angry crowd, Kiryu, I’m sure he did his best, but it was too much. No one could have done anything."

Kiryu is vaguely aware that he kept talking after that. That he said Shinada was still alive after being pretty much crushed by the stampede, and that he was in a room somewhere in the hospital.

He didn’t care, though.

No one could have done anything.

The last thing Kiryu thought of as he passed out was that HE could have done something.

No angry crowd could have stopped him. He was certain of it.

He could have prevented this.

He should have.

[harrybabystyles]

Oh, Angel! (harry styles)

chapter two - m a s t e r l i s t -

warnings: mention of sex, language, and drinking

author’s note: If you haven’t read the first chapter I would do that or you might be a little lost, you can find it here.

I blink slowly as the light infiltrates my mind, the warmth of the morning sun enveloping me in a cozy hug. 

I groan as I stretch before the foreign scent of vanilla and tobacco rushes over me, and the burn in between my legs reminds me of last night.

Shooting up I look around the foreign apartment, remembering where I was as memories from last night flood my mind.

I blush, I’ve had many hookups, but none like that.

I look for Harry, but find the bed empty, and the apartment quiet. I pull the duvet around me and step off before I stop in my tracks, already feeling the soreness in my hips, and the intense burn in my center.

I waddle out to the kitchen where a small plate and cup where resting on the counter, a folded note with my name scribbled on it rested peacefully beside it, but still no Harry.

It feels like my heart might explode as my eyes graze over my name in what I assume is his handwriting.

I settle down on the stool, and pick up the note, unfolding it gently. 

Dear Anna, 

I am terribly sorry I couldn’t stay until you woke, but duty calls and I had to leave. The plate in front of you is all yours, I had leftovers from this morning and didn’t want them to go to waste, or for you to go home hungry. I had the most amazing night with you, and I have come to the decision that you have definitely made it up to me for ruining my shirt ; ) PS. help yourself to anything you’d like 

All the love, H

I smile like a love struck teen at his words, blown away by how unbelievably sweet this man was.

I look down at the plate below me, my stomach growling as I scan over scrambled eggs and a few waffles, a cup of orange juice sitting beside it. I dig in, and I practically inhale the food even though it was cold from sitting out.

My phone buzzes, and I practically jump out of my skin.

Oh shit!

I had completly forgot to tell my friends that I was not coming home last night, they must think I got murdered or something. 

I scramble off the stool, and over to where my handbag was resting on one of his gray sofas, and hold it up to my ear. 

“Anna!” 

“Hi, Paige, I’m sorry, I totally forgot to tell you that I was not coming home” I say swallowing a mouthful of eggs. 

“Yeah, no shit! I’ve been so fucking worried” 

“I’m so sorry, but I’m okay” I try to explain, she really was like our mom sometimes.

She lets out a heavy sigh, “Thank god, when are you coming home?” 

I wasn’t exactly sure what part of the city I was in, but I made up a guess a went with it. 

“I’ll be home in under an hour” 

“Good, Harper wants to go to the movies later” I can hear the slight tang of annoyance in her voice, and I try to hold back a laugh, Paige hated going to the movies, always saying that we can just watch it at home.

“Okay, sounds good, I’ll see you later” I laugh as I hear chatter start up on the other end of the phone.

“Okay, love you”

I roll my eyes, “Love you”

I hang up and let out a breath, walking back towards his bedroom so that I can get dressed and head home. 

His room looks like a mess, pillows laying on the floor, clothes sprawled about, the sheets on his bed pulled so that the corner of his mattress is showing.

I take a deep breath, god damn.

I find the black lace of my underwear and start to slide them on, gasping as my eyes settled on my skin.

My inner thighs had soft purple hickeys scattered all around the skin, some also present on my stomach and chest, the worst one being on my collarbone.

“Holy shit” I whisper to myself, my fingers poking at the ones on my thighs, but my jaw goes slack at the barely visible marks on my hips.

The shape of finger tips were etched into the skin of my hips like a shadow, barely visible, but definitely there, a reminder of where his large hands hand been.

My hand flies up to cover my mouth, stifling the laugh that rises out of my throat.

Why the hell do I think that’s funny?

I shake my head, sliding my underwear the rest of the way on, and clasping my bra back on my body, I look for my dress for a few minutes before remembering it was out in the living room, so I grab my shoes and head out.

I look at my reflection in the huge windows and frown, my eyes tracing over the soft purple hickeys on my collarbone and chest, my dress hardly covering any marks on my upper body, how the hell am I going to cover them?

You just had to mark me up Harry.

Then my eyes settle on the fabric of Harry’s dress shirt from last night, laying carelessly on the floor, and I shrug.

Hope he doesn't mind.

I pull it over my shoulders, rolling up the sleeves and tying it up, buttoning it up to cover my collarbone.

That’s better.

I start to walk towards the door, my heals clicking as they meet the wooden flooring of his entry way.

Then, my eyes settle on a piece of paper taped on the door. 

Also, if you turn the lock before you leave, the door should lock when it closes, there is some money on cabinet to your left if you don’t have any for a cab

 My heart starts to swell again as my eyes flash to the money placed on the surface of the cabinet beside me.

I leave the money there, and I do what he says and I turn the lock before I head out, hearing it click behind me. 

Walking back out of the apartment I can’t help but be mind boggled and how fancy everything is, from the bouquets at every corner, to the detailing on the doors as I walk out, everything is so elegant and sleek. 

The cab ride back to my apartment was almost thirty minutes long, which if it weren’t for the music fest causing traffic at every intersection, I’m sure it would have only been about fifteen. 

As I walk through the door, and I hear the chatter in the living room of the apartment I shared with Harper, Evelyn, and Paige, I brace myself for the interrogation session.

When the door clicks, the conversation stops.

“Anna?” 

“Yeah?” I ask, coming out from around the corner, their eyebrows all raised.

“Spill the tea” Evelyn demands, crossing her legs under her on the couch.

“There is nothing to spill, it’s pretty fucking obvious” I set down my bag on the messy counter and slip out of my heels. 

“Yeah, but you’ve never come home past six before” Harper chimes in.

“I was tired” I shrug, “Had a busy week”

“Oh sure, tired from the week” Harper says sarcastically, giving a look at Paige and Evelyn. 

“You’ve also never wore their shirt home” Paige adds, pointing to the dark dress shirt I was in, and I tug up the collar again, hoping they couldn’t see through me. 

“I was cold” I brush off their glances, but Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Bullshit” she calls out, getting up from the couch.

“Guys, I’m done talking about this, can we please just move on, it’s not like I’ve never hooked up with someone before” I plead, cautiously eyeing Harper as she walks over to me. 

“C’mon, just show us” she pouts, and Paige and Evelyn nod enthusiastically from the other couch. 

“Then will you guys shut up?” I ask, crossing my arms. 

They all nod, and Paige crosses her heart. 

I sigh, undoing the dress shirt and slipping it off my shoulders. Harper’s mouth hangs open as Evelyn and Paige gasp. 

“Holy shit!” Paige exclaims, stumbling over the couch to come investigate, Evelyn trailing behind her. 

Harper pokes at my skin, and I roll my eyes, heat flushing to my face.

They should see my thighs if they think this is intense.

“So he is good with his mouth?” Evelyn comments, and I smack her arm as Harper and Paige bust out laughing. 

“Guys! Can we please move on?” I groan as I pull the shirt back on. 

“Fine” Paige giggles while Evelyn rubs her arm.

The next few days they keep proding for more information and poking fun at me, starting to call him “hickey boy”

Harper was very proud of that nickname, I however was extremely embarrassed.

When Tuesday rolled around, and I had come home from several job interviews, I was surprised when my friends were all giddy when I walked in the door.

“What?” I ask, eyeing them suspiciously as they all grin at me like five year olds waiting to open their presents on Christmas morning.

“We are taking you out” Paige says vaguely, and I quirk my eyebrow at her.

“You’ve been working so hard these last few days, and we want to take you out so you can let go of all that stress” Evelyn explains, and I sigh.

“I don’t know guys, I’m pretty tired”

“Nonsense!” Harper exclaims, “C’mon, let’s go out and forget about everything for a few hours”

I sigh, rubbing my head, “Fine”

They squeal and jump up, already talking about what they are going to wear.

I roll my eyes, a smile on my lips.

A whopping two hours later we are finally heading out the door, hopping into Harper’s old car and starting it up. 

I settled on an over sized T-shirt and jean shorts, trying to go for a more casual look, plus there was still a few faint marks left from my night with Harry. Harper wore a cropped black tank top, and a pair of plaid pants with a belt and chain, her combat boots complementing her legs nicely. Evelyn wore a jean skirt and neon pink tube top with her hair in a high pony and huge hoops on her ears. Paige however, wore a simple sundress, her converse giving the look a very high school love story vibe, but she looked stunning none the less. 

They decided that trying out the music fest this year would suffice my apparent need to let go of stress.

We filtered through traffic, parked several blocks back, and headed into the fest within the next hour, chatting and enjoying each others company. Evelyn pointing out several hot guys along the way.

What can I say, she can’t help herself. 

The festival was loud and crowded, several people yelling and cheering anytime the lights would flash, or if they just felt like it. 

When the music did finally start up, it was like a raging pit of beer and sweat, everybody jumped around and screamed, especially when a hardcore rock band came on stage, but after about an hour and a half, the crowd settled and it simmered back down to just cheering and dancing. 

The bands and musical artists would shuffle through, only a few minutes between each act, and between the cheap alcohol and Harper cracking jokes at any body who dances funny, I was having a blast.

Of course anytime with them is the best time.

The stage lit up, signaling the start of another performance, and we watched as a man strolled casually on stage, his band already set up behind him.

My eyebrows crash down in confusion when I recognize the brown head of hair that frames him like a halo.

No way in hell.

“Hello New York!” that smooth accent rolls over the crowd, and my heart stops.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

My eyebrows shoot straight up, and my mouth falls open, like one of those scenes in a cartoon.

“Anna?” Paige turns to me, but I can’t even look her in the eyes, I can’t look away from him.

This is a dream, definitely a dream, it has to be.

“Pinch me” I blurt out, feeling the confusion that now radiates off of my friends as Evelyn takes a hold of the skin on my wrist and pinches me.

Shit.

“Anna, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Harper points out, their faces now circling me, fading in and out of my vision as I try to keep my eyes on him.

He looks good, of course he does, but the loud suit catches my attention.

Is that floral?

Whatever it was, he looks like an angel in it, like he seems to always do.

Evelyn’s hands grab my face, and she makes me focus on her, “Earth to Anna!”

“He-...” I point weakly to the stage, feeling my head spin.

They follow my finger to the stage, watching as he dances under the microphone, his voice filling my ears.

Voice of a fucking angel, of course.

“What?” Paige looks at me like I have lost my mind. I point again, my heart stammering in my chest, and my mouth dryer than the fucking dessert.

“That’s him” I whisper, and my friends share worried glances, before Harper slaps a hand over her mouth.

“No fucking way Anna! That’s hickey boy!”

I cringe at the nickname she insists on giving him, and I smooth my hand through my hair, giving a nod.

“No way” Evelyn gasps, and Paige’s jaw just drops. Harper bounces up and down with excitement, and they all shuffle around to get a better look at him.

His voice rolls over the crowd again, rumbling straight through me, “I’ve never played this one before, just wrote it actually, hope y’enjoy it”

“One, Two, Three, Four!” he shouts.

Then the guitar and drums hit, and the crowd goes wild, while I’m just staring at him completely in shock.

“Don’t know where you’re laying,” his voice holds that same subtle gravel that I remember, as his leg bounces up and down with the beat, “Just know it’s not with me”

By now my friends are giggling and I can tell they are trying to talk to me, but I let his voice drown everything else out, the thick sweet sound giving me butterflies.

“Don’t know what I’d tell you if I passed you on the street”

I can’t believe the man in front of me, confidence radiating through him like sunshine, his movements strong and sure.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna!”

My stomach drops as my friends eyes snap towards me.

Did he just say my name?

“The hell?” Evelyn whispers, “Did he just say your name?” she asks, mirroring my thoughts.

Holy fuck.

“Every time I see you face there’s only so much I can take, oh, Anna!”

“Anna! he wrote a fucking song about you?” Harper exclaims, her voice making it sound more like a question, like she didn’t quite believe this was happening.

I can’t blame her, I was still wrapping my head around it too, but Anna is a very popular name, I’m sure it’s not about me, it can’t be, I only spent one night with him.

“Don’t know how you taste when there’s smoke in your perfume”

I quirk my eyebrows, this is definitely not about me, it can’t be, that lyric has zero correlation with me.

Right?

“Chew me up and spit me out, nothing left to lose, I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna!” the guitar strikes up, and he dances around, pumping his arms and swinging his head to the beat as the man to the left of him grinds out a guitar riff that’s bubbly and upbeat.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me oh, Anna! Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take oh, Anna!”

My stomach seems to drop and twist further every time my name rolls from his lips, and I realize that the crowd had gone nuts, hollering and screaming out as he seems to soak it all in.

“Hope you never hear this, and know that it’s for you, I don’t know what I’d tell you if you asked me for the truth” 

By now my head was spinning, my throat dry and my heart racing, I felt dizzy and light headed.

What the hell?

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me oh, Anna! Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take oh, Anna!”

Suddenly the lights started to sting, and my world continued to sway, back and forth, back and forth.

I tried to swallow, but the dryness of my throat made my tongue feel like sandpaper, and my legs begin to wobble. I felt like I was placed in the dryer, the crowd around me spinning and spinning, and I was just a helpless piece of clothing.

Another guitar solo bounced in and out of my ears, my head seeming to amplify it as the song continued.

My vision started to blur when the beat changed, and I reached a hand out to try and steady the world around me.

“Guys...” I suck in a sharp breath, oxygen becoming thin, and I feel hands on my arms.

“Anna?”

“Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body”

His voice is the last thing that goes through my mind when it all went black, the music fading as my eyes roll back into my head, my body crumbling to the ground.

[myyszka]

Omg I'm sorry this is so late but Skulduggery Pleasant anon here! Ahh it's been so long since I've read the books and honestly talking to you makes me want to reread them ahh. Who's your favourite character?? Mine's Tanith Low!!

oh my god hi!!!!!! it's so nice to hear from you again omg!!!!!!!

it's been a few months since I've tried reading the books properly, I always get stuck around The Faceless Ones because damn that one book is so frustrating to read )": ending makes me sad. but I've been pretty enthusiastic about pulling out certain books to send hilarious quotes to my friends because there are SO many (I have The Death Bringer brimming with sticky notes marking the funny parts).

I am gonna give them another go though, you've managed to spark that skuldug interest in me again :') let me know if you start reading them again and we can scream about them together!!!

favourite character??? oh gods that is such a hard question, there's no way I can pick just one. I hope you don't mind me giving you a top 5 list instead :'))))))

the man, the myth, the bastard: Skulduggery Pleasant himself. There's just something about his humour, his actions, his backstory that just really get me hyped. not to mention he's a frickin skeleton too. I love him so much.

Ghastly Bespoke comes in 2nd. There's is literally NOTHING that I don't love about this man. Big buff man????? Big buff man is a tailor???? Big buff man kicks ass???? perfection, I'm telling you. he deserved better and Derek Landy can actually meet me in the pit

Valkyrie Cain. There's no way I can keep her off this list because little 12 yr old me idolized her when I first read the books. She holds her own against so many different enemies and finds a way to come out on top. She keeps up with Skuldug's humour and is frickin smart as hell too. Gods I love her sm.

Tanith!!!!! Low!!!!!!! Aka my bi awakening. There's just something about this sword-weidling, ass-kicking lady that makes grin stupidly whenever she shows up. Derek did her dirty tho )): Unacceptable

Okay this spot is a tie between Vaurien Scapegrace and Billy-Ray Sanguine. I couldn't choose between them and couldn't leave either of them off this list :') Scapegrace is probably one of my favourite "villains", he's so pathetic most of the time it makes me cackle, and I admire the fact that he keeps on going no matter how badly he gets his ass beat :')))))))) Sanguine is just an Overdramatic Cunt that I love dearly. What else can I say? He's great.

this is probably a bit more than you asked for, anon, but I hope you understand that you're probably my only skuldug outlet right now and I'm just way too hype about these books :')

I'll leave you with this question: which branch of magic do you like most? I'd go with Elemental because it feels like the most practical to me! also because fire is fun and I wanna push air )):

[grovyrosegirl]

Female Jesse and Lukas and “There are no limits when it comes to you. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.“

“Jesse won’t fall for it,” Lukas spat out, still struggling against the ropes.

His hands had been tied behind his back to a wooden support beam of an old, abandoned windmill. Hours earlier, Lukas attempted to loosen the ropes by pulling on the wood, hoping it would be old and brittle enough to crack in order to slip through. But by sheer bad luck, the beam was firm despite its rundown appearance, and his only reward for his efforts was a fresh batch of rope burns he could feel against his wrists.

His captor remained amused at his small acts of resistance. She sat in a nearby chair, leaning back nonchalantly. Her diamond axe and a white pumpkin mask rested  against the wall near her. Her left hand was gently running against splotches of orange and black fur of the calico cat that purred in her lap.

“Oh?” was her only response to his statement.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep and hunger talking, but something about her carefree nature irritated Lukas to his core. He struggled against the ropes furiously, not caring if it only hurt his wrists more. He wouldn’t be passive. He wouldn’t be silent. If Cassie was going to keep him here, the least he could do was make it unpleasant for her.

“Jesse’s been set up before,” He said, shooting her another fiery glare, “she knows a trap when she sees one. You’re wasting your time, Cassie.”

Cassie simply let out a chuckle. She picked up her axe and slowly traced her finger along the smooth side of the diamond blade, “I know Jesse isn’t an idiot. But that doesn’t matter.”

Winslow sensed a shift in Cassie’s movement and hopped off her lap. The cat stretched out after landing on the dusty cobblestone floor before wandering about the mill to find something to entertain himself with. He found it with Lukas’s boots, leaning forward to sniff them. Lukas paid no mind to Winslow though, his eyes locked on Cassie. She stood from her chair, making her way over to Lukas and bending down to make eye contact.

“Even if she does know it’s a trap, she’ll come running to save her precious Lukas,” Cassie said, stretching out the word “precious” like how one would talk to a puppy. She reached out her hand, ever-so-slightly moving a loose strand of his messy blond hair out of his face. “It’d be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

Lukas lunged forward and attempted to bite her, his teeth missing her fingertips by a second. Cassie swiftly moved back.

“Oof,” Cassie said with a laugh, “guess the ocelot jacket suits you. You’re acting like Winslow when I try to give him a bath.”

“Go to hell,” Lukas sharply replied.

Cassie shrugged, “Well it’s been fun, Lukas. I’ve been enjoying these little talks. But Jesse will be here soon. So…”

She placed her axe aside and reached into a pocket of her dark jumpsuit, pulling out a cloth. With her free hand, she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head forward. Lukas thrashed about, shouting as he did, refusing to be still. Yet even with this, Cassie managed to tie the cloth around his head, muffling any sound that came from him.

“Hush up.”

She moved away from him, scooping up her axe from the floor and calling Winslow to her side. The cat immediately followed her as she made her way to the windmill’s pair of birch wood doors.

”And three,” Cassie muttered as she watched the door, a confident smirk on her face, “two—“

A knock could be heard on other side.

Lukas felt his heart skip a beat.

“—One.” Cassie finished. She opened the door. “You made it! Perfect timing, Jesse.”

Jesse slowly stepped inside, her expression wary and her arms tight at her sides. She looked forward, eyes going wide at the sight of him.

He tried to call out to her, to scream at her to run. He desperately repeated her name, but all that could be heard was incomprehensible muffled shouts. He thrashed about even more. Then he swung his head back and forth in an attempt to get the cloth to slide down.

“Lukas!” Jesse exclaimed, starting to run to him.

But Cassie was faster. She swung her axe forward, just stopping it when it was mere inches away from her neck. Jesse froze, her whole body tensed.

Cassie’s eyes narrowed, “Ah ah ah. Not so fast. We had a deal, remember?”

Jesse sighed, slowly raising her hands up, “I know. I have what you want, okay? Let him go.”

“Move,” said Cassie. She pointed towards a cobweb-covered corner of the mill with her axe. “Over there. Empty your pockets.” She gestured the blade towards Lukas, “Or he gets a scar on that pretty little face of his.”

Jesse did as she was told. She made her way to the designated spot, her hands still up. It only caused Lukas to struggle more, not even screaming at the top of his lungs could reach past the cloth. Though the sound caught her attention. Jesse met his eyes and wore a sad smile.

“It’s okay, Lukas,” Jesse said softly. “There are no limits when it comes to you. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

Lukas cursed himself as he pulled against the ropes once more. This was his fault. Always. Always too weak, always too arrogant. He should have let her walk home with him as it was getting dark. But he didn’t. His stupid pride told him that he needed to stop relying on her. He needed to stop letting her run to his rescue.

Cassie shoved her forward, “I said, move!”

And look where it got him. Here he was. Helpless. And there she was. Coming to his rescue once again.

Stupid, he screamed internally. You’re so stupid.

Jesse moved, turning around to face Cassie.

“Inventory. Now.”

Jesse shifted her hands, emptying various items onto the floor. Her enchanted diamond sword, an apple, a potion of healing, an empty potion bottle, and finally, an item that made Cassie’s eyes sparkle.

The Atlas.

Lukas groaned beneath the cloth. He thought of the Portal Hall. All of those worlds and people. They were now in danger because of him, along with Jesse.

“There you are,” Cassie whispered, immediately snatching it off the floor. She raised the book closer to her face, flipping through its pages. “It’s all here. Every world. Every place.” She slammed it shut with a enthusiastic cackle, “And now, it’s all mine.”

Jesse glared and said in a flat voice, “Yeah, yeah. Your dastardly plan worked, evil laugh, evil laugh. Congratulations. Now let Lukas go.”

Cassie tucked the Atlas under her arm, strolling across the room, “Leaving so soon, Jesse? You came all this way.”

Lukas watched her grab the chair she’d been sitting in before. Cassie jerked the frame back like a lever. A series of clinks and loud thumps of gears turning echoed in the small building. He immediately turned back to Jesse. She was already alert, darting her own eyes everywhere, bracing for some sort of attack.

It came from below.

The entire floor, save for the singular block she stood on, collapsed around Jesse. An empty, deep pit now surrounded her. Jesse gasped, shuffling her feet together to regain balance.

“I made you come all the way out here in the freezing cold,” Cassie continued. “Let me warm you up. A nice lava bath should do the trick!”

She jerked the chair to the opposite side. The clinks and thumps repeated, and with each one, Lukas only pulled against the ropes harder. He looked to Jesse one final time, the fear in her eyes were agonizing, and didn’t want to look anymore. Any minute now, he would hear the sound of lava rushing through. The heat would be unbearable, and it would be all his—

All his—

Wait.

There was silence.

Cassie had picked up on it as well. She fiercely shot her gaze at the chair, the smile dropping from her face.

“Come on,” Cassie said through grit teeth. She jerked the chair forward again. And again. And again. “Come on—Come on, you stupid—“

“Looking for something, Cassie?” Jesse spoke up.

Both Cassie and Lukas glanced back to her. The fear that was present had completely disappeared, replaced with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“What—,” Cassie said, enraged, “How—“

“Oh!” Jesse clapped her hands together, her tone humorous, “Are you looking for the lava? Yeah, that stuff is pretty dangerous, Cassie. You shouldn’t be playing with it. Don’t worry, Olivia dismantled your little pit trap an hour ago.”

As if on cue, the doors to the windmill flung open. The torch lights illuminated the pair of Axel and Olivia in the doorway. The sound spooked Winslow, who immediately ran outside between the pair. Axel pounded his fists together with a confident smile. Olivia stood with a smirk, dangling a single lever in her hand.

“Your redstone skills could use some work,” said Olivia. “Might I suggest using some pressure plates next time?”

Cassie gripped her axe, lunging forward, “You smug little—GAAH!”

She was cut off when a tall figure emerged from the shadows and pinned Cassie to the floor. Her diamond axe fell from her hand and clattered against the floor.

Petra huffed out, “Nice try. But no.”

She then wrestled the Atlas out of Cassie’s grip and tossed it to Axel. He caught it and gave a thumbs up in Jesse’s direction.

“Good work, everyone!” Jesse said with a swift leap across the gap between the pit and the windmill floor. 

Cassie fought against the warrior’s strength, but to no avail. Her gaze went up to Jesse, burning fury turning her face almost the same shade of red as her hair. 

“You—!” Cassie growled, “I told you that if you brought your friends I would kill him! You risked his life just to beat me? You call yourself a hero?!”

“No. I didn’t risk his life. I made a smart decision,” Jesse folded her arms. “Besides, you said come to the windmill alone. You never said come to the forest outside the windmill alone. And here I thought you Old Builders were all about loopholes.” 

Cassie’s only response after that was a series of angry screams and threats. She continued to kick and scream as Petra, now helped by Axel, lifted Cassie Rose to her feet and dragged her out into the night.

“Liv,” Jesse said with a glance over her shoulder, “do you still have some extra potions of healing? My last one fell in the pit.”

Olivia nodded, “Hold tight. I’ll grab them.” 

She turned and left as well, the roars of Cassie Rose still echoing in the distance. 

Jesse rushed over to Lukas’s side, pulling down the cloth. He let out a loud gasp and looked at her. 

“Jesse,” He said. “I’m—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Jesse said, moving her hands to untie the ropes around his wrists. “Don’t you dare apologize. I’m just happy you’re safe.” 

Lukas shook his head and glanced down, “Thanks but…I am sorry. For getting caught like this and making you save my dumb butt again.”

She freed his hands. Lukas moved them, stretching them and rubbing the red marks around his wrists. He let out a sigh of relief as he did. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jesse said as she stood up, offering her hand to help him stand. “It’s like you always say.”

He accepted her hand with a soft smile. She helped him to his feet, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in case he might’ve tumbled from exhaustion. 

“No man left behind,” She said. “Now let’s go home.”

[jebentnietalleen]

ooh ooh ooooooh! how about 30 & 79 from the prompt list? thank you, love you, byeee 💖🌻💕

“that was unexpected” & “i don’t care what anyone else thinks” 

It’s been one hour and 17 minutes and Lucas honestly doesn’t know what to do with himself. Watching a movie has never been this exhausting. It’s not like he can concentrate on the plot of the thriller they are watching, like, at all. When Manon suggested a movie night instead of the usual party night out in the city, he didn’t expect it to be with everybody. Yet here they all are. He’s sitting on Yann’s couch, Basile is sitting next to him, totally engrossed in the film and not aware of the fact that Lucas is practically vibrating out of his own skin because he is wedged between Basile and Eliott, who is sitting very close to him. Close enough that Lucas can feel his breath ghosting over his face whenever Eliott turns his head to say something to him, causing goosebumps to appear on every inch of his body. Close enough to feel their thighs press together on the couch and feel Eliott’s every move whenever he shifts ever so slightly. 

He thought he was used to it by now: being close to Eliott without being able to do anything about it. He has had enough practice, after all. They’ve been friends for as long as he can remember, and they’ve always been tactile with each other. It’s weird, when he thinks back on how they first met when he was 10 and Eliott was 12, and how they interacted, he doesn’t think anything has changed since then, really. They are still just as gentle with each other as then, still tell each other everything, still like to sit close to each other and let their heads rest on the other’s shoulder whenever one of them needs comfort, or even just because they feel like it. Maybe that’s the problem: they are so open in their affection for each other, while his bond with the other boys has definitely evolved into something different over the years. His dad’s voice ghosts in his head: it’s not manly to cry together, or to talk about your feelings. But with Eliott, it’s different. He can be himself around Eliott, without any second thought. Well, almost no second thought.There is one thing he hasn’t dared to talk about with him yet, and that’s this. This not-so-new issue of Lucas having more than friendly feelings for his best friend, who has no idea about that fact. It’s been building up for a while now, and he feels like a total dumbass, because it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when you think of all the facts he just listed. And yet it did surprise him, it surprised him a lot. One day, they were all hanging out in the park. Yann and Basile were throwing a Frisbee around and him and Eliott were lying on a blanket. Eliott laughed out loud and it made Lucas open his eyes, he looked at Eliott, who was propping himself up on his elbows, and the sunlight made him look even more like an angel than usual and the only thing he could think was beautiful. It wasn’t a big shock that that thought came to him, it was more of a moment of realization. Oh, so this is how it is now. From that moment on, he continued to fall for him more and more every day. When he wakes up, the first thing he thinks about is Eliott, wondering what he is doing, and when he goes to bed it’s the same. Whenever he gets a text message from Eliott his heart starts beating faster and there is a smile plastered on his face that won’t come off. In other words: he’s doomed.The movie is coming to an end, and Lucas feels very relieved and disappointed at the same time. When it’s over, they will all probably get up and get something to drink and maybe do a game of cards or something. He knows that Daphne has been hinting about wanting to play a game afterwards, and honestly, she always gets her way.  As soon as the credits roll, Yann turns around from where he is sitting on the ground and asks what everybody wants to drink, dragging Arthur with him to the kitchen to get some supplies. When they come back with full hands, Basile gets up from the couch: ‘Guys, I know how to make the perfect cocktail, you won’t be let down!’ He crouches down in front of the coffee table and rubs his hands together with a look of determination on his face. Lucas can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend: the one time he looks like he is serious, and it’s to make them some drinks. Why is he not surprised? ‘Can you make me a strawberry daiquiri?’ Manon asks with a sly grin on her face whilst Daphne is nudging her and laughing along. ‘Oh, Basile, make me a mojito, please!’ Arthur chimes in, trying to keep a straight face while the rest of them are bursting into giggles‘No, no, no, you don’t understand, the one I’ll make will be so much better than those! Just wait’ All the commotion surrounding the drinks has let Lucas to be distracted enough to not notice the fact that Eliott and him are still sitting as close together as they did before, even though there is enough room now that Basile is no longer an issue. Lucas thinks he should get an award for the fact that he musters up the strength to move away from Eliott, when every part of his being is screaming at him to stay right there.Slowly, he slides a little bit more to his left, looking intently at Basile like he is doing the most interesting thing in the world, while in reality he is just struggling with cutting up some lemons.He doesn’t dare to let himself believe it, but it almost feels like Eliott is looking at him. Before he can dwell on that thought for too long, Basile is pressing a glass into his hands with some sort of brown liquid in it, and Daphne stands up to make an announcement, clasping her hands together. ‘Okay, everybody has got a drink, thank you Basile, so now let’s do something fun! How about… truth or dare?’ Yann groans a little bit but Arthur nods enthusiastically: ‘Could be fun!’  Lucas shrugs noncommittally, he doesn’t care what they do and honestly, he can use some distraction right now so he’ll take it. He takes a sip from his mystery drink and nearly spits it out.‘What the hell is in this shit?!’ he wipes his mouth with his sleeve and pushes the drink away as if it could attack him any minute now, and frankly he’s not convinced that it couldn’t. ‘It’s Sprite and Cognac with a hint of lemon! Come one, it’s good, no?!’ Lucas looks around the room and sees that he’s not the only one who is not into it. ‘Well, I mean, usually it’s made with slightly different ingredients, but I had to improvise a little bit’ Yann laughs and gets up: ‘Okay, more beer it is, then’  It’s not like they haven’t had enough to drink already, they’ve been hanging out since 19:00 and it’s nearing 22:00, everybody is getting to be pleasantly buzzed. ‘So,’ Lucas starts, gratefully accepting the two beers Yann gives him, one for Eliott, ‘truth or dare, right? Who starts?’ he hands the second beer to Eliott and their fingers brush, just for a second. He automatically glances up at him and is surprised to see him staring back with a look in his eyes that he can’t quite define. ‘I’ll start!’ Daphne’s voice shakes him out of his thoughts. ‘Manon, truth or dare?’ Manon looks like she is giving it a lot of thought, but Lucas isn’t buying it.‘Hmmmm. Let’s see… truth.’ ‘Very well, a slow start, I see. Okay. Last week I showed you a dress that I bought and you said it looked nice, did you really mean it?’ Suddenly, Lucas was very glad that he never had these kinds of conversations, because Daphne’s stare looked deadly. ‘What kind of question is that?’Poor Manon looked like a deer caught in headlights.‘Come on, Manon, you have to tell the truth!’ Emma teases, giving her a playful shove.‘Well, it might not be my favorite dress of yours…’ she starts carefully. ‘I knew it!’ Daphne looks partly triumphant and partly hurt, and Manon swiftly gives the spotlight away: ‘Uhm, Arthur, truth or dare?’ ‘Dare!’‘I dare you to drink that disgusting drink that Basile made, in one go’‘You can’t be serious’ ‘But I am’ ‘If I fall down, tell my moms that I love them’ The game goes on like this for a bit, and it’s fun. They joke around a lot and turn it into a drinking game. Every time someone has taken a turn, they have to take a shot of the cognac.

Soon enough, they are all a giggling mess, only taking dares instead of truths. First, Basile dares Arthur to kiss someone one the lips, and he goes for Alexia who is sitting next to him. Nobody is surprised. Then Alexia dares Basile to kiss Daphne for 5 whole seconds, because everybody knows he’s got a crush on her. Basile gets all flustered and does it. Daphne pretends to protest but Lucas thinks she secretly likes him back. ‘Daphy, your lipstick is a little smudged’ he jokes, looking at her with a grin on his face.Daphné smiles back but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, instead she is looking mischievously, like she’s coming up with something Big. He feels something in the pit of his stomach. This can’t be good.‘Lucas,’ she pauses for dramatic effect, makes sure everybody is paying attention, ‘I dare you, to kiss on the lips, for 10 seconds, Eliott Demaury’He knows his face is burning up, just like he knows that Eliott is looking at him again, expectantly. One thing the booze managed to do for sure is make him question absolutely everything. For example: when did Eliott move this close to him again? And why is he not moving away?He turns around, feeling excited at the prospect of finally getting to feel Eliott’s lips against his own, but also a bit sad because it’s all a game. It’s not real. ‘We don’t have to’ Eliott whispers it so softly that Lucas almost thinks he is imagining it. ‘No, we do’ he manages to whisper back, before he puts an unsure hand on Eliott’s waist to keep himself steady. He licks his lips subconsciously and sees Eliott’s eyes fall down and follow his move, a small blush on his face. How is he going to do this without freaking them both out? Leaning in at a slow pace, he closes his eyes just before their lips meet, in a futile attempt to calm his nerves. If he didn’t know any better, he could swear he hears a soft sigh leave Eliott’s lips as soon as Lucas’ mouth brushes his. Eliott’s lips feel nothing like he imagined and yet so much better than he ever dreamed of. Lucas can’t help but think that a kiss has never felt that natural for him before, like they were meant to be doing this the whole time. Eliott’s right hand hovers in the air for just a second before Yann says: ‘…8, 9, 10. That’s it, guys. Good sports’ Yann is the only person who knows about Lucas’ crush on Eliott, and he shoots him a grateful half smile when he sees the look in Yann’s eyes, a look that says he doesn’t know whether stopping them was a good thing of not. Honestly, Lucas doesn’t know either. His hand falls from Eliott’s waist way too late, but luckily Eliott doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t let it show. All of the sudden, the atmosphere has changed and the game is put on hold. A few people go for a smoke on the balcony, and the rest offers Yann to help clean the place up a bit. Before he knows what’s happening, Lucas and Eliott are alone in the living room. Even though he’s scared to look at him, he does it anyway. Eliott is playing with a loose thread or something in his lap and it’s making Lucas even more nervous than he already was, so he puts his hand on top of his to make him stop. Eliott stops moving and looks up at him, Lucas offers a wry smile:‘Sorry, your fidgeting was just a little bit too much to handle.’ He tries to pull his hand away again but Eliott captures his wrist. ‘I hope this didn’t make things weird or different between us now’‘No, don’t worry about it, Eliott. It was just a game’ As soon as the words fall out of his mouth, he knows that Eliott can tell he is lying.‘I mean. Do you wish I didn’t go through with it? Is that why you said we didn’t have to?’ he asks, just to have something to say and to hopefully distract Eliott enough to stop reading into things. Eliott shakes his head: ‘No, not at all. I do wish for something else, though’ Lucas waits for Eliott to continue talking, but Eliott stays quiet and lets his eyes wander over Lucas’ face, before they stop at his lips once more. This time, there is no mistaking it. Lucas takes a deep breath: ‘Oh yeah?’ he whispers, ‘what’s that?’ Eliott leans in and brushes a strand of hair out of Lucas’ face. The closer he gets, the faster Lucas’ heart starts beating in anticipation, like his body is aware of the fact that he is standing on a threshold and there is no turning back. This must be how people feel like when they are about to bungee jump, or skydive, or fall of a freaking cliff.Just before their lips meet, Eliott asks softly: ‘Is this okay?’ Lucas can’t answer fast enough: ‘Yes, please’ That’s all the encouragement Eliott seems to need, because Eliott is cupping his head and then they are kissing and it’s even better than before, Lucas’ arms have a mind of their own and have found their way back to Eliott’s waist. There’s more depth, like they are melting into each other, lips sliding to make room for one another, closer, closer, closer.When they finally break apart they both sound like they have run out of air. Lucas feels like he is dreaming.‘Well,’ he shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips, ‘that was unexpected’ Eliott tips their foreheads together and laughs a little.‘It just didn’t feel right to only kiss you for 10 seconds.’ ‘I felt the same. I feel the same.’ Lucas doesn’t think he has ever felt this good before, this happy, and he leans again. ‘Wait,’ Eliott is looking at him with some concern: ‘Maybe this isn’t the smartest idea right now, I mean, they could come back any minute now’ He gestures vaguely with his head to the kitchen area, but Lucas just shakes his head: ‘So what. Let them. I just found out that my best friend wants to be kissing me just as much as I want to be kissing him, I don’t care what anyone else thinks.’ ‘Me neither. I’m still wrapping my own head around the fact that you like me back, though, I don’t know if I am ready to explain it just yet to anybody else.’ ‘Fair enough. I can’t believe it either’ ‘You want to get out of here soon? I think the party is pretty much over anyway’‘Sure, where do you want to go to?’Eliott raises his eyebrows and smiles at him:‘You’ll see’ And that’s fine by Lucas, because he thinks that he would follow Eliott to the end of the world and back, if he has to.

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc II: Watt Outta Hell (12)

Chapter 12: We Meet Underworld Justice. Meaty, Crispy Underworld Justice

           One of the nice things about the First Circle is that since it’s for lesser sinners, they don’t punish you nearly as bad as they would in some of the other places. Take the poles F-Bomb and I found ourselves tied to, for instance. They had adjustable seating and a massage option, which I eagerly took advantage of. Real nice, considering the hall of condemnation we now found ourselves in looked like every heavy metal album cover ever made. But the weirdest thing of all was it reminded me of church, somehow. The whole place was just a very long , dark, edgy hallway covered in stained (though with what, I never found out) glass windows with a pulpit at the very end. Raposa settled her rear into this pulpit, while F-Bomb and I were put down in front of it, a pair of sinners put down before the Lord. Behind us, rows upon rows of underworld denizens were crying for our blood in every tongue imaginable. Though if our punishment was church, I did have one advantage: Miss Princess couldn’t make this place duller than Father McAllister’s sermons if she tried (thanks to that guy, I know more about cubits then I will ever care -or need- to know).

           Unfortunately, it was special moments when the luck of the Tostigs tended to bail on me, and being tied to a stake in front of a pulpit, with a grape juice swilling devil princess looking into your soul was one of them.

Having sucked the last ounce of delicious liquid from her sippy pouch, she raised the thing as if to make a toast, somehow hushing up everyone in the hall.

“Alright losers, listen up! These horrible souls have committed one of the greatest sins of the zeroth circle: Parking in the handicapped space without actually being handicapped!”

Once more, the crowd booed us.

“But believe it or not, I’m feeling generous today, so I’m gonna let these NERDS pick their own poison!” She turned to us (though more to me, since F-Bomb was still moping over sailor Woon’s betrayal) “Listen, kid, you have two options, you can either have the usual punishment we give people like you-“

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Pulling out your bones, pulverizing them in a blender, and feeding them to the homeless as protein shakes.”

I don’t know what my expression was at the time, but whatever it was, it made the Hell Princess smirk, revealing her rows of serrated teeth.

“Or, you can get a surprise punishment, as suggested by our live studio audience!” She gestured to the crowd, who proceeded to roar with applause.

I turned to my friend, hoping for guidance.

F-Bomb sighed “Just go for the forkin’ surprise. Half those forkin’ ballots are usually just plain forkin’  ‘torture’ ‘cause nobody here knows how to be forkin’ origional, anyway.”

I nodded in agreement “Yeah. Surprise us.”

“In that case… Stensa, bring me the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS!!!!”

The crowd roared as really bad wedding music began playing, followed by a devil that looked like a very ugly, hairless dog sauntering down the aisle with a skull in its paws. At least, I assumed they were paws. They looked like they’d been sharpened until they were pointy hand-spikes. When he reached the pulpit, I saw the head of the skull had been hollowed out, its’ noggin filled with folded pieces of paper. Raposa reached into this fishing her hand around in a way that reminded me all too much of the times Grandpa took me to bingo night.

“And the punishment is…” The music mercifully stopped, replaced by a drumroll that made my heart race.  

Silence. Raposa squinted at the paper, trying to read it.

“W-Were-“

“Werebacon.” The creature that called itself Stensa replied “It says Werebacon. Sorry the handwriting’s bad, but it’s kinda hard to do when you’ve only got stumps.” He showed them off.

For a brief moment, the crowd was no longer on F-Bomb, now staring down the helpless little devil.

“Stensa,” Raposa called, gesturing with a finger “Come here please.”

Shaking, the pathetic dog-thing stepped up to the podium. “Yes, your Unholiness- accckkk!”

The crowd watched in awe as Raposa chocked the demon using only a single hand. Some even took out their cameras to commemorate the event (or just get a spot on ‘Underworld’s Funniest Home Videos’).

“Stensaaa…,” Raposa began, her voice sounding way too much like A-Hole for it to be anything good “What did I tell you about putting joke requests in the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS!!!???”

Stensa tried to eke out an answer, but by that point his eyes had rolled back so far I could see where they attached to the skull.

Then Raposa’s face changed. It became all sharp and pointed, like it was made of glass shards. Poor Larry was being shaken around like a rubber chicken in an earthquake. “You do not put joke answers in the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS! I THOUGHT we went over this already! Also, don’t call me ‘Your Unholiness’ my name is Raposa, you moron!”

With one final snap of what I assumed was Larry’s neck bones, the dread princess tossed his body to the floor so hard it cracked on the tiles. But you want to know what he really crazy part was? Larry got up again, head still dangling limply from his neck, like it was nothing, and said

“I was going to say it wasn’t a joke answer. Werebacon’s a real thing. Bacon bitten by werewolves, I think. They sell it at Wegmart for 2.99 a pound.”

“AND HOW WOULD I KNOW THIS IS TRUE?!” Demanded the Hell Princess.

Larry shrugged “It’s called going to Wegmart? Dumba$$.”

And that’s how we got a fifteen minute recess while Raposa went to check this stuff out. Since everyone went outside, taking bets on whether she would actually find the werebacon or not, that meant it was just F-Bomb and I in the hall. All was quiet, save for the soft rumbling of my stake, which I’d set to ‘massage’.

Then, out of nowhere “Well, now forkin’ what?”

I looked around to see where the voice had come from.

I shrugged, or tried to.  “Well, who knows, if those anime you’ve made me watch has taught me anything, maybe we’ll unlock some secret superpower to save our butts at the last minute.”

F-Bomb smiled a bit at that.

“Well, at least you’ve been learning, Watter-chan.”

“And as a matter of fact, I think I feel a new power coming in…NOW!”

A great force surged through me before coming out as a weak toot from my behind.

Just like that, F-Bomb got all sullen again.

“Whelp. We are FORKED.”

“But you can bet your toe claws we aren’t going down without a fight!”

.   .   .

As if on cue, in walked Raposa and her posse of subjects. In her hand she carried a reusable shopping bag made of flayed human skin.

“Hey guys, guess who just brought home the bacon?!”

“Uhh…you did?”

The Hell Princess smiled at me, flashing her serrated teeth. “If that was you trying to be funny, then you failed miserably and you should feel bad.” She took out the the demonic delicacy. “Now, prepare to DIE!”

“But we’re already-“

“It’s an expression, nerd! And just for that, prepare to ULTRA die!”

“What’s that even-“

“Turd,” F-Bomb hissed “please just shut the fork up for one forkin’ second. I’m not exactly in the mood to get SUPER MEGA ULTRA killed.”

           From there, Raposa and company wasted no time. With the press of a button the whole place rumbled, the ground beneath F-Bomb and I sinking lower and lower until we were stuck in the bottom of a funnel-like pit, kind of like the ones where Romans fed their prisoners to lions. On the rim of the pit, glareing down at us fierce, the crowd was going crazy, chanting “EAT THEM! EAT THEM! EAT THEM!” while punk rock with a lot of brass in it blared loud enough to make my ears explode. For some reason, this reminded me of the time my parents took me roller skating. Maybe it was the flashing strobe lights.

           Moments later Raposa stood on the edge of the pit, wearing a black and white referee shirt and carrying a microphone in one hand. “Hellspawn and gentledemons!” She clamored, her voice so loud even at the bottom of the lit I could hear it clearly. “Are you itching for a fight?”

She paused, just long enough for the crowd to holler their all too enthusiastic response.

“’Cause boy do we have about tonight! On the left side of the arena we have the dastardly duo, the irredeemable of irredeemables, Mr. WEENIE AND WEENIE HUT JR!”

Cue the crowd booing and throwing Dora the Explorer DVD box sets at our heads.

“And on the other side, the greatest breakfast meat in this underworld, this continent, I daresay even this universe… WEREBAAAACCCCOOOONNNNN!”

She threw it, still in the package, into the pit, where it hit the ground with a hearty SLAP!

The crowd, as expected, went so nuts they literally started turning into peanuts, which the other demons tore apart and began eating. Despite having not eaten in a few days, I wasn’t really jealous of them. If communion at church taught me anything, it was that drinking a guy’s blood and eating his flesh was a very overrated experience.

“Hey!” I screamed, trying to buy us time “C-couldn’t you at least cook it first? I don’t want to die by raw bacon!”

Amazingly, Raposa somehow heard me over everything else that was going on. “Oh, we’ll cook it alright… in unhallowed moonlight!”

           A disco ball the size of the Hell Princess’ ego was lowered into the arena, its’ sparling light nearly blinding me. Slowly, but them more quickly, I could see the bacon begin to change. Something on the inside pushed and shoved against its’ plastic prison, struggling to get out, like a bag of popcorn in the microwave. And if microwave popcorn has taught me anything, it’s that once the package explodes, things go downhill fast. (Then again, this was at a time when I thought you didn’t take popcorn bags out of the plastic before microwaving them.)

“Couldn’t you at least untie us?!” I pleaded, giving my best puppy dog eyes.

“Suck it, NERD!”

And wouldn’t you know it, that was it! You see, I’ve always been a twig my whole life, and with the competition and being cast in the woods and all, I didn’t exactly have the time to eat stuff. So all it took was one suck of my guts and I slipped out of my ropes. Followed up with a slash of the old toe claws,  F-Bomb was free, too. Meanwhile, the package had swollen  tall as I was and still the werebacon couldn’t escape.

“Oh, screw it!” Hollered Raposa. With one well-placed toss, a pair of the sharpest scissors I’ve ever seen sliced right through the plastic packaging, sticking in the Earth with a Tong! From there, the werebacon burst out, looking furry and crispy and horribly overcooked.

“So, uh, any ideas?” I asked F-Bomb.

“Well, we could always run for our lives.”

I shrugged. It was as good an idea as any.

[the-walking-memelords]

Our History

A Co-Written story by me and @journalofthedead

Rated: T

Pairings: Louis/Aasim

Word Count: 5339

An assortment of entries from Aasim's history book since the beginning of the apocalypse.

Read it on Ao3!

Year 1, Mid Summer

Something weird happened today. 

We were in math class working on the sheets Mr. McKenna gave us when in the middle of it he told us all we had to go back to our dorms. I looked at Jasper and she just shrugged. 

When we walked across the campus it was like every kid in school was out there. I lost Jasper in the crowd, so I just found my way back to my dorm on my own.

It’s been hours and no one is allowed to leave the dormitory buildings, so I went to the common room to see if anyone knew what was happening. A few teachers are practically guarding all the exits and Louis said when he went to ask about dinner they just told him to go back and wait.

People are saying it’s a lockdown drill or the real thing, but this isn’t anything like the drills we’ve had before.

I’m scared.

Year 1, Mid Summer 

I woke up really hungry. They never let us eat dinner last night, so hopefully, they’ll make up for it with breakfast.

They’re all gone. All the teachers. I’ve asked everyone I could find and no one has seen anyone. Most of the kids took this as an opportunity to bolt, but thankfully Louis is still here. Jasper stuck around as well, so did the twins, their brother, and Violet, and a bunch of others. There used to be over a hundred kids here, now there’s only about thirty.

We found one teacher, or well, a nurse. Ms. Martin seems to be the only one still here. She said there’s something happening in the cities and the other staff went to check on family since no calls are getting through. She says they’ll come back, but who knows.

Louis, Marlon and I snuck into the headmaster’s office. Lou’s been dialling the phone for hours trying to call his mom but nothing’s going through. Maybe she’ll come to get him. I wonder if she’d take me too, I don’t think my dad would care. 

Year 1, Mid Summer

The power went out today and Ms. Martin couldn’t figure out why. Doesn’t surprise me though, she’s a nurse, not a maintenance woman. I suppose all we can do is wait and see if it comes back on.

No one’s come back yet. Not staff. No parents. No one. Everyone is on edge and a few of them want to go out and see what’s happening in the nearby town. Ms. Martin’s going to have one hell of a time keeping everyone here.

Someone came to the gate this afternoon. No one any of us knew, just some random guy. He looked gross all his clothes were covered in mud. Ms. Martin told us all to stay back which was fine by me cause I didn’t want to get anywhere near that guy anyway. He was banging on the gate and the way he spoke… it wasn’t even like words… just animal noises almost.

Jasper… Jasper’s dead. That man killed her. 

She kept trying to talk to him… something about him being hurt I think she said. 

Ms. Martin tried to stop her but she just wanted to help him… and when she opened the gate he just jumped on her. I didn’t see exactly what happened next. I just… couldn’t watch. I closed my eyes and covered my ears but I could still hear all the screaming. Jasper’s and everyone else’s. 

I don’t remember what happened after that. I’m in my room now. Louis is on the other bunk leaning against the wall. He’s quiet for once, which isn’t good. “She didn’t make it.” was all he had to say. I don’t know what to say or if I can even say anything. I’m still shaking so much. My face is wet so I know I’ve been crying. 

Maybe if I go to sleep I’ll wake up from this nightmare.

Year 1, Late Summer

I didn’t understand what was going on at first, I thought it was a hoax… Some sick game, but that changed when Erin was bitten, no one knew… We were walking back to the dorms together, Erin was acting so weird. “Are you alright?” I asked her, hoping to get an honest genuine reply. Erin didn’t respond to me, she just went into her room and shut the door quietly behind her.  

Later that evening, Ms. Martin asked me to go check on Erin. She didn’t show up for dinner, some were more worried than the others, Erin and I weren’t close but we still talked. I knocked gently on her door, not wanting to upset her even more. Silence filled the hallway before there was a dull thud inside the room. 

“Erin?” I called, knocking a bit harder this time. I didn’t know what was going on, at the time I thought she fell. That wasn’t the case of course, without thinking I twisted the knob, surprised that it wasn’t locked. 

I took a breath and walked in. 

“Erin?” I called again, looking around the darkroom. Where was she?  The sounds of growling and snarling made the hairs on the back of my neck raise, I looked to my left and gasped loudly.  Erin’s blonde hair was dull, falling out of her bun, her blue-rimmed glasses laid on the ground. The most shocking thing was her eyes, the light green eyes that used to shine with life were now dull and pale, almost white. 

She became one of those things we’ve been seeing in the woods. One of those things that killed Jasper. I slammed the door shut before she got to me and I heard her pounding on the other side. I just ran to Ms. Martin. 

You have to go for the head… that’s what we’ve figured out… but I didn’t want to be the one to kill her.

We’re all going to sleep in the Admin Building tonight.

Year 1, Early Fall

Ms. Martin died today. She sacrificed herself to save us…  I didn’t know how to really feel, a part of me felt guilty, I could’ve done something, but I listened to what she told us, get the others and get out of there. During her funeral all I could think about was the what if’s, Ruby tried to talk some sense into me and pull me out of my funk, all I felt was guilt though.  

Year 1, Early Fall

One day later, Louis confronts me in our shared room. “What is it?” I grumbled at him, at the time I didn’t really want to talk to anyone. Louis gave me a look, something about that look he gave me stopped me in my tracks. I oddly felt warm and safe in his presence, it was a bit annoying but I felt at peace at that moment. 

“You need to snap out of it,” Louis told me, crossing his arms.  I was surprised at his behaviour, Louis was never this serious. I liked this serious side of him and I wasn’t going to admit that to anyone.  I left the room today with Louis, the conversation we had while walking outside was one I would always remember.  

I think Louis and I became really close friends today, even though Louis can be a bit much at times. I find his company to be nice, something I want to keep around. 

Year 1, Mid Winter

It’s so fucking cold! 

Yet again it seems like I’m the only one that cares about having enough food for this school! Marlon doesn’t know what he’s doing!  He calls himself a good leader? I think he’s full of shit, I mean we should be out there hunting and making traps.  Marlon doesn’t get it, this snow will only get heavier and it will get colder. 

Louis isn’t helping either, he keeps throwing shit at me and I really want to throat punch him.  How is that I’m the sensible one here? Sometimes I wonder why I wasn’t made the leader? Not to toot my own horn, I’m definitely a better leader than the rat and by the rat I mean Marlon.

The food supply is getting low, tracks are getting covered by the snowfall. I can’t help but feel restless, we needed food to survive.  Marlon needed to get his ass in gear, open his eyes to see that this plan of his isn’t working and that he needed to do better if we wanted to survive the winter. 

Year 1, Mid Winter

We brought back a decent amount of food today from the hunt this afternoon, Marlon actually listened to one of my plans. I was shocked when he listened, I for one didn’t expect him to listen to me at all. My shock only grew even more as I was heading out with Mitch and Brody to go hunt. 

It felt good to be listened to for once, the look of pride on Louis’ face that day made me a bit giddy. (Still not telling a soul about that either.)  

The look on Omar’s face was priceless, I’ve never seen him so happy to cook something warm. Dinner was amazing tonight, Omar is a god when it came down to cooking.  It made me wonder though, why was Omar sent to this school again?  Whatever, that's a story for another day, well maybe. Who knows? Maybe Omar will tell us? Maybe not.  

Year 2, Early Spring

I guess the one good thing about the entire forest being turned into a giant mud pit is that the animals are easier to track. I have to give Louis credit for his snares since they do a pretty good job catching rabbits. If only he’d kill them himself instead of making me do it though, I hate it as much as he does but we’ve gotta eat after all.

One of the many bad things about the entire forest being turned into a giant mud pit is that it’s slippery as shit and Louis would rather laugh at me than help me up.

Year 2, Mid Summer

A big thunderstorm stopped us from hunting today. I should be disappointed, but I’m not. I feel so calm, the sounds of the beating rain against the windows made me smile.  Before I was sent here, I would sneak outside and just watch the rain.

My parents thought I was weird for doing this. I didn’t care what they thought of me, it wasn’t like they paid much attention to me anyway.  I have this hate for them, I know I’m probably acting like a child but I don’t care. 

They left me here. I hope karma bites them in the ass. 

Year 2, Late Summer

The nightmares came back. They were worse this time around, it’s gotten to the point that I am afraid to fall asleep at night. I knew Louis was worried about me I could see it on his dumb face, though it felt nice to have someone worry about you. 

“I miss cartoons,” Louis told me when I woke up in a hurry. That threw me off, normally I would give a snarky come back to his banter. This time I actually let him ramble on, it was comforting to hear him just… Talk. 

I hope that one day I could have his enthusiasm. 

Okay, that’s a lie. I honestly do not think I could handle being that enthusiastic about everything. It makes me wonder though, how does Louis hold this much energy? 

Year 3, Mid Summer

Louis made a weapon today. Oddly enough it’s a chair leg, named Chairles. Louis has quite the imagination when it comes to anything and everything, I like that about Louis, despite that it’s pretty weird to name your weapon, but who am I to judge? 

'Chairles' is a chair leg, out of all weapons he could make. Louis chooses a chair leg. Though I have to admit, Chairles suits him, Louis seems comfortable with the weapon and I'm not lying when I say Louis has a good swing.

I’ll stick with my bow, I’ve gotten better with my aim. 

Year 4, Mid Summer

It’s been a while since my last entry, a long while. I’ve been thinking about my sisters lately. I miss them. Every little thing reminds me of them, I haven’t been sleeping much because of this.  When I close my eyes, I see them. The dreams happen quickly, but I remember every painful detail about my vivid dreams. 

First I was sitting under a tree with them, the big oak tree that was in the middle of the park by our house. We were laughing about some stupid joke, then the scene changed to something bloody. My sisters smiling faces turned to horror and pain, all that blood, it was like I was frozen. I couldn’t help them, I just stood there, watching as walkers tore them apart. I tried to help them, but it was too late.  

I’m so tired. Afraid to sleep. I don’t want to have the same nightmare again. 

Why can’t I just have some peaceful sleep? 

Year 4, Mid Summer

It’s been five days since I’ve gotten any sleep. Everything around me is hazy and muffled. Ruby says I need to rest, but I have to work. I can’t sit out for a day and I really don’t need Marlon on my ass again. 

Breakfast is almost ready. 

The smell is making my stomach churn. My headache is getting worse too. 

What’s going on…

Year 4, Late Summer

Louis has been stern with my sleeping schedule. It can get aggravating at times, but who am I to complain? I haven’t been taking care of myself so Louis stepped in to smack some sense into me.  Though I am thankful. I lost myself, all because of those damn nightmares. 

"You need to keep your head up high." 

Louis tells me every morning, I thought I would find it annoying by now. Though I didn't, his words were comforting and I used them, every day. 

Louis will never know. 

I don't need to be teased relentlessly, again.

Year 5, Late Summer

The traps have been getting emptier and emptier over the last couple weeks. I don’t know if the rabbits are getting smarter or the walkers are eating them before we get the chance.

I caught myself staring at the firepit last night. It’s not good. I don’t want to fall back onto old habits. Sometimes if I can’t sleep I find myself fiddling with my matchbook. I’ve been able to stop myself from lighting one, but it’s getting really tempting lately. Matches are too important to just throw away.

Maybe I could ask Louis to just hold onto them for me. I don’t want him to worry though. The school’s old psychologist said I’d been “Cured” and wanted to send me home. I don’t want Lou to think I’m turning back into some crazy pyromaniac on the verge of burning down the school.

I just need to get a hold of myself.

Year 5, Late Summer

I broke. I lit one of the matches.

I watched the small flame flicker down the wooden stick until it burnt the tips of my fingers. I dropped it on the floor and stomped on it but now there’s a small black scorch mark by the side of my bunk.

I hope no one notices it.

Year 5, Early Fall

I fucked up.

I fucked up so fucking bad.

I’m not sure what came over me, to be honest, I don't entirely remember what happened. I think I just had too many bad days lately. This is all my fault, preaching how we need to work as a group and then isolating myself like this and now…

Tennessee might not make it.

I’m locked in my room right now because the twins have a hard time looking at me without attacking me. Totally justifiable, I’m just as disgusted and angry with me as they are.

It was dark out, and I remember it was cold. I couldn’t sleep so I went walking around the school. I was in the art room. Dust covered easels and dried up paint all over the place. It was so cold, unusual for so early, the leaves had barely changed colour. I either couldn’t or just didn’t think

I lit a fire.

Small, paper scraps and paintbrushes in an old clay bowl on the table. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I began to stick things into the flames and just fuck around.

I didn’t even know Tenn was in there. Maybe he couldn’t sleep and went hunting for art supplies or something I don’t know.

“Aasim?” His sudden voice scared the hell out of me and I dropped a flaming ruler on the ground. The thing nearly set my pants on fire on the way down but I jumped away.

Watching the debris on the floor quickly catch is where things begin to get hazy again. I got out fine. My throat is scratchy from the smoke but that's nothing compared to the poor kid. I didn’t get a good look at him but I could smell it. Burns all on the side of his head. Ruby and the twins are with him right now, but she isn't a doctor. 

I wonder if they’ll kick me out if he dies, or kick me out anyways. I’ll go if that's what they want. Louis hasn’t come by our room yet, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hates me too.

Year 6, Early Fall

Hunting has been stressful lately. Louis has been sick for the past week, leaving me hunting with Marlon. Oh, the joy.

Not.

I can't stress enough how annoying Marlon is, not only that he is an egotistical asshole. There isn't a time where I don't want to punch Marlon in the throat.

Why is the leader? He has no leadership skills or qualities. Marlon is going to get himself killed one day and it wouldn't surprise me one bit.

Marlon is an idiot. How could Louis be friends with that? 

Seriously. Marlon can fuck off. Twat. 

Year 6, Mid Fall

Hunting has been better. I had Louis back with me, I could actually smile again without having thoughts of killing a boy that looked like a road kill rat. 

I never really thought that I would miss hunting with Louis this much. But I did. That damn smile…

What am I saying?

Anyway. 

Hunting has been better, we managed to snag a buck and a few rabbits. It should  last us for a while.

That's all I hope for. Among other things. 

As long as I don't have to hunt with fucking Marlon again. 

Year 7, Early Fall

Minerva and Sophie died today. They went scouting past the Safe Zone with Marlon and Brody and were killed by walkers. Violet and Tennessee went back to their dorms and won't talk to anyone, but you can hear the crying echoing off the walls. I tried talking to Louis but he's acting distant. He won't even talk to Marlon. I don't blame him, he and Minerva were close.

I just hope he knows I'm here for him.

Year 7, Mid Summer

I found Louis in the music room today, hardly a surprise since he practically lives at that piano bench. He was playing, but it wasn't really a song. It sounded like he was just randomly pressing keys. Broken melody fragments. Reminded me of what he sounded like when he was first learning. He didn't look at me when I walked in, so I figured I'd just find the book I was looking for and give him some space.

He called my name just as I passed him, and started playing an actual song. It was a nursery rhyme. Literally just "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," He asked me to guess the name and of course, I got it right, so he played another. Eventually moved on to some classical pieces and a few I remembered hearing on the radio as a kid. I guessed… most of the names right.

It's a game we've played often. He plays and I guess. I've gotten better over the years, he tends to play a few of his favourites over so I've memorized a lot of them.

It's nice to hear him play for me again. The school is mostly moving on from what happened to the twins, and it's nice to see this dork smile again.

Year 8, Late Summer

I don't know who's the bigger idiot, Louis, or me. We're out alone in the middle of the woods trying to find some dinner and he just blurts out: "So, 'Sim. You got a crush on anyone?" 

What kind of fucking question is that? And of course, because I'm a dumbass, I panicked and said "Ruby"

I'm not going to live this down, am I?

It's not like I could have said it was him, right?

Year 8, Early Fall

Marlon brought two newcomers to the school today. A girl our age and a little boy. She's capable, at least. The new girl helped the hunting party come back. I fucked up and almost got myself killed but she saved my life. 

Louis has been hovering over her since she woke up. Just flirting, non-stop. She's definitely going to end up stabbing him.

Also, the kid is really nosey and the girl is an enabler.

Year 8, Early Fall

Marlon sent the new people -Clementine and AJ- with Louis and me to hunt this morning. I went ahead by myself the first chance I got, I couldn't stand listening to him try to woo her. Even out of earshot it was all I could think of. I was so distracted I only bagged one rabbit.

Goddammit, Louis.

Louis took the new people to the fishing shack to see if Violet and Brody had any luck catching anything, but only Brody came back. She said someone broke into the shack and stole a bunch of our stuff. She was freaking out but Marlon wouldn't have any of it. I wish he wouldn't brush these things off.

The sunset and the others aren't back yet. I volunteered to go looking for them but Marlon wouldn't let me. Brody said they stayed behind to find more food, but it's been so long. I'm worried. I decided to write this now to distract myself, but I can hardly sit still. I hope Louis is alright. I'm starting to feel sick.

Everyone came back alright, and with a shit ton of food. They went outside the Safe Zone to a walker-infested train station to steal it. It was stupid, but it paid off I guess. Louis kept telling me he was fine but I still felt frustrated. It's too quiet when he isn't around.

Year 8, Early Fall

Marlon and Brody died last night. It turns out Minnie and Sophie's deaths weren't an accident, Marlon gave them away to some group so that he could live, and killed Brody when she couldn't stay quiet anymore. He lied to us saying Clementine killed her, but Louis got between them.

Marlon dropped the gun, but AJ snuck up behind him and shot him.

I helped Louis dig the grave. It wasn't easy, we had to use bowls to dig and the rain was pouring. He was shaking so much he could barely make a dent in the ground. I left the rest of the work to the others, taking Lou inside to dry off.  It's been almost an hour since Clementine and AJ were kicked out, they should’ve stayed, Clementine was smart and knew how to survive in this hellish world. 

“Louis,” I said to him, sitting down next to him on one of the beds in our room.  Louis was too quiet, I didn’t like it… It was so unlike him. I wanted him to smile again. 

Louis did something I wasn't expecting tonight. Louis slowly looked up at me before wrapping his arms around my waist tightly, laying us both back on the bed. I was surprised… Though I felt warm and safe, it's been a small secret of mine but I longed to be held by Louis. 

THAT IS NOT THE POINT OF THIS ENTRY!

I never expected to see Louis break down, I didn't mind that he squeezed me tight while he cried. I just wanted him better.  

Year 8, Early Fall

Clementine and AJ came back.

AJ wasn't looking so good, Clementine told us that he was shot. I felt bad for the kid. Though as of right now, my main concern is what we have to prepare for. I'm not telling anyone this, but I'm afraid.

What if we all end up dying? All this stress is making an old urge of mine come back. I'm scared, everyone is even Louis.

What if I lose him?

I can't lose him… I just can't.

Maybe I should talk to him? Tell him how I feel? I don’t know what to do anymore. Maybe it’s for the best that I keep my feelings for him a secret? This fight for our lives is more important than anything else at the moment, we need to be prepared and focused on what’s going to come.  Louis did mention that he needs some help with his aim, I guess I could show him the ropes. 

Year 8, Early Fall

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

Louis kissed me! We kissed! Yeah, it was a dare, but I didn’t expect him to go through with the dare.  It felt so surreal during the card game, I for one thought I was going to end up having the lowest. Turns out that it was Louis that had the lowest, Louis picked dare, of course, he never backs down from a dare.

He was given a choice: Kiss me or kiss a walker's head.  He chose to kiss me. When Louis leaned over and kissed me, it felt so surreal, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close. When I kissed back, it felt so real, so nice…

I sound like a lovesick teenager... 

He cupped my face, gave me that smile of his and closed his eyes and leaned in.  When our lips met, I closed my eyes and slowly returned it, resting my hands on his shoulders. I don’t even know if the kiss meant anything to Louis, it probably didn’t… Part of me wishes it did. 

Maybe I’m overthinking this. I mean, Louis has feelings for Clementine. At least I think so. 

Year 8, Early Fall

I’m so sorry, Aasim. 

Fuck. I could’ve done something! I let you be taken… 

I feel like a fucking failure. I shouldn’t even be writing in your journal right now, but here I am. Sorry in advance Aasim, when we save you and the others, you can totally rip my entries out. 

Year 8, Early Fall

I’m sorry ‘Sim. I went down into the basement where we’re keeping that creepy one-armed guy and well, he was sort-of awake. I looked at him and I felt so angry. I wanted to hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt us, hurt you, but I couldn’t do it. He and his people are the reason it’s me writing in this book right now and not you.

I hope it’s not me writing the final entries.

Anyways, I keep rereading the things you’ve written about me over the years. It makes me feel giddy and guilty at the same time. I just want you to know that if you and I both live through this raider bullshit, 

The next time I kiss you won’t be the result of a dare.

Year 8, Early Fall

Abel talked enough before he puked out his internal organs. (Remind me never to fuck with Clementine) We know where you are, and we have a plan.

I’m coming for you, Aasim, just hang on a little longer.

Year 8, Early Fall

We did it.

Holy fuck. 

We’re back.

All of those raiders are dead. I… I killed one of them. I’ve never killed someone before. It feels strange and gross. Like bile, or a scream that doesn’t know if it should or not. I think of that woman’s face as I shot that arrow through her mouth and I just… I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I feel bad, I think. I think of her, and then I think of you. 

You probably think you’re still on the boat right now. You were out when we found you, covered in blood and the smell of burnt flesh was everywhere. I kept calling your name but you didn’t wake up the whole way back.

You gotta hang on, Aasim. I can’t lose you too.

Minnie’s dead. Tenn’s dead. Mitch is dead. Clementine is dying and maybe so are you and I don’t know what to do anymore so I’m sitting here with your book wondering if I’ll have to decide whether or not to bury you with it while Ruby tries to treat the burns on your back and patch up Clementine’s missing leg and hope neither of you turn.

 Year 8, Mid Fall

So, I’m back. 

I just read all of Louis’ entries. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about this book the last couple weeks, I didn’t even notice it was gone. Louis must have had it this whole time. He’s been by my side ever since the boat, but today when I woke up he was gone and this was on the dresser.

Everything hurts. Both my back from that explosion and my head from trying to figure out what I’m going to do now.

I can't help it, but I feel a bit giddy that he feels the same. Yet I am afraid. 

Afraid that I could lose him to anything out there. 

Maybe I should rest some more before talking to him. 

Year 8, Mid Fall.

That's it. 

I'm talking to him.

I need to. 

I have to.

I'm driving myself crazy just sitting here and thinking about it.

Now to find him.

Year 8, Mid Fall. 

We are dating now. 

I was so nervous when I found Louis, he was playing the piano. I stood by the door and watched him play for the longest time, thinking over the ways to approach him, though it was like I couldn’t move. I was in some type of trance that was keeping me there and not letting me free.  Then he stopped playing, he smiled once and looked over at me. His eyes filled with some sort of relief and he stood up, quickly making his way over to me. 

I threw myself into his arms almost instantly, not even waiting for him to stop walking. I didn’t care that the fast movements hurt my burnt up back, I just wanted to be in his arms. 

“Woah. Be careful.”  Louis chuckled. I really missed the sound of his laugh. I missed everything. 

“Shut up. I missed you.” I told him, but I frowned when Louis gently moved me back, looking me in the eyes. 

“You read my entries, didn’t you?” His question was soft and serious, like he was afraid or something.  

I just smiled at him and slowly nodded, leaning into his touch when he cupped my cheek. We didn’t say a word as we stared at each other, it was like we knew what each other was thinking but didn’t make a move to initiate anything. 

“Well, Romeo? Gonna kiss me or not?” I whispered to him, breaking the sweet silence between us. Louis only chuckled and brought our lips together into a sweet, yet slow kiss. 

It was better than the last kiss, and he asked me out right after.  

I sound a sap. 

But I don’t really care.  

[mayquita]

Kiss Me Even If You Hate Me (2/?)

I’d like to apologize in the first place to Kers, @chloeswans since this was Secret Santa gift and until now she had only got the first part. Originally, this fic was only going to have three chapters, but, it seems that it won’t be like that anymore ... Considering how slow I’m writing maybe when this story reaches the Christmas part, we will be actually celebrating Christmas... Anyway, I hope you like it.

Summary: Killian’s faithful companion, his cat Roger, has a special inclination for sneaking into his neighbor’s apartment. The problem? She is allergic to cats. And she hates him. But what will happen when Killian offers her to be part of a crazy plan?

Ao3 / FFnet Chapter 1

This is unbeta’s so all the many mistakes are mine. @saraswans Thank you as always, for believing in me and my writing and pushing me to continue doing it.

Killian saw Emma again the very next day, when he returned home from work. Trusting that their tentative approach from the previous day would have served to smooth things over between them, he dared to joke with her, using the term girlfriend to address her. The glare Emma directed at him had the immediate effect of erasing from his lips the grin that had accompanied his words, sending them back to the starting point. Or even further.

Luckily for him, Killian barely saw Emma in the next few days, so he almost managed to forget about their crazy plan and continue with his normal life, only the tiniest vestige of their kiss lingering on his lips. That memory only came to haunt him at night, in the solitude of his bedroom, while his mind recreated the moment and his brain created wild fantasies from the damn kiss. The fact that he was aware that she was probably lying in bed on the other side of the wall did not help keep his unbridled imagination at bay.

Their brief interactions had been limited to some small gesture of the head in acknowledgment or greeting and the exchange of a couple of words, maintaining a civil behavior, enough to not feed his fantasies.

Little he would have imagined that their relationship was about to take a new turn, and that, once again, his brother, or rather his entire family, would be the ones to blame. Killian should have known better. He should have suspected that the brief interrogation of his brother when he found out that Killian had a (fake) girlfriend would be just the prelude to the barrage he was subjected to the next time he saw his family.

He barely had time to enter the door of his brother's flat for their traditional Sunday lunch, when he was cornered by his sister-in-law Elsa and her sister Anna who didn't hesitate to let him know, maybe too enthusiastically, how they felt after hearing the news. "We're so happy for you", "Tell us everything!", "How could you keep the secret for so long?" Elsa was more moderate, but Anna's continuous stream of words caused him to feel an incipient headache coming on.

He tried to keep his composure, responding in monosyllables or with just a movement of his head, while suppressing the impulse to get out and lock himself in his apartment. He forced himself to remember the reason he was carrying out the bloody plan. It would always be preferable to see his family happy and excited, with wide smiles and a glimmer of anticipation — or maybe hope— in their eyes, instead of the scrutiny to which he was subjected at times, the melancholy smiles and the looks of concern at best, or charged with compassion at worst.

Even so, he couldn't stop a thought from wandering in his head, a reminder that those smiles of joy for him would have an expiration date, that this farce would end sooner or later and that he was a bastard and a coward for lying to his family in something so important instead of facing his demons once and for all.

Just as a wave of guilt approached, threatening to overwhelm him, he peered at his niece Olivia, and, showing off his cowardice, he slipped away and sought refuge in his niece and the rest of the children, trusting to distract his mind for a while by entertaining the children and allowing himself to be absorbed by their incessant energy and their contagious laughter.

Luck continued to accompany him during lunchtime as his family's interest in his love life was forgotten, adults too busy trying to make sure their children ingested the food instead of using it as throwing weapons in the pitched battle that the little rascals had organized around the table.

These meals were always a bit wild, several conversations interspersed among adults, children screaming or fighting with their siblings or cousins — Anna and her husband Kristoff also had two small boys —spilled glasses, food dropped on the floor... Maybe the majority of single adults in their thirties would try to evade being part of this kind of messy events, but there was something appealing in the midst of such craziness, and it was the feeling of belonging, of being part of something that had been denied to all of them for a long time. He was able now to enjoy the warmth of a family and get carried away by the desire to live so contagious that the children gave off, getting his mood always improve even though he ended the evening with a headache caused by such irrepressible and noisy energy.

What Killian hadn't counted on was that calm came always after the storm. Once they finished lunch, the younger children went for a nap while his niece Olivia and Josh, the eldest son of Anna and Kristoff were entertained with a movie, which left the adults a quiet moment to chat peacefully. Just what Killian didn't need at all.

He didn't even have time to take a sip of his coffee when the inquiry began. Killian had no choice but to arm himself with patience and rely on his ability to improvise, while cursing inwardly for not having prepared some answers in advance. What the hell was he thinking?

"Well, little brother, I believe you have something to tell us. Don't think that I haven't realized how you've slipped away before." Elsa was the first to speak, while giving him an expectant look.

"It's younger. In law." Killian pointed before letting out an exaggerated sigh, not hiding his irritation at the way Elsa was addressing him. He already had enough with his bloody brother, thank you very much. Elsa simply rolled her eyes and then raised an eyebrow, as an indication that she was waiting for an answer. "I suppose your husband has already informed you of everything there is to know. I've been seeing someone for three months. She has been invited to spend the holidays with us and she has accepted. End of the story."

"End of the story? Not at all, not when we don’t even know the beginning. We want details, Killy.” Anna almost bounced excitedly in her seat.

Killian hated that Anna used that term of endearment with him, just as his sister-in-law had ended up emulating his husband and used the term "little brother" more often than not, something that made him almost cringe. He was aware that it was an affectionate term but it did nothing to mitigate that feeling of being like a small child who had to be cared for.

Hi did not have the slightest desire to expand his explanations, but Elsa didn't even give him time to reply, continuing with the interrogation, to his dismay. "Yes! We want to know everything, such as her identity. Are you dating your neighbor, the blonde girl? I think we've met her in the hallway once, she seems nice."

Nice... He wouldn't describe Emma as a nice person, but rather a bit of a badass, at least with him, but that was part of her appeal, wasn't it? She was tough, enigmatic and at the same time stunning... He noticed how his cheeks began to burn, while a warm sensation spread through his body. Stop! He needed to stop imagining Emma and focus on the conversation if he didn't want to embarrass himself and look like a schoolboy with his first crush.

"Aye, Emma has been my neighbor for several months. Something else?"

"Of course, we want to know how it all began. Tell us and give us some juicy detail." Anna insisted as she rubbed her hands together causing him to roll his eyes while her husband snorted. After letting out a sigh of resignation, he began to tell their story.

"It was Roger's fault. He slipped into her apartment and she's allergic to cats. She didn't take it well and let's say the relationship didn't get off to a good start, but then things seem to have turned out just fine."

"Oh, an enemies to lovers story, isn't that cute?" Anna grinned at him. "And with a kitten involved. It's like a romantic novel, isn't it?" He repressed the impulse to raise his gaze to the ceiling begging for mercy. Little did he know that his particular ordeal had only just begun.

From there on, the two women of the family began to ask him more specific questions related to both Emma and their relationship, to which he had no choice but to seek improvised answers, while making a mental note in a desperate attempt to remember all that information for the future.

"What's her favorite color?"

Who cares?  "Yellow." The image of her yellow beetle parked always occupying the best spot just in front of their block of flats came to mind.

"Have you met her family yet?"

"She doesn't have any close relatives." He only remembered a tall brunette woman visiting her flat. Which led him to wonder what was the true story of Emma Swan. She always seemed a lonely woman. Maybe she also had a traumatic past? For some reason that possibility caused a strange sensation to settle in the pit of his stomach. He would have to ask her at some point if he wanted this farce to succeed.

"Is she addicted to TV shows like you?"

He couldn't suppress an incipient smile appearing on his face before answering, "Oh yes." Of that, he was sure. The wall that separated the two apartments was so thin that he only need to remain silent to listen to what was happening on the other side. He could confirm that she spent hours in front of the television.

"Do you share musical tastes?"

Hell no. "No." He was more into the rock bands of the 80s and 90s while she kept listening to Ed Sheeran at full volume. He was sure that she did it on purpose, as a sophisticated and subtle method of psychological torture.

Something came to his mind right then. He found it a bit contradictory and at the same time quite interesting that a person as tough as Emma had a soft side at least in terms of music. He took another mental note with the goal of teasing her about that matter at the first moment he had a chance.

The interrogation continued for a while longer, while his resources of improvisation began to run out. At the moment in which even the affable Kristoff dared to launch himself a question about Emma, he knew that he had reached his boiling point. Fortunately, his brother seemed to notice his uneasiness and came to his rescue, although in that peculiar way of his that almost supposed that the cure was worse than the disease. "Well, we'll have time to meet her and ask her in person soon. I already told you so, little brother, I understand that you want to be cautious, but I know you, we all know you." Liam paused, his hand waving to encompass all the family members present. "We know that when you put your heart into something you do it completely. She is the lucky one here, don't forget it."

His lips twisted slightly in a failed attempt at a smile as a feeling of guilt crept from his stomach to form a lump in his throat. This was all wrong. He shouldn't lie to his family in this way, let alone implicate Emma in such a farce. Nobody deserved it.

"Show us some pictures, I'm sure you have several of them on your phone."

Bloody hell! His heart froze for a moment, while the palms of his hands began to sweat. Of course, Elsa would ask about the photographs. How could he have forgotten that his sister-in-law was a sucker for pictures? It did not matter if they were travel photos, selfies, or just cute images. For her, photography was a medium that allowed us to tell stories through the image. She was a photographer for a reason. He cursed himself inwardly, for being so stupid as to pretend to cheat on his family without even elaborating a plan of action. He should abort the mission just at that moment. It was the right thing to do, isn't it? But then he glanced at his family. They were looking at him with their eyes full of hope and bright smiles, something he had not seen addressed to him in a long time. He could not disappoint them once again. While taking a deep breath, he came with a makeshift answer.

"I'm afraid it's not going to be possible." He shrugged as one of the corners of his lips twisted upward in an apologetic expression. "I ran out of space on the device and had to transfer all the content to my laptop. Maybe next time."

A flash of disappointment crossed Elsa's eyes, but she recovered after a few seconds, offering a soft smile. "Maybe next time come sooner than expected. Since it seems that the thing between the two of you has become official, I was thinking that you could bring Emma next week for our Sunday lunch."

Not a chance. Especially since that meant he would have to convince Emma again. He did not even want to speculate on what she would demand in return, not to mention what a scrutiny like the one he had been subjected to would suppose for her. He had no intention of finding out. No way in hell.

"We already had plans and we won't be here next week. Even I am aware that the fewer people there are in this first meeting, the less likely it’s that we frighten her to the point of making her flee."

Anna wasn't helping, certainly. The mere thought that Emma could be with him next week, sitting next to him in this very couch caused a chill to run down his spine. And not in a good way. He was so fucked up.

He left his brother's apartment late in the afternoon, without expressly committing himself to bring Emma next time. "I'll see what I can do. Let's say that she is not a very social person." It was the most they could get out of him.

While driving home, he had time to reevaluate Elsa's proposal. Maybe it was not such a bad idea. In fact, maybe it was something convenient. That first meeting would allow them to pave the way for what would happen at Christmas. He prayed to find Emma in a good mood. Or at least for her to be at home. He had the feeling that if he gave himself time to brood over the idea, he would finally chicken up and find it even harder to make the request.

It turned out that luck was on his side in that regard. As soon as he reached his door, just when he was taking the keys out of his pocket, Emma opened her own door, as if she had been invoked.

He was so unprepared to see her at that very moment that he almost makes a fool of himself when he was about to drop the keys. Bloody hell. This woman had a powerful effect on him both for good and bad. Once the first impression was over, he forced himself to put on the mask of bravado as a means of hiding his inner nervousness. To his relief, she seemed equally surprised, her eyes widening as her mouth fell open until she reacted, schooling her features and raising an eyebrow at him in an unimpressed gesture.

She was stunning, even just wearing leggins, a tank top and with her hair in a ponytail. Her attire seemed to indicate that she was not going anywhere but Killian couldn't help wondering why she had opened the door just then. Feeling that this could be a topic to push and get a reaction from her, Killian shortened the distance between him and his beautiful neighbor while his lips drew a mischievous smile.

"Hi, love, are you going somewhere or is just that you are eager to see your handsome fake boyfriend?"

Her reaction was the expected, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Or maybe it's just that I was waiting for someone..." She smirked at him. To his credit, he kept his smile, though he felt a twinge of something like jealousy in his stomach.

"Is that so?" He came even closer to her, invading her personal space, while tilting his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He had to suppress raising his fist in triumph when he saw the effect he had just caused on her. Her pupils dilated as her gaze drifted to his lips. He decided to push his luck a little more. "That would be a pity, because I happen to have a suggestion for you, something you will not be able to refuse." His voice dropped to a suggestive murmur.

Her gaze lingered on his lips for a split second until finally, her green eyes focused on his. "What do you want this time, Jones?"

It was now or never. It would be better if he didn't take the time to process the implications and just act. Summoning an act of unusual determination, he hastened to throw the proposition. "It turns out that today I've been visiting my family, like every Sunday, and they have suggested that you and I go to have lunch with them next Sunday. Isn't it exciting, Swan? Consider it a practice for when the big event takes place."

He had expected a much more explosive reaction, maybe a frown, perhaps a grimace, or even a little yelling. Instead, her reaction was much more subtle. He wasn't sure if that was a positive signal or not. Something he wasn't able to identify flashed in her gaze, and then her eyes narrowed and her head tilted a bit, subjecting him to an uncomfortable scrutiny.

"I've missed the part where this crazy plan is exciting. Care to explain how spending a Sunday afternoon surrounded by strangers, children included, while pretending to be your girlfriend may have something attractive to me?"

"The food will be delicious and my nephews and niece are quite adorable." He offered tentatively. Seriously Jones? What the hell are you thinking?

"The kids thing isn’t helping, buddy."

Okay. Emma wasn’t a kid person. Point to add in his imaginary list of things that he should know about Emma Swan. After letting out a heavy sigh, he had no choice but to resort to the method of persuasion had worked so well the previous time. He would have to beg.

"Come on, Swan, I've done my part of the plan so far. I'm the one who has to put up with Roger's plaintive mewling or worse, the murderous looks he throws at me when I stop him from going out on one of his exploratory adventures." Emma scoffed as she shook her head. "I'm not lying, he may be a small creature but sometimes he can be very intimidating." He was rambling, he was aware, but at least he had managed to get the ghost of a smile from Emma. Even so, she remained silent so he had no choice but to use once more the pleading tone while his lips drew a convincing pout. "Please?"

He held his breath as he tried to get distracted by the movement of her tongue licking her lips and the way her chest rose as she took a deep breath. He did not miss the soft blush that appeared on her cheeks either. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally decided to reply. "This is a one-time thing, Jones, I swear." She hardened her features as she raised a finger in warning. "Don't think that this is going to become a normal practice. You'll have to find an excuse for the next few weeks until Christmas."

"Sure. A one-time thing, just like the kiss. Got it." He managed to respond in a neutral tone and then pressed his lips together in an attempt to suppress the grin that threatened to form.

"And one more thing, do you have any cash with you?"

His brow furrowed in confusion as he groped in his pocket for his wallet. "What do you need the...?" When he looked up again he found that Emma was looking over his shoulder, while a non-subtle smirk was blossoming on her face. He turned following the direction of her gaze, meeting a delivery guy approaching with a box of pizza in his hands.

"Hi, E. Swan? I have a delivery for you." Emma gave the guy a sweet smile as she accepted the box.

"Thank you." Then she turned to him, plastering on a fake smile. "Can you pay for our dinner, honey? And don't forget the tip, since the service has been quite satisfactory so far."

Killian glared at her, but he complied without uttering a single word, especially not to embarrass the poor guy even more, who had been involved in that situation accidentally. The delivery man muttered a timid "thank you," before scurrying down the hall.

Emma took advantage of that moment of distraction to attempt to sneak away too, but he was faster. "Easy there, love. Since, after all, it's me who had just paid for that pizza, we could share it, don't you think?" He wasn't sure of the reason for that suggestion. Certainly, he wasn't hungry since it hadn't been that long since the family lunch. And having a conversation with Emma was quite a challenge. He tried to convince himself that this would be just a tactic to gather information about her so as not to make a fool of himself in front of his family next time.

"No, I don't think so. I happen to be very hungry. Also, consider it a payment in advance for what will happen next week." After giving him a triumphant glance, she closed the door in his face, without giving him time to reply.

"What the..." He remained speechless in the middle of the corridor for a few seconds, trying to process what had just happened. He should have imagined it. He couldn't prevent a laugh from bubbling in his throat at the surrealism of the situation. Was it possible that Emma had flirted with the poor delivery boy? Or was it something that only he had appreciated because she had managed to charm him in a way?

In the end, it was clear that she had managed to have free dinner at his expense and he had achieved what he intended, continue with the farce for a little longer and pave the way to make the official introduction of Emma to his family. The very idea of that next encounter caused a chill to run down his spine as his body tensed. He was not sure he could handle the situation at all. Not with someone like Emma as an accomplice.

He shook his head to get out of the trance as he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep sigh. Once his composure was restored, he finally headed to his apartment. Before he could open the door, though, his neighbor's door opened again and Emma's head poked through the gap.

"Uh, you wouldn’t have any beer, would you? I may have run out of them."

He looked towards her with some disbelief, as he bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a snarky retort. Instead, he merely nodded in resignation, trusting that her requests would not go any further. "Sure, love, how many do you need?"

"That depends on the beers you're gonna drink." There was a challenge there, both in her eyes and her voice, but Killian also detected something else, something he couldn't identify. Maybe a glimpse of what was behind the walls around her?

His brows knitted together as he gave her an inquiring look through his narrow eyes. "Does that mean I'm invited now?"

"Don't make me regret it. Are you bringing the beers or not?"

"I'll be right back." To his credit, he repressed the urge to smile like an idiot until he found himself in the privacy of his apartment. His grin widened when Roger came out to meet him. "I'm sorry mate, I'm afraid that I won't be able to accompany you at dinner today." After caressing his back, he hurriedly filled his container with food and then went to the fridge to grab the beers. 

Before leaving his apartment to meet Emma again he took two deep breaths, while he tried unsuccessfully not to read too much in her sudden change of mind. This would be the first time that Emma deliberately invited him to her apartment with no other purpose than to hang out together, even if she had used beer as an excuse. That change of attitude had to mean something. He had better not waste that opportunity if he wanted to succeed next week.

//

Thanks for reading, let me know what you all think :)

Tagging some people who may be interested @resident-of-storybrooke , @suwya , @onceuponaprincessworld @imagnifika @let-it-raines

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 175: 8:30 A.M.

Previously on BnHA: Deku agreed to help the staging team hoist Aoyama above the gym as a living disco ball. Time progressed and we got another nice scene of Deku training with All Might. All Might revealed that his mastery of OFA actually came to him quite easily and instinctively, which is he sometimes has trouble guiding Deku. Mei showed up and did some Mei things and told Deku that the new ~mystery support item~ he requested would be ready soon. Apparently Deku requested it to help with his new move, and All Might’s cool with it as long as he doesn’t start to rely on support items too much. Class A’s preparations continued and Momo served everyone some fancy tea. Gentle reviewed his plan of attack with La Brava. He intends for this to be a wake-up call that will help the little hero eggs of U.A. grow stronger, and he’s probably not wrong, but at some point all of this character building is gonna kill these poor kids. So now we’re cutting to the night before the festival, and that’s where this chapter will presumably pick up!

Today on BnHA: The kids of 1-A wrap up their dress rehearsal and gather in their common room to make final preparations and work off their nervous energy. Deku realizes that the rope he’s gonna use to suspend Aoyama is dangerously frayed, so he decides to run out to the store early in the morning to buy a new one before the show. The next day Hatsume delivers his new support item -- another new pair of gloves. After breaking them in with some training, Deku heads out to the store conveniently still wearing them. On his way back to U.A. he stumbles across a ~mysterious pair of characters~ wearing trench coats and sunglasses as they emerge from a tea shop. Deku says something about tea, and Gentle can’t keep his fucking mouth shut, and Deku subsequently recognizes his voice and realizes he’s the villain from the Youtube videos. Remembering that the festival will be cancelled if even a single alarm goes off, Deku decides he’ll just stop Gentle on his own, and gets ready to fight.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 199 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

these kids are all too fucking cute

who’s braiding Eri’s hair? a doctor/nurse?

more importantly, is Eri gonna have braided hair today omg. I’m gonna fucking die of cuteness here

(ETA: for some reason she does not. maybe they tried it out but she just wasn’t feeling it. who knows! but she’s still adorable no matter what)

holy moses

that’s another Iida dancing panel. swiped. placed in special folder

omgggg

I’m so exciteddddd

“but now I know for sure that I was one hundred percent right to be worried”

nah just kidding Sero. BREAK A LEG

he says that both the band and dance team have come a long way

SHOW MORE OF THE BANDDDD

aww he’s giving Mina props for being “such a super intense coach”

don’t forget to also give her props for coming up with your disco ball thing

(ETA: MVP)

THE BANDDDD!!!

DON’T YOU ‘EH’ HER YOU MONOSYLLABIC BASTARD. YOU HEARD HER, NONE OF THOSE “WEIRD AD LIBS”

also lmao at “ONE OF US might get thrown off”, which absolutely is referring to Kaminari and only Kaminari and you all know it

but it’s not his fault! he’s still learning!!

sobbb

I swear to god, if Gentle does ANYTHING to fuck this shit up I will cast him deep into the pits of Cancelled Hell right there with Mineta and Overhaul

now Hounddog is coming to chase them out because BARK BARK BARK, STUDENTS ARE ONLY ALLOWED IN HERE TILL 9

is he literally foaming at the mouth

anyways, so now all the good little boys and girls are in bed resting up for their big day!

AND THE NOT SO GOOD LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS ARE RUNNING AROUND SCREAMING

“some people” is obviously Bakugou lmao

also this is the cutest!!!!!!! this chapter is going for the record, huh? Cutest Chapter? going for the title? you’ve gotta beat out all of Deku and Kacchan’s flashbacks, all of Mirio’s flashbacks, that chapter two chapters ago with Eri touring the campus, and chapter 163 with Kaminari being all, [HOP] “HEY KACCHAN”

so it’s a tall order! but I think this might just have what it takes!!!

Jirou is telling Iida it won’t do any good to worry now about whether or not everyone else will enjoy it, and that they just have to enjoy themselves

and the boyfriend is all

THAT WAS DIFFERENT, KAMINARI!!

Deku’s agreeing with Jirou from over by the table where he’s double checking the equipment he’s gonna use for the Aoyama Hoisting

and it’s a good thing he did check it, too!

lmao

“IT’S THE PROOF OF OUR FRIENDSHIP” “no, actually, this would probably get you killed dude”

also Kaminari’s “desuwa” has legit just bumped him up a notch on my favorite characters list. fully not joking. whoever was at number nine just got bumped down. I think it was either Toga or Mirio. actually, you know what, I’m gonna go ahead and say he just leapfrogged both of them and ended up at the #8 spot right behind Momo. that’s the power of doing loving cheeky impressions of your fellow classmates

anyway, Momo is apparently already in bed though. because SHE is one of the good little girls

and Mina’s shouting “don’t treat her like a tool box!” and Kami’s protesting that they all treat him like a battery charger though

I mean, if I had a quirk that could recharge people’s phones or make them ropes and shit, I wouldn’t mind using it to help out my good friends! and I’m sure Momo wouldn’t mind either, so long as they waited until morning and, you know, didn’t go and wake her up just for that lol. but whatever

Deku says he’ll just buy one first thing in the morning since he’s gonna be training anyway

I’m thinking back to Gentle’s detailed plan of attack, but although the home center Deku’s talking about was indeed on that route, I don’t think the schedule matches up with Gentle’s. he and La Brava should still be drinking tea until 8:30. although the cafe is right by the home center though

but I’m thinking there’s a chance Deku might spot him in the cafe though maybe, and recognize him from the videos

anyway! that’s a problem for future!Deku! current!Deku is doing a cheer with his fellow students and heading off to bed

tempted to include this with the dancing Iida panels, but no. I’m choosy enough to wait for the real deal

so now it’s 6:30 the next morning, and Midoriya Izuku, who most definitely has not gotten as much sleep as a growing boy needs, is nonetheless out training with All Might again

and Mei is here with his new item!

ooh

always with the glove upgrades, huh

lol All Might is impressed with how far technology has come

that’s right, All Might. welcome to the... twenty... third?? century?? I don’t actually know for sure but I usually just add 200 years to where we’re at currently for simplicity’s sake

also, Mei can make things this compact. we don’t know anything about “they.” but this genius girl here, she can do it, and she deserves some credit

Mei is seriously so cool though

and she did this all on even less sleep than Deku. (although apparently she’s planning a 36-hour power nap once this is all over, which sounds amazing)

so now Deku is going to test out the “thing” he wanted to try

and of course we’re cutting away lol and cutting to 7:50 a.m.

Deku’s running to the store and fretting about almost being late

honestly you should have just asked Momo if it ended up being like this

he still has his gloves, incidentally. HOW CONVENIENT

-- oh snap, because this ridiculous little villain magnet was late and then had trouble finding a rope, it’s now 8:30. aka exactly when our two villains are scheduled to leave the tea shop

and sure enough...

OH MY GOD LA BRAVA

THAT DOES IT. DEFINITELY THE CUTEST CHAPTER EVER DALSFKHDL

Gentle is all “the aftertaste of the imperial golden tips was almost ruined!”

and now he’s scampering off with La Brava quick as can be

so it seems like the name of that tea was important? I guess?

oh my god

so Deku’s all “huh, so that house was a cafe, whoodda thunk?”

and Gentle is getting all “!!!”

and. just

oh my god he thinks he’s a fellow tea enthusiast

how does he not actually recognize Deku, though? too gentlemanly to watch TV like ever?

(ETA: probably just sticks to reading books in a big armchair by the fireplace)

Deku’s saying he just knows about it because he got some from a friend

BUT, he’s thinking that Gentle’s voice sounds familiar!

meanwhile, Gentle is all “ooh you must have a pretty high-class friend”

but then he’s like

and Deku is all

oh my god lmao

they’re both freaking out

and as always, Deku’s Big Hero Brain is way too freaking smart

so Gentle’s turning to make a quick getaway, but Deku’s asking him to wait a moment

ooooooooh snap

YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF GENTLE, THIS KID HAS A PROVISIONAL LICENSE AND SOME SHINY NEW GLOVES MOTHERFUCKAA

so now Deku’s setting down the bags with the rope, and remembering what the Rat Principal said (did he actually say this? I thought it was part of his flashback with the police commish but I guess not) about how they would immediately suspend activities if the alarm sounds

and I’m guessing... that maybe Deku wants to take care of this right here because he doesn’t want the cultural festival to be cancelled after all of their hard work

which is pretty stupid, but also understandable enough that I have no trouble buying it

like, he should be calling the authorities and putting them on alert, not trying to take this mofo out himself lmao

but instead this is happening

and you know what? I’m okay with that

BONUS: my boy Fat Gummmm

Fat Gum sobbing while eating a banana and apologizing to the ghost of Nighteye is somehow just the biggest mood

look how he has the takoyaki splayed between his knuckles because eating them one at a time just isn’t enough. think bigger. plus ultra!!!

it took him all of four days. what a champ. and now I’m fucking starving omg

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 7 seconds

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Logan cracks his knuckles, his elbows propped on the arms of a chair near the middle of the presentation room. Across the table from him, Joy doodles absently in the margins of her notebook. Logan is pretty sure that if Cassidy weren’t there to subtly turn the page for her, the flowers and floating eyes would crawl off the pages and etch themselves into the surface of the table. Director Gazebo paces at the head of the room, smacking a remote against his palm and muttering under his breath. It’s been something like five minutes since he last successfully switched slides, and all delusions of focus and interest have completely melted away. Even Miss Katie-Lee, who was helping hand out papers and fill in pieces of information for the director, is playing something on her phone with vague disinterest. Logan wonders whether she might just fall asleep right where she stands.

Logan, on the other hand, absolutely cannot force himself to look disinterested in anything the director does, ever. Not with that meeting from a couple weeks ago still weighing on his mind. Instead, he does his best to look like he’s taking detailed notes in his pocket notebook, glancing around the room as if deep in thought. He takes careful stock every few seconds of the impossibly high number of important people in here. The absolutely quintessential ‘who’s who’ of this branch—Joy and Miss Katie-Lee, of course, but also Mx. Oatmeal, Cassidy and her independent focus advisor, the directors of the individual satellite branches floating nearby, those inexplicable people in nice suits that follow Director Gazebo everywhere, even the notoriously good-looking folks that are always sweeping in and out of Miss Katie-Lee’s office. Oh, and who could forget Roman?

Logan could.

Logan would love to do that, in fact.

He’s taken multiple steps to prove to the director just how much he wants this, despite how wrong it feels to be slacking off to improve—talking about non-work things with Cassidy and Alex, getting to know the fifth floor interns (even though they aren’t technically on the fifth floor anymore), helping those same interns with their work and genuinely enjoying it rather than it being revision out of obligation, even trying to be more open with Virgil about what’s going on inside his head. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of that last one yet, but it’s not like the director ever sees him do it—or not do it, as the case usually tends to be. He tries, though. They both do.

The biggest risk—talking to Roman—is one he really isn’t looking forward to. He hasn’t even tried yet, actually. Probably explains why Roman is in the far back corner of the room, whispering with Alex.

Logan isn’t doing very well at pretending to be taking notes, in case that wasn’t obvious.

Finally, the remote in the director’s hand buzzes to life, shuffling the presentation to the last slide. Miss Katie-Lee moves next to him and peers over his shoulder, pointing at one of the buttons and nodding. A sigh of relief (or maybe it’s annoyance—Logan isn’t great at gauging that sort of thing) ripples through the room when the slideshow cycles back to the top, displaying a picture of a rocket preparing to launch.

The director gives Miss Katie-Lee a smile and nod before turning to address the room. “What craft was this?”

Logan doesn’t bother raising his hand, merely calling out the name in unison with the rest of the room. “Vanguard TV3.”

“And on what historic date did this craft fail two seconds after launch?”

“December sixth, nineteen fifty-seven.” It’s more of an automatic response on Logan’s part than a concentrated effort to access the trivia from its overflowing file tucked away in a secure corner of his mind. The director nods his approval and moves on to the next slide, and Logan is pretty sure the better part of his room-sweeping gaze centers on him. He sits up straighter.

“Good start, folks. Now, back to basics—roughly how long would it take for a spacecraft to reach the moon?” Wow, really back to basics. He wasn’t kidding.

“Three days.” Even Logan has to admit, it does sound just the slightest bit creepy, everyone answering in monotonous unison like this.

The director clicks over to the next slide, which proudly declares the words ‘speed round’ in times new roman. The font yanks Logan’s thoughts toward Roman without his consent, and he again thinks about how unjustly cold he’s been to the guy lately. Hardly a word between them, aside from the usual obligatory greetings. Maybe that ought to be his next risk, resolving that whole situation. Certainly one of the more unnerving ideas he’s entertained.

“Alright, everyone, speed round time. How many miles to the moon?”

“240,000.”

“In kilometers?”

The briefest of pauses. “386,400.”

“Largest crew aboard a spacecraft to date?”

“Eight.”

“Why do we want to minimize travel time for human astronauts?”

“Space has harmful radiation.” Okay, so that one wasn’t quite so perfectly in unison, and various other answers tried to break through, but the general idea does manage to echo around the room.

“Of the nearly two hundred planet-orbiting moons in our solar system, in which place is our moon with regards to size?”

“Fifth largest.”

“Latin word for its highlands?”

“Maria.”

“Meaning?”

“Seas.”

“How many nations have landed on the moon?”

“Three.” The word five also bounces around, but Logan is in the former party.

“Okay, who did it first?”

“The United States.” This, too, has a second answer making a valiant effort—Neil Armstrong, obviously. Again, Logan is in the former group.

“When?”

This one, interestingly enough, prompts two very distinct answers. One sizeable group, to which Logan is party, gives the predictable answer of July twentieth, nineteen sixty-nine, but one (much smaller) group says something incredibly different.

“Wow, I didn’t realize this very important meeting was just gonna be a history lesson.”

Not a valid nor correct answer, in case that wasn’t clear.

Logan, along with pretty much every other superior in the room, swivels in his seat to stare at Roman, who still leans against the wall at the far back of the room. Beside him, Alex looks like they’re doing everything they can to feign not having heard him.

Roman shrugs and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head toward the director. “It’s a valid question. Nobody in this room’s an idiot, we all passed our college courses, gen eds and otherwise, we all took the entrance exams, we’ve all done the work to get here. Not to step out of line or anything, but this is all grade school stuff. Seems kinda dumb to be quizzing us on stuff anyone with a working internet connection could figure out.”

Logan debates whether this would be a good time to work on one of those risks he’s been dealing with by striding to the back of the room and smacking Roman across the face. The director stiffens, but Logan can’t tell whether it’s agitation or impressed satisfaction.

“Does anyone else agree with Roman’s perspective?”

There’s a few quiet mumbles and the odd cough or sniffle, but no one speaks up. Logan flinches when the director’s eyes land on him, but again, there’s something behind those eyes he can’t trace. When the director doesn’t look away, the idea of screaming crosses Logan’s mind. Risk. Risk. You are not special simply for doing your job. You need to go above and beyond if you want to achieve the dream you claim you have, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.

Logan clears his throat and raises his hand, and honest to god, the room falls silent. Even Joy’s scribbling pen halts. The director nods at him to speak, at the same moment that Logan finds his heart standing at the edge of a bottomless pit. It jumps over.

“He makes a good point.” The director lifts his chin, but says nothing. “We already know all of this information, given how easily we can answer it on a dime, and you’ve gathered up most of the higher profile people in this branch, not to mention the ones around it. It seems counterintuitive to waste their time with the basics when they could be working toward something more concrete, rather than an eighth grade science test review.” Logan literally bites his tongue when he closes his mouth, belatedly realizing he just told the literal head of his career that his meeting is a waste of Logan’s time. Too big of a risk, perhaps, but there’s certainly no taking it back now. He also belatedly realizes his arm is still in the air, so he yanks it down with his other hand.

There’s a beat of silence, where not even Joy dares look at Logan. Logan swallows and turns his eyes toward the ground, feeling Roman’s gaze burning daggers into his back. Does this count toward resolving the little spat he never bothered explaining to Roman? Hell, Roman might not even know Logan was mad—for all he’s been told, Logan just decided out of nowhere to start talking to the interns. Logan should’ve just kept with the mediocrity, should’ve stayed within arm’s reach of his safety net, should’ve learned to grit his teeth and bear it while Roman prattled on, completely oblivious to how much better he was than Logan.

“Roman and Logan,” the director finally says. “You two stay. Everyone else, you’re excused.”

The remaining people cannot possibly get out of the room fast enough. It’s concentrated chaos as they scramble to gather their respective belongings and rush the door, a bunch of space enthusiasts who would probably rather be on literal Neptune right now than in this room. Come to think of it, Neptune doesn’t sound too bad to Logan, either. He sinks back into his chair and wills himself to be smaller, wills Roman to ignore him and just stay—

Roman takes the seat directly beside Logan. “Thanks for the assist,” he says under his breath, elbowing Logan gently. Logan smiles weakly at his own fists, clenched tightly in his lap, and wonders if this is the last time these hands will be employed by NASA. Wondering if this is finally it, if the director has had enough of Logan’s pathetic attempts to take risks, has finally decided to do away with Logan entirely, to let him fade into obscurity as some guy who coded a coffee delivery app with a gimmicky name.

Director Gazebo stares long and hard at the both of them, and probably has been for a while now—not that Logan would know the difference, having only just looked up from his hands. There’s something behind the mask of calm in the director’s face, just like there always is, and just like always, it’s something Logan can’t quite comprehend, something he isn’t sure he wants to comprehend. When he opens his mouth, Logan’s heart finally finds itself at the bottom of that bottomless pit.

“Are either of you aware of how long it would take mankind to reach Neptune?”

An unexpected starting point, to be sure, but at least it’s something Logan is prepared for. “It took Voyager 2 about twelve years in the eighties.”

“Voyager 2 was unmanned,” Roman adds. “None of that extra weight for people or provisions, so that probably maybe definitely influenced that time.”

“Why?” Logan asks. It’s always been one of his favorite questions, to tell the truth. He wonders whether the director feels the same. Then he wonders whether the director realizes he means ‘why ask about Neptune,’ not ‘why would weight influence travel time.’ Then he wonders whether the director knows he wonders this.

“As only Voyager 2 has managed to make it that far—and beyond, in fact—there is still a good deal of things we’ve yet to learn from Neptune, like why it has such high winds, or why its magnetic field is offset, not to mention that there’s been another Great Dark Spot since the one in eighty-nine.” Okay, so at least it was clear what Logan was asking.

“I’m still not totally clear on why this matters,” Roman admits. Logan sighs quietly, relieved that someone in this room had the nerve to voice the general fears floating lazily through the air. “I mean, it’s got nothing to do with the moon, which is supposedly why you called the meeting, right?”

“It’s got everything to do with the moon,” the director corrects. He steps away from the projection screen and begins pacing the room, waving his hands about like frantic hummingbirds to emphasize his points—provided he actually makes any. “The moon is the closest celestial body to our planet, so everything with a greater distance than that can be expanded upon based on its relative distance and size compared to the moon. If we learned to walk with the moon, we can run with Mars, and we could fly with Neptune.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Logan says, feeling like it’s been a little too long since he’s spoken up. Regardless, his words seem to roll off the director’s hunched shoulders as he continues pacing, unperturbed.

“Twelve years is a long time, not to mention the additional weight for the food and crew, and the emotional and mental tolls on the passengers and their families, as it would be a minimum twenty-five year round trip—that’s a quarter of what a layman considers his life span. But if we could cut that down, shave off a few years from either end, move from here to there as if we were taking but a single step…” The director trails off with his hands frozen in front of his face, fingers not quite touching, so stiff they almost tremble. “Imagine how much we could gain from that. Just—just imagine it.”

“Do you mean in terms of Einstein’s and Rosen’s theory of general relativity?” Logan’s voice is laced with disbelief. Einstein-Rosen bridges, wormholes, whatever you want to call them, it’s all theoretical, and all just the slightest bit terrifying. Two mouths at either end of an imaginary throat, from point A to point B in moments, microscopic and unstable. Just imagine it? Sure, just imagine the likelihood of the wormhole destabilising under the effect of exotic matters and spitting out the passengers to who knows where.

Logan, if you couldn’t tell, is not particularly fond of the idea of wormholes, much less black holes. His concerns are usually (to his relief) unfounded, since whoever is crazy enough to look for wormholes hasn’t been successful in their endeavours. Not yet.

“But that’s only assuming you actually can fold the space,” Roman protests, yanking Logan out of his own mind. Apparently they didn’t care to wait for Logan to process the absurdity of it all before continuing the conversation.

“But who says we can’t? ” Director Gazebo shoots back.

“Who said anything about we?” Roman’s voice is incredulous and maybe, just maybe, a little bit excited. Good excited or bad excited, though, Logan has no idea.

“Well, me, just now, for one.” The director starts pacing again, ticking off numbers on his fingers as he goes. “Katie-Lee also vouched for the idea, as well as some of the directors at the floater branches—most of them report to Kennedy, anyway, so I’m sitting pretty high and dry here, and they all went for the idea. Logan, any valuable input here?”

Logan blinks, not prepared to be included. Not yet. “I, um, no?” Then he wonders whether the director heard ‘I, um, no,’ or ‘I, um, know.’

“Well, you can hardly fault me for asking. I mean, after that presentation you gave, not to mention the increasing quality of your work lately, I assumed you’d be desperate to make your case for this mission.”

“What mission?”

Roman shoots Logan a look, and Logan wonders just how long he was tuned out of the conversation. Too long, apparently.

“Why, Mission Neptune, of course.” At that, Logan is viscerally reminded of the conductor from that time Virgil forced him to watch The Polar Express. The director, at least, doesn’t seem put off in the slightest by Logan’s mental absence. He whips out a pen and scrawls something on his forearm, mumbling under his breath, “We really need to come up with a better name for that.”

“I—you’re planning a mission to Neptune?” It’s not even worth it for Logan to try to keep the shock out of his voice.

Roman, miracle of miracles, recovers much quicker than Logan. Probably because he’s been paying attention. “Okay, cool, but why did you still say we? Why did you only keep me and Logan behind?”

“Logan and me,” Logan murmurs. At least if his basic conversational skills continue to fail him, he’ll always have ironclad grammar to fall back on. On which to fall back, whatever.

“You want to go into space, do you not?”

“Absolutely.” In sharp contrast with Logan’s immediacy and certainty is Roman’s loud silence. Logan gives him a quizzical look.

“I’m not saying I don’t,” Roman finally huffs, “but I’m not saying I do, either. There’s way too many things that could go wrong for this to be a spur of the moment hell yes type response, y’know?”

Logan tries very hard (by which he means a normal amount) not to look smug as the director stares at Roman in shock. So much for a guy who’s great because he broadens his horizons. As soon as the prideful thought crosses Logan’s mind, he shakes his head to get rid of it—tearing down his friend won’t do anything for his own career, much less his own humanity. Another, much scarier thought crosses Logan’s mind next: He just internally referred to Roman as his friend.

Logan really ought to start paying better attention when conversations are happening around him between very smart people who don’t think to wait for him to catch up.

“Just keep an eye on your inboxes, alright?” The director stops pacing at the door and tugs it open, gesturing for the two to take their leave.

“Give us a minute,” Roman says, remaining firmly in his seat. The director purses his lips and wrinkles his nose, but he does go, leaving the room blissfully empty in the absence of his commanding presence.

Roman turns to Logan and cocks his head to the side. “Alright, my dude, I’ve known you for basically a lifetime now.”

“Five years, max.”

“Same difference. Anyway, I’ve known you a while, yeah? So I know what your face looks like when you’re zoning out, ’cause you’ve got way too much going on up in that head of yours. How much do I need to fill you in on, so you aren’t totally out of your depth when Gazebo brings it up again?”

“A basic rundown would be stellar. I heard that he’s aiming for Neptune, and he’s trying to employ some Wrinkle in Time mechanics to do it. We haven’t even spotted a wormhole yet, Roman. Those things are so small, too, what is he thinking?”

“Probably that he should’ve had Katie-Lee give that promotion to someone who knows how to listen.” Roman laughs as he ducks to avoid Logan swatting at his head. “Hey, hey, this is neutral territory! Anyway, he said he was stuck on the moon stuff with his presentation ’cause he doesn’t want to go talking to the whole building and company and all about it, but he thinks he found a way to straight up manufacture a wormhole, and he wants to test that with an outwardly routine trip to the moon. Manufacture his demon wormhole or whatever, and if it works, great, and if not, well, it’s just the moon, so we won’t be too far, anyway. Doesn’t really add up that he’d call it Mission Neptune if he’s trying to hide it, but whatever.”

“And he told us this why?”

“Because I’m such a motor mouth that most people have learned to just tune me out by now, or assume I’m spouting total nonsense. You, on the other hand, he knows you’ve got your whole deal with that lifelong dream of getting off the planet or whatever, so obviously you wouldn’t go spreading the details, not at the risk of someone else taking your spot on the ship.”

“He told you all that?”

“Context clues. I’m very smart.”

Logan blows a puff of air through his nose and stares at his hands again, picturing them at the helm of a literal console in a literal rocketship on its way to literal Neptune. “Be pretty hard to cover up supplies for a mission to Neptune when you want it to look like a routine trip to the moon.”

“Why else would he hint at sending follow-up emails? Not to mention, if the wormhole situation shortens the trip, we wouldn’t need much more than a normal moon mission, anyway.” Roman scoots his chair closer and pushes his face right up into Logan’s. “You’re really off your game today, y’know that? Is it ’cause you suddenly decided to start talking to me again?”

“Something like that.” Logan checks his watch, weighing the merits of continuing to talk here versus returning to their desks. If nothing else, the director hasn’t returned to yell at them yet, so that’s something. Logan inhales a couple seconds longer than he needs to, blows it all out in one big breath, and explains to Roman the situation regarding his new risk-taking self. He even adds how, all along, Roman has been the true superior, much as it shreds Logan’s heart to say it. At least now Roman has proof that he’s as good as he thinks he is. What use is pride if left uncorroborated, right?

“Okay, well that’s dumb, so we’re not gonna talk about that nonsense garbage ever again,” Roman says, shaking his head. “I mean, really? Me better than you? Obviously I’m just socializing, and that definitely shows in the few papers where I’ve actually tried. He probably just wanted to push you over the edge so you would be more involved and engaged, more likely to help with his whole Neptune shebang.”

“That’s a good mission name,” Logan mumbles. He expertly ignores everything else Roman said. “Neptune Shebang.”

“No, it really isn’t. Do you even want to do it?”

“I mean, obviously I do, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever , but there’s still…” Logan lets his voice trail off, picturing Virgil’s face. Picturing Virgil sat on the couch in front of the television, watching Logan blast off the planet in a storm of fire and gasoline, leaving Virgil over two billion miles behind him, in the plain old Earth dust. “I don’t know. I used to know, but I think what I knew changed somewhere along the way.”

“Makes sense.” Roman pushes his hands against his knees and bounces to his feet, then crooks his elbow to the side. Logan accepts the gesture, rising with Roman’s assistance and following him to the door. “I mean, it’s not like you have to know if you’re going right this second. You don’t even know if you’ll get chosen for it. Maybe they switch around the requirements or knock down the capacity or something, and they just bump you out of the running because you’re needed on Earth or they’re afraid you have the measles or something. Hell, they could deny the mission request altogether. Whatever happens, you definitely don’t have to make any major decisions about it just yet.”

Logan nods to himself as the door clicks shut behind them. Eventually, he very well have to make that choice. But not yet.

[knightingale-xiv]

Bingo

Arthur D'ehcan made his way through the busy streets of Ul'dah. Today he was on the government clock...they had been kind enough to accommodate his time with the Glass Network but he DID occasionally have to return to his day job. He had to admit he always felt better coming back to fight normal crime committed by normal people. No legendary super beings or cosmic hell entities to make him feel small. Just your average crook that didn't so much as require a Chakra to take down. This was basically his vacation...

Today's assignment involved a Gil laundering scheme that had crossed onto the radar of the authorities. As an Alliance Operative, his job was to check out issues across Eorzea, big and small. The Flames needed someone to check out the scene and Arthur was close on hand. He had to go somewhat incognito, so he went in his typical street clothes. The long tan coat and blue vest were light enough to withstand the rising temperatures and protect his skin, while keeping him relatively cool.

Arthur really only had a few stand out qualities as a hyur. He was handsome, sure, but not overtly so. He thought of himself as quite average honestly. He was average height and his clothes hid his musculature well enough to make him appear of average physique as well. His eyes, while a piercing blue, had no special qualities when he wasn't using aether, and his white hair barely registered in the sea of unusual colors that populated this star. He was, for all intents and purposes, easy to overlook.

That made him perfect for jobs like these on paper. In practice...he had a bad habit of drawing ire. Whether it was his terrible jokes, or his quick-to-action reflexes, he was notorious for getting into fights. Still...he was more than capable to handle a simple assignment like this...right?

The target building was a large square shaped stone structure with a flat roof and tinted windows. The door even had a non-descript but heavy duty lock on it. It SCREAMED evil hideout. Arthur made sure his Repose pistol was tucked away safely in its holster under his arm, and nodded to himself. He could approach this stealthily...maybe sneak in a window on the second floor, or see if there was a skylight in the roof...But then again, he wasn't really sure he needed to be. They only suspected this was a gil laundering scheme, and those usually meant fronts and stores. It was very likely he could just...walk in...

While he contemplated this, he noted a middle aged woman in a black veil entering the establishment...How curious. She was being escorted by a man around her age, who used a golden key to unlock the doors and get them inside. How very curious indeed. Arthur moved towards the door to catch it as it began to swing closed, following the pair inside and preparing for the den if villainy he was about to walk into...

"B 23!"

Now, there are a few things that the Alliance trained their spies for. How to resist torture, how to blend into a crowd, how to stomach the sight of unspeakable evils without losing your cool too much...What Arthur hadn't been prepared for was...this...

An enthusiastic gentleman was shimmy dancing behind a podium, a little spherical cage beside him being turned via crank by a happy looking young assistant. There was a band in the corner playing lively music and a SEA of excited retired women, their daughters, and husbands just going bonkers over what appeared to be...Bingo.

There were other games too, and judging by the enthusiasm, lights, and the general buzz of excitement...It seemed to the young agent that he had settled on a delightful little casino for the wealthy and retired...He watched as gil changed hands, as patrons made bets and won or lost cash. If he were a no good money launderer, this would be a perfect way to cycle in and out his stolen cash...

His eyes wandered up to the shimmying number caller...he looked familiar. He was a charming looking individual with slicked back blonde hair and mischievous green eyes. He was a littke gaunt and willowy, but he made up for that with personality. Still, Arthur felt like something was missing...It kept him just enough on edge to be suspicious about everything. He walked around casually, sitting at slot machines or enjoying the occasional game of...throwing dice? He didn't gamble, so he had no idea how any of these worked. It was probably why he kept losing. Still, the Alliance would reimburse him his losses...he hoped.

He kept his eyes peeled throughout the day, watching as the employees of this hidden casino shuffled around with trays or sacks of gil...they always seemed to funnel back into a back room seperate from the main money changing station...Perhaps thats where the funny money was.

Money laundering involved swapping out 'dirty' gil that has been stolen from banks, exchanges, or merchants with clean gil from normal people. Thats why businesses were best for it, because it made sure the money was so spread out that it became impossible to track. He needed to get into that back room...He waited for the right opportunity, standing up and moving to a table near the door. The door had a lock on it and it seemed each worker had a key. There was also a guard posted by the door in disguise as a casino patron...Arthur would have to distract him first.

He let his gaze wander to a nearby group where the black veiled woman, who looked to be a dowager of some kind...Ironic, was being talked up by some younger men, eager to capitalize on her situation...she seemed thrilled with the attention. The man with her, who appeared to be her guard, was not. He looked about ready to start swinging. Arthur did a quick mental evaluation of the man...Big and strong, certainly, but not a random killer. He'd knock a few heads if pushed, but whoever he hit would survive...Arthur hoped, at least.

Arthur timed it almost perfectly. A casino worker moved to the back door and unlocked it just as the young agent threw a small ball bearing subtly, but with force, into the knee pit of the leg on the young suitor in front of the widower. This caused him to stumble forward and spill his drink on her face, while his face planted itself firmly in her ample chest. How embarrassing...as suspected, the guard leapt on the opportunity, grabbing the poor man by the collar and screaming at him. The Casino guard lept up and ran over to calm things down, and Arthur slipped through the closing door before it could click shut.

Once inside, he pulled a mask out from inside his coat and placed it in his face. The magitek device clicked and expanded to form a smooth helmet that covered his head and hid his hair from view. History said that if HE looked unusual his HAIR was very easy to remember. How many times had people lucked into figuring out his identity as Nightingale because he had similar hair? Too many...not making that mistake again. He took in his surroundings as he moved into a more shadowed section.

He was in a hallway that curved to the right about fifteen fulms ahead. The casino worked had just dissipated around that very corner and judging by the sound of the footsteps, he was going up some stairs. There was a voice calling out to him, and the casino member responded before continuing his walk and leaving audio range. Another guard...

Arthur quietly slipped to the corner and peered around and up the stairs. Sure enough, an armed guard was at the top of the staircase in front of a heavy metal door. The door was, at the moment, open. He could hear the clinking of coins in the room beyond it. The man was very clearly a criminal thug, for a few reasons. He had a tattoo of the Lions of Ul'dah, Arthur's old foes, and he matched the description of a wanted man. That was enough for Arthur to take action. He slipped around the corner and hefted his handgun, firing a pair of rounds. The arcanochemical rounds came out nearly silent from the pistol and slammed into the chest of the unaware goon. The guard started to sink, but Arthur was there to catch him before his knees even kissed the ground. He gently eased the man down, to let him slip into blissful sleep. 

“Sweet dreams...” he murmured, patting the thug on the cheek before slowly rising and holstering his pistol. He took a canister out of his coat and pressed a button on top. Needles had been helping him work on a gel compound that would provide decent armoring when he couldn’t just stroll into a place wearing his full kit. He placed the canister to his chest and it released the gel, the substance coming out like a foam before hardening into a smooth shell over his chest and shoulders. Nice...

He stood up and peered around the open metal door at the interior. There were a number of tables with people sitting at them, sorting and counting gil from the casino and replacing them with gil that were most likely stolen. The house was most likely losing a number of bets to get more gil out quickly, without raising too much suspicion...And non-syndicate gambling wasn’t really something people talked about unless they wanted the Brass Blades kicking in the door. There were also spare casino items here...A few card tables, some decorations, those little round cages the bingo balls came out of...Looks like it was full and ready to be swapped in at any given moment. It was kind of...comically huge.

Focus, Agent...Arthur looked back at the occupants of the room. Various counters, but they didn’t look like they were going to be overly dangerous...The ten armed guards inside WERE going to be an issue. An assortment of different races with an assortment of different armaments. Roegadyn to Lalafell, swords to small crossbows, there was just a variety of pain in the room...and each and every one had a wanted posted on Arthur’s desk. Jackpot...This was more than enough to take everyone down, all he had to do was get the Flames and the Brass Blades to march in here. That shouldn’t be so hard...

Arthur heard a click and a bang behind him. Someone had managed to sneak up on him...In the milliseconds he had, he cursed his inattentiveness. He should have been keeping his ears focused on the stairway. It sounded like a firearm of some sort...Not a flintlock, the hammer was too clean and the click made it sound like it was hitting a firing pin, not flint. Revolver...Needles and Arthur hadn’t tested the armor against revolver rounds yet, but Arthur was confident he would be fine...In normal circumstances, he would be...Unfortunately for Arthur D’ehcan, his trusty Goblin engineer had improperly measured a minor ingredient in the gel for this field testing canister. Instead of hardening on impact, as it was designed to do, the armor turned immediately brittle and disintegrated allowing the round to tear through his shoulder from behind. 

Arthur staggered forward and fell into a roll, directly into the counting room. The blonde man from the casino was here, eyes wide with anxiety and sweat beading on his brow. He was pointing the smoking gun at Arthur and shaking. Arthur recognized him now...Keetan ‘the Willow’ Hupp. He was a small time crook, mostly wanted for small scale scams and ploys. His bounty was actually for tax evasion, although in Ul’dah that was...Pretty serious. Now he could be tried for assault with a deadly weapon and running an illegal gambling den, as well as for robbery and money laundering. No wonder he shot...

“W-W-Who are you!?” Keetan asked, gesturing erratically with the gun. Arthur sat up slightly, a hand to his wound. The thugs, alerted by the gunshot, were ushering the counters out another door and coming to surround him. Not good...

“Normally...someone asks that BEFORE shooting...” Arthur grunted with a chuckle, wincing at the pain from the motion. It was a clean shot, through and through...He wouldn’t be able to fight effectively with the arm, but the shock was fading. He just had to not get shot again.

“S-Shut up and answer me!” Keetan demanded, pulling the hammer back on the gun. Arthur raised his injured hand in surrender. 

“Alright...Alright...My name is Ima...” He said with a sigh. “Last name, Numpty.” Keetan looked confused, putting it together in his head.

“...Ima Numpty?” He asked, trying to confirm the unusual name. Arthur smiled.

“You said it, not me...” 

Arthur was up on his feet in an instant, his leg coming around in a sweeping kick to knock Keetan’s revolver out of his hand. He underestimated the man’s tense grip, however, and the con man didn’t release. He DID fire a round in a panic though, sending it into the thigh of an elezen bodyguard. The man let out a cry of pain and hopped aside, dropping his sword and clutching at the wound. Arthur capitalized on this, his leg still in the air, by bringing it back and jumping in one fluid motion. He kicked off of Keetan’s face, sending him flying out the door and rattling down the stairs. Arthur landed hard on the floor with a grunt but used his uninjured arm to propel him through the gap now made in the defensive lines by the hopping elezen.

He brought his leg around as he flung himself across the ground, to knock the injured elezen’s standing foot out from under him and send him crashing down. Scratch two. Arthur rolled to his feet and backed up from the now advancing line of bodyguards. Nine armed men and Arthur was down an arm. It seemed more fair this way...

The guards rushed him, seeking to overwhelm him with numbers. It was a good plan...Arthur rolled over the table he was in front of and kicked it, sending gil flying and the table hurtling into the men and scattering them like bowling pins. Arthur winced as the Lalafell of the bunch took it to the forehead. 

“Sorry, little guy...” he murmured, running over to the rounded cage. He gripped it with his good hand, now slick with blood, and hurled it towards the window of the upper level. It smashed through the window and careened to the ground, sending little white ping pong balls flying everywhere. Arthur looked at the rising guards and gave a two fingered salute before diving out after it. He smashed through what was left of the glass and descended towards where the cage had landed. He hit it hard and rolled off with a groan. One of the numbered balls landed on his face, bouncing into his hand. ‘B 23′.

“Huh...” He groaned, tossing it aside and standing up. The guards were shouting and running out of view, most likely to come downstairs and try to kill him. Time to go...He reached up to his ear and called into the Flames station while he ran off. 

“Agent D’ehcan to Flame Control...Good news...” He smirked a little as he ran towards the gate and towards his parked bike.

“Go ahead, Agent.” Flame Control responded. Arthur revved the engine and took off towards his safehouse. He looked over his shoulder to see two men mounting chocobos to pursue. He grinned and looked ahead, holding his wound.

“I got Bingo...”