#her identification card has gotta say SOMETHING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

talltales · 4 years ago

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—HEY NOW, HEY NOW, DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER HEY NOW, HEY NOW, WHEN THE WORLD COMES IN THEY COME, THEY COME, TO BUILD A WALL BETWEEN US WE KNOW THEY WON'T WIN anonymous request!!

NOTICE: violence (murder, mentions of cannibalism), heavy sexual content

“i just painted my nails.”

blankly, she flicks away the blood trickling down her hand and turns it over to inspect the chipped pink polish peeling off with it. her trigger finger relaxes minutely, but her gun remains aimed at the deathly still men at her feet, staring sightlessly into the cloudless, red sky.

“i didn’t think you were that kind of girl.” the click of the clip being slatted into his own weapon accompanies his droll retort. she glances over her shoulder to find yugyeom leaning against the hood of their car, arms crossed loosely across his chest; dark eyes fixed upon the flow of blood across hot concrete.

before it reaches the tip of her shoes, she sidesteps and moves to rifle through the belongings peeking from their pockets. her gun is slipped into the old leather holster at her hip before she pulls a wallet from the closest man, “i was always that kind of girl. it isn’t my fault you never paid attention.”

she spares her companion a look and then turns back to the worn billfold, tossing the plethora of id cards contained into the summer wind, “looks like he was collecting trophies from his kills.”

“how barbaric.” yugyeom hums, impassive. his nose crinkles, however—offended by the emerging malodor of decay, “they reek. are you ready to go?”

“just a minute.”

the few bills contained within are deposited into her back pocket. discarded identification cards bearing the faces of strangers skitter across the road as she makes work of the other male’s wallet and, for good measure, plucks his half-empty carton of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

“got yours?” he slides off the hood of their old black mustang, slapping a palm against the hot metal before opening the driver side door, “because we need to start making some distance if they’ve got friends.”

“you’re a broken record, you know?”

“i’ll stop repeating myself when you start listening.”

the cool flow of a/c when she gets in is a welcome sensation. there are, after all, few luxuries left in a world that has gone to hell and dragged every survivor with it.

her thumb hovers over the radio dial out of habit, turning it on to catch nothing but muted static.

the radio broadcast had stopped four months ago.

where an endless stream of music and advertisements had once been, there was only white noise; broken only by the occasional snare laid by opportunistic hunters. assuming that there was prey left. at least the ones who would believe the theatric cries for help, transmitting on repeat in the early morning hours.

without the loose guide of societal standards, humanity turned on itself. cannibalized the weak. she hits the off button and releases a heavy breath; sinks into her seat as yugyeom starts the engine. what an ugly place to be—

to be left behind in.

“what is it?” his attention is on the road, intent as he navigates smoothly past the still-warm bodies and the last remnants of their victims, innocent things blowing away in the desert wind, “you’re thinking too much.“

“i know. i’m just wondering how many of those fuckers can possibly be hiding out here. how many people they’ve killed, and for what?” her teeth sink into her lower lip, biting down until the dull ache draws her mind back—to the scent of leather and gunpowder and the droll, knowing look yugyeom gives her, “for useless pieces of plastic? money that can only be spent in camps where they’ll be shot on sight?”

one instinct had survived the dissolution of the world, after all. people knew a wanted man when they saw one.

“you know why.” he hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “i shouldn’t have to remind you.”

“humor me.”

the conversation is an old one, repeated for the sake of soothing what remains of her conscience. stubborn as it is, it comes to life in moments like these; when the adrenaline fades away and she is left with blood caked under her nails and the smell of copper clinging to her skin.

“they kill for the thrill of it.” for her sake, yugyeom answers. the words flow easily, as if he’sreciting a memorized poem; an old story told a time too many. “they enjoy it.”

“i enjoy it.” she confesses, not for the first time. she stretches as the seat allows, arching her back as her fingertips brush the roof; the telltale click of her spine realigning itself brings a fleeting sense of relief. she speaks to the spotted, hazy glass of the sunroof, “i enjoy hunting them and putting them down.”

the blood-red sky is cloudless; speckled only with the brightest starlight breaking through the atmosphere.

“so do i,” he says, and the matter is settled.

again.

—

“so wound up,” she breathes, grazing the curve of his jaw with slow, wet kisses; deft fingers threading through his hair, “i wanted to help,” rolling her hips in a hard grind, she almost chuckles at the way he twitches inside her; the way every muscle in his body seems to tense simultaneously as she darts her tongue out to taste the sweat beading above his collarbone, “but i guess i’m not—should i stop?”

her head spins, body seared by the window beneath her palm and the pressure of the steering wheel digging into the dip of her spine. but it is the ebb and flow of his rhythm that renders her breathless; makes her feel like she’s suffocating the most exquisite way.

she muffles her cries against his throat and centers her attention on the wild skipping of his pulse under her tongue.

yugyeom’s jaw tightens and the next sound that escapes is half-protest, half-groan. she feels the weight of him, pressing into her hips from contrasting directions; his thumbs scoring marks against her skin—his hips canting up to meet hers, languid and deep.

she catches his words after a delayed moment in which her mind stutters to a stop when he brushes a spot inside her that makes her see stars.

“don’t you fucking dare.” it’s quiet, so very quiet, but something in her relishes at the loss of his composure, the rare curse emerging in a growl that tightens the coil inside her. in pursuit of more, she forces herself to stop with him buried as deep as their bodies allow; clenches around him until she can see something in him snap.

it makes it all that much sweeter when he comes apart.

he is, in these moments, the only beautiful sight left in this wretched world.

—

she wears his bruises like trophies, sometimes, lounging in the backseat with her legs folded beneath her and a brush running through her hair.

he watches through the rear-view mirror, as he always does, when she shifts—clad only in a pair of practical briefs and bra. the impression of his hands frame her hips and she takes pleasure in watching his eyes wander before he realizes what he’s doing. because kim yugyeom is always composed, always in control.

except when he isn’t.

and their dalliances are less about attraction than they are about release. she swears on that.

there is a softness to his touch when he isn’t paying attention—in the midnight hours, when their only light is the blue-tinge of headlights cutting through the dark; in the moments before he cuts the engine and his hand slides from the gear-shift to grip hers. “we’re keeping this quick,” he mutters, in a way that is more order than she cares for.

she’s out of the car before he can say anything else, “if they don’t drag it out.”

her sidearm is grasped firmly with her finger hovering over the trigger, her only guide the faint flickering of a campfire in the distance—

the stench of unwashed bodies and smoke.

every step is muffled beneath the howling of the wind and the hush of sand swirling over the earth. hunting is a natural instinct, but stealth is an acquired skill. it is her contribution in their little arrangement, because as graceful as yugyeom is he is impossible to miss.

he follows behind her, well-worn boots crushing the few sprigs of grass that have survived the onslaught of an unforgiving sun. even at this hour, the edge of it lingers on the horizon; an angry crimson-gold.

“you should’ve heard her scream,” comes the distant echoes of laughter from the makeshift camp ahead, beyond the shadow cast by the tents circling the site. they are lit from within by the fire on the other side, revealing silhouettes of figures perched upon folding chairs and the prone half-body beside the fire, “i’d have kept her alive just to hear it again, but a man’s gotta have his dinner.”

it’s an old sight, but it turns her stomach just the same.

her finger itches over the trigger, and she doesn’t have to look back to feel the intent radiating from the man behind her.

two, she holds up the signal and raises her gun while sidestepping into the gap beneath the twin tents. it takes effort to ignore the scavenged woman lying in the dirt; the silver and gold ring on her left hand gleaming in the firelight. someone’s wife.

instead she steels her voice and, assured that yugyeom has his gun trained on the other man, disengages the safety. “on the ground,” it comes out with a hiss; air flowing between teeth gritted so hard she feels it in her jaw.

the sight of the duo scrambling to find her in the darkness is only mildly satisfying. no, the true pleasure only comes when yugyeom fires a warning shot that grazes his target’s cheek, and abject fear takes hold.

“who’s there?” her target. his face is buried in the dirt; amorphous cooked meat beside his head. it takes effort to hold her fire until her boot slams into his spine and the barrel of her gun finds its way into his hair; digs into his scalp.

“you don’t need to concern yourself with that. i’ve got a question for you.”

on the other side of the fire, yugyeom does much the same—nose wrinkling as the man beneath him squirms under his knee; whines incoherently about the gash in his cheek.

“what do you want?”

“you got any buddies out here?” she asks, watching his eyes flicker about wildly, as if searching for an escape. or reinforcements, as the case may be. she secretly hopes for the latter.

“it’s just us,” the man whispers, and she pulls the trigger.

an answering shot rings through the night, and she looks up to see yugyeom wiping blood from his forehead before he walks to the parked pickup truck nearby. he preforms a perfunctory search, pulling a marked map from the glove compartment and a few bills that disappear into the pockets of his jeans.

“quick enough for you?” she questions before she can stop herself, trailing after him with a contemplative look at the container sitting next to the rear tire.

he nods, placid as ever, though she can see the spark of something in his eyes—the promise of another night spent chasing a different sort of satisfaction.

this is, after all, empty work on the best of days.

“the map—“

“for later. to find any stragglers.” she watches as he glances back at the campsite; stares at the blood splattered everywhere. it’s the clenching of his jaw that makes her act upon the persistent urge to act—to reach for the gas container and unscrew the cap.

without a word, she tips it and watches the crystalline liquid soak the ground at her feet. she doesn’t stop until the canister is empty and the site is soaked in the smell of gasoline; each body drenched with it.

he doesn’t stop her.

the only move he makes is toward her, to stand at her side as she fishes a matchbook from her back pocket and strikes it; the flame dances at her fingertip for a moment before she drops it—watches the campfire swell within minutes to a blaze that lights the night sky in shades of gold.

the heat is searing—makes her feel as if she’s burning alive, but for the first time she feels satisfaction with this ugly thing they do.

purification by fire.

only the slide of his fingertips over the back of her hand draws her back; the hesitant way that he laces their fingers together and tugs her back toward the car waiting in the distance. she squeezes, and feels the heaviness in her chest lighten when he returns the gesture.

it has practical purpose; less about affection than it is about comfort.

she swears on that.

“where to next?” for lack of anything better to say, she inquires into the open air, taking her first breath of fresh air.

yugyeom seems to hesitate, and she watches from the corner of her eye as he turns the question over in his mind before he speaks. always thoughtful, always choosing his words carefully.

“i think we’re overdue for a trip home.”

#request #member + prompt #yugyeom fanfic #got7 fanfic

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ofauris-archived · 4 years ago

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EVENT 006: Return

“Kazanari Shoko. Born August 13th, 2027...” The offical looked over her identification card. “Why aren't you in school?”

Melanie shook her head. “Graduated early.” She pulled out the other card that she had in her bag, handing it to him. “From Lydian.”

“Your parents?”

“Kazanari Genjuro.”

The official sighed. “Stay out of trouble.” He handed her back her cards before leaving. Melanie put them away before heading towards one of the buildings and going inside, taking a deep breath as she sat on one of the chairs. The official would, obviously, tell the Genjuro of this world about a girl calling herself Shoko who claimed to be his daughter.

It reminded her of when she first met Genjuro, oddly enough.

“So, you're the foreign survivor. The girl you saved, Tachibana Hibiki, is doing well.” A man with spiky red hair and golden eyes sat by her bedside. His pink tie was in his pocket, and his sleeves were rolled up. Melanie stared at him, unsure of why he was here.

“If.. you're here just to tell me that, I... already know.” Melanie said, looking at her hands. “Her... parents were here earlier.”

They'd yelled at her thanked her for letting their daughter get hurt saving Hibiki from the Noise. Melanie gave a strained smile to him after a moment. She didn't really want to, but it felt like she'd get in trouble if she didn't pretend she was okay. Most people who came to visit her had yelled at her for suffering, so why would this man be any different?

Japanese was hard to understand, she only knew a few words.

But this man was speaking to her in English. There was a slight accent, for certain, but he was able to talk to her.

“I see. Do you have any family?”

“No, sir.” Not there, at least. In another world, maybe.

“Hmm...” He stood, walking to the window. “Then, we'll have to make some arrangements.”

“....A...arrangements?”

“I'll be formally adopting you.”

Formal adoption of a foreigner without a family in the world. That was what Genjuro had done, even after learning that she had a family in another world. He said it was for security in case she ended up back there, so she had something to fall back on. Which, she'd been grateful for but...

This wasn't the world where she was Genjuro's adoptive kid or Tsubasa's cousin. This was a world where she hadn't been before. Melanie wondered if the official would come back after Genjuro said something. If so, she'd be in trouble. After finishing her drink she'd ordered after a few minutes of being in the cafe, she left and headed towards... Well, she didn't know, exactly, but she was going somewhere.

“Excuse me.”

The voice caused her to pause, and then look behind her. There was Miku, someone she was afraid of seeing for failing to save Hibiki. It'd been her fault Hibiki died, and--

“Y-yes?” Melanie asked, nervous. “Is there something you need, miss...?”

“You almost walked while it was red.” Miku pointed towards the crosswalk light, which was red. Melanie laughed a little nervously before backing up a bit.

“Oops, I guess I was too wrapped up in what's for dinner tonight that I wasn't paying attention!” At that point, the light turned green and Melanie noted that. “I gotta get home! Bye-bye!”

And she left Miku with more questions than she had at first.

“She says her name is Kazanari Shoko, and that she's your daughter.” The official said. Unbeknownst to Melanie, he worked for S.O.N.G and was a part of the intelligence network for the organization. “I was able to photograph her identification. It seems to be real.”

He showed Genjuro the photo of the identification card, and Genjuro sighed. Though this girl was possibly a relative of theirs, to call herself his daughter with no actual relation... It seemed there was someone out there doing that for some sort of fame. After all, his niece, Tsubasa, was an international idol... So perhaps it was attempting to capitalize on that success.

“Do you know where she is now?” He asked, handing the tablet back to the official. He shook his head. “Thank you for informing me, I'll take care of this.”

“Commander!” But Genjuro was already headed off to the surface, to go look for the girl and ask her a few questions about her identification. Surely, it looked real but...

He couldn't be too careful.

Melanie stared at the sky itself, the bright blue encompassing the world. Looking at the bracelet on her wrist, the Elekleid she'd gotten from Starlit, she didn't know how to go back to a world that she knew condemned her for letting Hibiki die like that. Closing her eyes, she sat there on the bench. Thinking on it, she had to figure out what enemy she was going to be fighting. Back when she was living in Japan for those three years she'd been gone from her homeworld, she'd fought Finé, Carol and the Autoscorers, Saint-Germain, Prelati and Cagliostro...

And then Noble Red and Shem-Ha, who had taken over Hibiki's body until she was purged from her.

But if this world was a copy of the one she'd left behind, then...

“This is an emergency alert from S.O.N.G. Noise have been detected in the area. All civilians are to evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately.” The siren blared as the voice came over the speakers. Noise, huh? Standing up, Melanie took a few steps forward. She'd fight them, alright.

She'd fight them for Hibiki.

“Elekleid. Switch on.” The bracelet expanded and the armour pieces all settled in on her body as she called upon the relic left to her. Taking a battle stance, she charged in and started cutting up the Noise that had started to form. But that was when she heard Chris' voice, activating the Ichaival relic. Looking up, Melanie noticed the quick flash of two lights. It set in stone what enemy this would be.

“Noble Red...” Melanie murmured, before continuing to cut through Noise. Chris' song filled her ears, as did the music coming from her Symphogear. Hearing one of the Noise behind her, Melanie wasn't quick enough to turn around and attack it, so she prepared to defend herself when it turned to carbon.

Behind the Noise was Hibiki.

Melanie's eyes widened upon seeing her.

“H-”

“HIBIKIIIIII!!!”

Her scream passed her lips as she watched Hibiki vanish right in front of her eyes. The flames grew higher, and the world around her blurred. Tears started to fall from her eyes as her hand grasped at nothing but air. Just gone. Vanished.

The giant continued to walk, as if ignoring her, leaving her alive. The last time she’d survived something like this, it had been Kanade who died protecting her and Hibiki.

“You're Hibiki...” Melanie said. Hibiki was about to respond when she noticed Chris in trouble and went to save her. Melanie took the chance to get out of there, instead of sticking around for questioning. Cutting through the Noise as she went, she felt tears brimming in her eyes. She couldn't stick around here. She had to leave, immediately. Even though she'd only been here for a week, she just couldn't take seeing Hibiki again.

It hurt, more than she could even come to explain.

Using Elekleid, she left almost immediately. Knowing she couldn't face Hibiki, no matter if it was the Hibiki she knew or not, Melanie would just leave before she could see her die too. She didn't want people dying in front of her again... Kanade, Hibiki, Starlit...

Upon arriving in the next world, she recognized where she was. She'd left here when she'd gotten Elekleid. The buildings were still in ruins but... there were people around. Luckily, she'd been behind a container and had peeked out to see where she had ended up. But her vision wavered as she stumbled out from behind the container after turning off Elekleid. Ah, her energy was low again... Elekleid really enjoyed using up more of her energy than she really had for travelling the multiverse.

“Melanie...?”

It was Miku, again. But the Miku she knew, not the one she'd met not too long ago. Melanie stood straight and gave a forced smile. “Hey, Miku! I've got some things I need to do so I can't stick around! Bye!”

A quick exit was easier than explaining why she was there and Hibiki wasn't.

“You can't keep running like this.”

It'd been two weeks since Melanie had run from Miku. It was like Chris had done way back then, run until she finally joined the Gear users and assisted in saving the world from Finé's want to bring down the moon. Melanie kept her knees to her chest as she heard the footsteps walk over to her and then a grunt as they sat down next to her. A bag rustled, meaning they'd brought something with them. She just took a glance over before looking back at her knees.

“I can.” Melanie responded. “Why are you here, anyway? Isn't the pressing matter the destruction of a part of the city because of me?”

Genjuro sighed. “Although it is a pressing matter, it's being handled by the other divisions. We don't oversee reconstructing destroyed areas, we try to prevent it.” Try was the keyword there, but Melanie shook her head a little at his explanation. If she hadn't been there, then Hibiki would still be alive. Starlit would still be alive.

They'd all be better off.

“I see.. And what about Hibiki...? Don't you guys hate me for not saving her?” Melanie asked, a frown on her face.

Genjuro looked puzzled at what she said. “Why are you asking that again? It wasn't your fault that she ended up in a coma, Melanie.” He put a hand on her head gently. “She's showing signs of improvement, so she should be waking up soon.”

Wait... what?

“Hibiki's in a coma? But-- But she died, I saw her disappear right in front of me!” Melanie stood up, looking at Genjuro as if he had told her that her pet cat had died. “She can't be alive...”

“Come with me, I'll show you.”

The hospital smelled sterile, and Melanie hated that smell. She'd spent months in here rehabilitating after the Zwei Wing incident, and it had really not been a good time. Parents came to berate her for surviving, Hibiki's parents had been distraught and took their anger out on her (though her grandmother had been sympathetic and apologized for their actions and had spent time with her before seeing Hibiki), and she'd been the one everyone had pinned the murders of the people who had died on.

“Your hands are stained with their blood!”

“You should've died instead of my sister! My sister was going to become a doctor! So why don't you repent and kill yourself?!”

“It's because of you that everyone's dead!”

Melanie winced, a whimper escaping her as she held her head. Right... She had been responsible for everything, hadn't she? The attack on the Zwei Wing concert, Hibiki's coma, the people dead... It had all been because of her. Genjuro stopped and looked back before turning around to walk up to her.

“The past?” He asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Mm...” Melanie could only nod and glance up. Her eyes were filling with tears yet again, and she whimpered slightly. “...It's my fault she's like this, Genjuro...”

“No, it's not. You tried to save her.” Genjuro said, shaking his head a little. “Let's go see her, her room isn't too far now.”

Melanie just gave a nod and the two of them walked to Hibiki's hospital room. As they approached, the door opened and two people came out. Ah, Hibiki's parents. Melanie looked for some place to hide, knowing she was in for another lecture about how it was her fault Hibiki was like she was. In a coma, never to wake again..

Singing of a Blitzer detected. Unlocking final lock.

The voice had gone through her head almost immediately, causing her to wince again. Final lock? What did that mean? She didn't really know, nor did she understand what was going on. The entire world around her faded to black, as if she'd passed out.

“This was to stop Tesla.. Song brought us together, so it should be what stops him from doing this..”

She felt her bracelet shift just a little, which caused her to come back to reality. There was a ringing in her ears, and she looked up at the person before her. Hibiki's dad, anger contorting his face as he yelled. Genjuro stepped in, saying something that she couldn't understand but... Hibiki's dad turned his attention to him and away from her.

“Hibiki...” Melanie murmured, before backing up and blinking away tears. “I'm sorry.”

And she ran from the confrontation, unwilling to go through it just to see Hibiki.

The hospital roof.

It was quieter up here, where she could think and not have to listen to the yelling. Not have to confront Hibiki's parents and explain it hadn't been her fault, she was trying to get Hibiki out of there. She hadn't expected to be pierced by a fragment of Kanade's Gungnir, or for Hibiki to hit her head on the rock as she tried to run and tripped over her injured leg.

She hadn't expected any of it..

“I'm sorry, Hibiki...” Melanie pulled her knees to her chest. The Hibiki she'd been talking to all these years... who had she been? And why had she disappeared like that? It made no sense. Melanie couldn't make heads or tails of it, and just sat there staring into the distance.

And then, a song abruptly disturbed her thoughts. She heard the music, and the lyrics. Standing up, Melanie looked around. Where was it coming from?

“Unlocking final lock.” She heard, before looking at Elekleid. The bracelet's crystals turned a little before righting themselves. “Elekleid special ability, Symphonic Drive, unlocked.”

Symphonic Drive?

A special ability buried deep within Elekleid, which allows it to fuse with a Symphogear. A voice said. Melanie looked around, but there was no one there. But the song she heard was powerful, though strained... as if the singer was in combat. It encouraged her to sing along, and so...

She did.

Slowly but surely, her wavering voice sang along to the lyrics that she heard. The song was filled with hope. Maybe that was what she was missing herself. Hope... and the dream she'd had so long ago, to become a singer. It'd been a stupid dream berated by her foster parents, but this gave her the hope to go on and try to become one anyway.

She didn't know how long she was standing there, singing, but it felt like eternity. She was enjoying singing. Before, she only sang because the Symphogear had required it to access all of its abilities. But now? The song came naturally, and the other song had long since faded.

The door behind her opened, and she caught herself mid-chorus. Nervously laughing, she looked behind her. There was Genjuro, with Hibiki's parents.....

And Hibiki. On crutches, but smiling widely.

“You're okay!” Hibiki said, using her crutches to move forward. “You didn't bleed out! I'm so happy...”

Melanie felt her eyes fill with tears, and she turned and ran at Hibiki, hugging her tight and making her lose her grip on her crutches. Crying, as Hibiki pat her on the back.

“Heiki, hecchara! Don't cry, it's okay. I'm awake now.”

“Hibikiiiii....”

The sun blazed bright in the sky and Melanie stood in an abandoned apartment lot. Everyone in S.O.N.G was there, along with Hibiki, Miku and their friends.

“So... I'm going now.” Melanie said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I'm taking Gungnir with me again, so....”

“It's yours, after all.” One of the S.O.N.G officials said. “Elfnein is working on a replacement Gungnir. It turns out Hibiki and Miku can use both Shenshoujing and Gungnir interchangably, so we'll be able to have backup. These three volunteered to help out.”

“Don't forget to visit!” Yumi said.

“Hey, dummy! Don't get into any trouble!”

“It was an honour working with you.”

Everyone was saying their goodbyes, and Melanie felt like she wanted to stay... but from the echo of the voice she heard, she would be going to check up on her world and see if it was still dead. It probably was, but..

“Melanie! Wait!” Hibiki ran up to her and paused in front of her before thrusting forward a present. “Miku said your birthday came and passed, so I got you something! Open it before you power on Elekleid and head off!”

Melanie looked confused, but opened it. It was a small box, and opening it showed a pair of hairclips. The same that Hibiki wore. She grinned and pointed to her hair, and Melanie pulled a lock of her hair to look at it. The colour had changed the day Hibiki woke up, to a shade matching hers. As if she'd become whole, instead of being... who she'd been up until then.

“I wanted you to take something of mine with you, so why not my favourite hairpins? I got another pair, so it's okay!” Hibiki grinned widely. “Make sure to come back and visit us!”

Melanie laughed, tears streaming down her face as she put the hairclips in her hair. “Of course, Hibiki.”

Elekleid, Switch On.

Walking out of the portal, Melanie deactivated Elekleid and noticed birds flying by. Confusion filled her face. Hadn't her world been dead? But here it was, alive and with people milling back and forth as if nothing had happened. Biting her lower lip, Melanie headed off towards her house and grabbed the spare key, hastily trying to unlock the door. Her hand shook as she did so, and she slammed open the door when she got there.

Empty.

The TV was still on, though.

“Ah...” Melanie's eyes filled with tears as she stepped into the house. “I knew it was too good to be true...”

“You said it.” A voice said from behind her. “The piece of shit laptop was really shitty. Like, for $900? It'd been just the screen. I really hate Craigslist.”

Melanie looked behind her to see Noah with a Best Buy bag in his hand and his car keys in the other. As she started to cry in relief that Noah was here, he didn't hesitate to put his keys and bag down before running over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders before hugging her tight. Melanie cried into his chest, happy to see him alive and well.

“I'm... I'm home, Noah..”

“Welcome home, Melanie.”

#storyline: the incident #ch: melanie sinclair #ch: genjuro kazanari #guest: miku kohinata #guest: stroganettes #ch: hibiki tachibana #guest: symphogear users #guest: S.O.N.G #ch: noah sinclair #this took me three whole days to write out.#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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hotoffthepressfics · 6 years ago

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Broke But Not Broken: Chapter 6

MASTERLIST

Part VI

Previous | Next

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,220

Summary: The job search proves harder than you thought. Nightmares keep you awake. When the dam of emotions finally breaks who will be there to comfort you?

Warnings: Angst, past violence, mentions of abuse/sexual abuse

Inspiration/Chapter Soundtrack:

“Skin” - Alexz Johnson

“The In - Between (Piano Solo)” - Evanescence

“A Haunted House (Fireside Tales) - The Grey Orchestra

“Everything Has Changed” - Taylor Swift [feat. Ed Sheeran]

A/N: I’ve been dying to write this part! I may or may not have discovered that I probably have a bit of a hand fetish after writing this as well… Please Enjoy!

The city street bustles around you as you slump dejectedly on the bus stop bench. You’d been out every day searching for work since you’d opened your mailbox to find the plain white envelope containing your new social security card.

You had been elated initially, unable to wait to begin your job hunt. However, if you thought the matter of your identification would cause you issues, your references were another matter entirely.

CiCi and Tía were kind enough to let you use them as personal references. You’d even mustered up the guts to approach Bucky and ask him, but even with those it didn’t seem to be enough.

A month had now passed since you started this venture and you were beginning to feel edgy and desperate again. You couldn’t rely on everyone’s generosity forever. You needed to stand on your own two feet. The sunlight begins to dim. It was getting late. Reluctantly you get up and trudge home.

Lost in a reverie while climbing up the stairs to your apartment building, you almost didn't notice CiCi and a large man with ebony-colored skin and close cropped hair coming out of the door.

“…ello?... Helllllo sugar!” You jump back, startled, as CiCi waves her hand in front of your face.

“Oh!... Sorry Cees, I was just thinking.” You timidly step back to allow CiCi and her beau to come out fully. Damien wiggles his fingers at you in greeting. You flick your eyes up briefly to him and raise your hand in reply.

Damien was a really nice person, though the bulk of him could suggest otherwise. There was no real reason for your fear or shyness around him, other than the simple fact that experience taught you to present yourself as meek and submissive to any males in your presence.

CiCi loops her arm through Damien’s, the sleek cream colored slacks and blazer complimenting her dark skin beautifully.

“That’s alright baby, how’d the job hunt go?” She asks.

You keep your eyes trained on the ground, scuffing the concrete step with the toe of your shoe. Your silence was answer enough. CiCi sighs sympathetically.

“Oh Sug. Well hey, no sweat! The right one just hasn’t popped up yet. We just have to prove to one employer that you’ve got the gumption to do the job. We’ll get there baby, don’t lose hope.” She and Damien came down to the step you stood on. She pats your shoulder in comfort.

“Yeah. Ya just gotta find what you’re good at and sell it.” Damien offers.

You smile softly, lifting your head to meet their gazes. Your nerve apparently never got the memo and you settle on staring at a point behind the two of them. “Yes. I’ll keep searching. I’m not giving up.”

CiCi cups your chin and gently pulls your attention to her. You stare into her face.

“Remember,” She gives your face a slight shake, “this is your time. You deserve a victory. No more cowering.” Her intense stare pins you to the spot, her words seeping into you. You swallow and nod again, unable to say anything.

She smiles and releases her hold on your chin, seemingly satisfied that she got her point across. “Good. Now, why don’t you come out with us tonight? We can wait for you to change, and it might be good for you to get your mind off this job search of yours?”

Before the invitation has completely left CiCi’s mouth you shake your head vehemently. Going out and searching for a job was one thing; heading out and exposing yourself to more people than was necessary was a different matter altogether.

“No, thank you CiCi. I’m�� just too tired tonight… I’m gonna head up and turn in.” You begin your retreat to the entryway. She shrugs and allows Damien to haul her down the rest of the way to the walkway.

“Alright, just know that the invite stands any time you wanna come out!” She calls as they disappear down the street. You wave a farewell and let yourself in.

A trip up the elevator, a quick turn of the lock to your apartment, and you were in your safe haven. You let out a sigh and kick off your shoes. The day’s disappointments and fatigue are already weighing you down. A quick meal, a shower, and you are ready to sleep. You flip off the bedroom lights and curl into your blankets to drift away.

•••

Colton slams the front door shut. The pictures and décor rattle on the wall. You jump, the music you’re playing faltering briefly before you resume your playing.

It was best to ignore him when he was in this state. To wait out the storm of his fury. You never knew what set him off; probably because it was a day that ended in ‘y’. You resolve to just stay out of his way.

You focus on the music you’re creating as Colton continues rioting through the apartment.

“Would you knock it off with that god awful shit?!”

Suddenly one of your textbooks crashes into the wall above your piano. You stop playing. Stiffly you turn to face him, keeping your hands in your lap and making sure your head is bowed low. He’s standing in the entry to the hallway, his stance menacing.

“Who is he?” He asks in a deathly quiet tone.

Your eyebrows knit together, confusion stirring in your mind. You carefully look up at him.

“Wh…who?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

His fist crashes against the wall and you jump again.

“Don’t play dumb, bitch! I saw you talking to him in the Commons!”

You quickly scan through your recollection of the day, trying to discern who Colton could be talking about. You were taking too long because Colton abruptly growls and in two strides he’s behind you. He threads his fingers through your hair and yanks your head back to look at him, shouting obscenities in your face. You yelp and try to grapple out of his hold. It does nothing.

“He’s not anybody! He’s just a guy from class! He – he needed the notes that he missed and I gave them to him!” You cry, a hiccup escaping in the middle of your sentence.

“Please let go – he is nobody… you’re hurting me…please…” you beg.

Done with his tirade Colton huffs and releases his hold with a small shove, propelling you forward against the piano keys. A few jarring notes sound from it. He stomps off to the bedroom. A loud bang announcing the closing door.

Shuddering breaths rattle their way passed your lips. You slowly slide away from the piano and reach for your now ripped and broken textbook, dropping it a few times before you get a good grip on it. Your terror made you clumsy. You didn’t want to incite more ire from Colton.

For a half hour you creep around the apartment trying not to make a sound, but it appeared that Colton would remain locked in the bedroom. After picking up a few more things he’d knocked over in his rampage you tiptoe back to the piano and slip back under the keys. You had a recital coming up, you needed to keep practicing.

Timidly you press the keys, slowly building the music back up. The soothing tune washes over you, smoothing back down your frayed emotions. You get so caught up in the music you don’t hear the creak as the bedroom door opens.

•••

You gasp for air as consciousness pulls you out of the nightmare. Sweat makes your night clothes stick awkwardly. As your brain begins to come down from its panic you feel painful tingles traveling up from your right hand. You lift it, carefully stretching out the numbness. The blood flows back to your fingers, the prickles feeling odd and a tad painful. You must have fallen asleep on it weird.

Rolling over you bury your face into your pillows, trying to fall back to sleep. Even though your mind had calmed it was now alert and racing. There would be no more sleep tonight. A sudden burst of irritation ripples through you. You scream into the pillow. These nightmares had been happening on and off since you’d escaped and found refuge here. Colton was miles away with no idea where you were, and yet he still robbed you. He robbed you of your confidence, your talents, and now your sleep. Not to mention that your search for employment was hampered because of him as well.

You sit up and angrily kick the blankets wrapped around your legs off. If you couldn’t sleep you might as well do something productive. You get up and throw on your gray sweater. The woolen fabric had become a sort of security blanket since you got it.

Gathering all your discarded, dirty clothes from the closet floor you make your way to the front door. Just before exiting your apartment you snag a roll of quarters from the kitchen counter.

Down in the laundry room you throw in a load and turn on the washer. As the machine begins it’s noisy whirl, you anxiously tap your fingers against the metal. Now what were you to do while you waited?

You pivot around and lean into the machine, inspecting your surroundings. Once again your eyes zero in on the piano. You’d been avoiding it like the plague since you had first spotted it. Where once the instrument had brought you peace and comfort, the last couple years playing had brought nothing but sorrow.

Whether it was Damien’s words echoing in your head or the lack of sleep and aggravation you weren’t sure, but you hesitantly made your way to the piano. You let your fingers glide lightly across the keys. After a long moment you drag the bench out from underneath and slide onto it.

Testing the keys you play a few halting notes. You pause letting the last notes resound. You repeat the same notes, this time a little faster. The song continues, your fingers moving along the keys, and just like that your reservations fall away. You close your eyes and let the music build up to a crescendo, adding layers to your initial refrain.

All your emotional disquiet bleeds away as you continue. The musical interlude dwindles down. You stare silently down at your fingers, reveling in the initial peace the moment brought you.

“I thought you said you couldn’t play?”

You start, hands clamping down on the piano keys with a roaring clang on the strings. You spin around to see Bucky wince at the discordant melody. Your brain reminds you to breathe again.

“God, don’t do that!” You gripe at him collapsing onto the bench.

“Sorry… I was just surprised… are you crying?”

You’re made aware of a cooling sensation tingling down your face. You reach up and brush your cheek, surprised when it comes away wet. You swipe at your eyes.

Bucky pushes off the dryer he’d been leaning on and comes to kneel next to the bench. You turn away slightly, using your sweater sleeve to dab at your eyes one more time before answering softly, “I’m fine.”

He remains silent, his hands resting on the edge of the bench supporting his weight. After a moment he stands up.

“Move over.” He gently taps your thigh and you instinctively scoot away. He glides onto the bench. While you make a pointed effort to not to look at him, Bucky hunches over the keys to watch your face. Silence settles in.

“So… was that just a fluke or can you really play?”

“I never said I couldn’t play.” You snap, feeling a little too vulnerable to politely deal with his constant needling. You cringe a little, fearful he’d get angry for your outburst.

“Oh, no? It’s funny, I recall asking if you played and you saying no…” Bucky left his statement dangling as he lifted a finger to his chin in mock thoughtfulness, hardly phased by your sudden temper. It seemed he was too mild-mannered to react.

You relax a bit, give him a sidelong glance and run a finger against the keys.

“…I just meant ‘no, I didn’t want to play’ not ‘no, I can’t play’…” you elaborate.

“Ah. So… you lied?”

Your head swivels to glare at him. “I did not lie.” You defend yourself.

“A lie by omission is still a lie.” He responds in a sort of sing-song voice.

You aren’t sure what possesses you. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps that it sounded a lot like what your mother would have said. Whatever it was, your comeback to his statement is to scrunch up your nose and stick your tongue out.

A bark of laughter rumbles from Bucky’s chest. It sends a tiny thrill through you.

“Very cute, rabbit.” A lazy smile forms on his lips.

You blush and look away, back down to your clasped hands in your lap. For a few minutes the only sound is the whirring of the washing machine.

“Do… you want to talk about it?” Bucky asks gently.

No, you didn’t. The mere thought of trying to speak about what happened made your throat swell. Shaking your head you take a deep breath, holding it in. Another beat of silence passes.

“Maybe you could play it instead?” He persuades.

You lift your head to stare at him quizzically, not quite understanding his meaning. Bucky shrugs.

“It just seemed like you were playing your feelings before. Maybe you could play a song about how your feeling now?”

It wasn’t a terrible idea, you muse. You had come down here to shake off the demons clawing at your back. For the first time in a long time you had the opportunity to play for yourself instead of a man bent on destroying every piece of you. As you move to the center of the keys Bucky slides to the edge of the bench to give you space.

He patiently waits while you run through a few scales. Then the music begins.

The deep tones awake memories you’d long suppressed to survive. They play through your mind’s eye. Your mother’s illness and subsequent death. Meeting Colton and his insistence on dating. The first time he hit you. The first time he forced you.

Your fingers fly over the keys. The music almost deafening. The moment he shattered the bones in your hand. When he took you to that party…

You abruptly stop playing, clamping your hands around your head, trying to stem the flow of images racing around. A sharp keening escapes you as you curl around the keyboard. You’re vaguely aware when Bucky wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, too tired and distraught to care.

Bucky rubs soothing circles against your back murmuring soft reassurances. You burrow your face into the side of his neck and continue to weep.

Eventually your sobbing subsides. Your shuddering breaths even out. You breathe deeply, taking in Bucky’s scent. He smells clean, woody, calming.

Suddenly a loud buzzing sounds. The washing machine just finished its cycle. You jump, pulling back against Bucky’s arms. He releases you as you scoot away and out from the bench to retrieve your laundry.

Embarrassment from your frantic crying blooms across your cheeks and you are glad for the distraction. As you switch the clothing over to the dryer you surreptitiously dab at your eyes, aware that Bucky might be quietly observing you.

You move slowly, knowing that when you are done you’d have to face him again. After carefully tossing the clothes in, counting out the quarters, and closing the machine to start you reluctantly turn back towards Bucky. As you suspected he was watching. For a moment you just stare at each other then he pats the bench inviting you back.

“Sit, you showed me your skills. Now I’ll show mine.” He turns back to the piano, fanning out imaginary coat tails as he does so.

The corners of your mouth twitch. How was he so good at diffusing tension? You return to your seat next to him.

“Do you know how to play?” You tease, watching him flex his fingers in preparation.

Bucky gives you a look of feigned offense. “Of course! Studied with only the best.”

“Annnd the best being…”

“Hush, a master is at work.”

You cover your mouth and suppress a smile. His hands hover over the keys building the anticipation. Then with two fingers he painfully plucks out a jaunty version of Chopsticks.

You can’t help it. A giggle bubbles up from your chest and slips passed your lips before you can clamp your hands over your mouth. Bucky closes the song with a flourish and then bows to you. Choking back your humor you clap for him, shouting ‘bravo’ a couple times.

A sense of easiness settles between you two as you take turns playing songs for each other. The dryer whirs on while you attempt to teach Bucky proper hand placement and a portion of a song meant for beginners.

When the dryer finishes you reluctantly rise and reach for your empty basket. Bucky follows you to the dryer and holds the door open while you pile your laundry into it.

Once the last article of clothing made it in he bends to pick it up. You begin to protest, but he ignores you, propping the wicker carrier against his right hip. He carefully reaches out with his metal hand in offering.

“Can I walk you back to your apartment?” asks Bucky.

You sway back a little, unsure. He waits calmly while you make up your mind. You search his face a moment and make a decision. Cautiously you place your hand in his. Bucky’s metal fingers wrap around yours, gentle and cool.

Bucky pivots and lightly pulls you away to the elevator. Waiting for the elevator to reach your floor his thumb softly traces patterns on the back of your hand. It sent pleasant shivers up your arm.

All too soon the elevator opens and you arrive in front of your door. You slip your hand out of his hold and open it. Bucky hands off the basket to you. You set it just inside the doorway and turn to say goodnight to him.

“Y/N,” Bucky takes your hand without asking this time. He focuses in on your knuckles, his thumb grazing the scarred flesh.

You study his face waiting for him to speak again. It’s clear he’s working out what he wants to say. He opens his mouth to start, thinks better of it, and closes it again. Finally he sighs. He looks up and pierces you with those cool blue eyes.

“I’m just glad that you’re here.” His voice is soft. A sincere smile fills his face.

You blush, turning your face into the door a little to hide it.

“Me too.” You reply. You were genuinely happy to be where you were, surrounded by these good people.

He squeezes your hand once more, bids you goodnight and lopes back down the hallway. You watch his back retreat for a moment, then slip back inside your apartment and head back to bed.

EVERYTHING TAGLIST:

@booktvmoviefangirl @lowkeybuckyb @mrsdaamneron @xxashy999xx @c-ly-g @coal000 @rroguebones @ghostlyrose2 @part-time-patronus @emelielwh @peaceinourtime82 @buckysforeverprincess @geeksareunique @amnahs9695 @v-2bucky @scarlet-skywalkers @lokilvrr @thisismysecrethappyplace @sacre-bluhm @tatertot1097 @until-theend-oftheline @amoonagedaydreamer @marvelouspottering @thatfanficstuff @chuuulip @littlemarvelfics @averyrogers83 @ellaprime68 @shield-agent78

BUCKY BARNES TAGLIST:

@bloodiedskirtts @igotkatiepowers @misplacedorphan @superwholockwannabe @moonstruckhargrove @ladysergeantbarnes

BBNB TAGLIST:

@imaginecrushes @that-bearshark @jademox @theraputicwritings @marvel-fanfiction @aubri1313 @xcriminalmastermindx @regulusirius @jacquelineisawkward @lostinspace33 @directionerfae @rainbowkisses31 @marie-is-in-the-dark @msgrungie @mrsbarneswillseeyounow @getmedeacon @owhatshername1 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @mizzzpink @aveatquevale- @sweetlydecaf @absolukeyrh

#bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #modern au #broke but not broken

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ahouseoflies · 6 years ago

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The Best Films of 2018, Part III

Parts I and II are here and here.

GOOD MOVIES

70. Mid90s (Jonah Hill)- I usually applaud filmmakers for letting visuals tell the story instead of spelling everything out, but Mid90s needs to spell some more stuff out, especially at the truncated end. His brother brought him an orange juice, so all of the abuse is forgotten? I need a bit more there.

I was always going to be in the tank for this though, having been the same age as the protagonist at the time, owning some of the same shirts as him and hanging some of the same posters on my wall. Despite the "My First Screenplay" beef I had up top, each supporting character gets something to do. Hill shows promise as a director (and the fingerprints of his influences) by being able to shift between poles of emotions in a matter of seconds.

69. McQueen (Ian Bonhote)- Although it waits too long to get into McQueen's depression, this documentary does an adequate job of showing the ups and downs of his life. It was great seeing things I've only read about, like the Voss show.

Here's the thing though: I'm not a genius, but if I were, I would hope that my closest friends and advisers would be able to articulate what made me great. A little less "We were working sixteen-hour days." A little more "He changed art forever."

68. Beautiful Boy (Felix Van Groeningen)- For better and worse, this portrait of a parent's worst nightmare is unrelenting. Surprisingly, the toughest moment is when Nic is fierce with pride, clean for fourteen months. Because when you pause and see that there's an hour left in the movie, you shudder at how low he might end up going.

Van Groeningen's sort of french braid of past and present hasn't changed for his English-language debut, but things worked best for me when he locked in on Timothee Chalamet's mannered but touching performance. I wish the movie had a proper ending.

67. The Kindergarten Teacher (Sara Colangelo)- This takes a little while to get sick and twisted, but I liked it once it did. Part of why it works is Gyllenhaal's commitment to the role. As dark as the character gets--and the film does seem hell-bent on establishing her as a failure when I'm not sure that's true--Gyllenhaal never judges her. It's probably her best performance since SherryBaby.

As for Gael Garcia Bernal, who plays a poetry professor who kisses people and then apologizes and says that he misread the moment and acts all bashful, are we sure about him? Are we sure he's good at acting?

66. The Spy Who Dumped Me (Susanna Fogel)- The spywork of the last half-hour is way too convoluted, but the comedy is fast and loose in service of a sweet female friendship. We're at the stage with the genius of Kate McKinnon in which I just assume that she came up with anything funny on the spot. For example, there's an off-hand joke that her character went to camp with Edward Snowden and was surprised that the news didn't mention how "into ska" he was. It's so bizarre that it had to be improv. Later, when Edward Snowden shows up as a character, I had to admit that the movie was tightly written. But I assumed it was McKinnon first. 65. Ready Player One (Steven Spielberg)- Halfway through Ready Player One, there's a sequence that takes place inside The Overlook Hotel of The Shining. The characters are walking through a photorealistic recreation of that setting, down to the smallest details, but it has been repurposed with different angles for this film. Not only have I literally never seen something like this in a movie, but I never imagined the possibility of such a thing existing. And somehow...it's corny and derivative.

So goes Ready Player One. It takes the simple pleasures of a Chosen One narrative with a killer villain, loads every corner of the frame with Ryu or Beetlejuice or a Goldie Wilson campaign poster, and punishes you with maximalism. Each piece reliably contributes to the whole, sometimes in thrilling and amusing fashion, but no matter when you check your watch, forty-five minutes are left.

When imdb came out, Steven Spielberg was one of the first people I looked up. What shocked me was how many projects I attributed to his direction when he had only produced them. In my kid brain, Spielberg had directed Gremlins or Goonies or An American Tail. They had his imprimatur of whimsy and wonder and childhood identification even if they were, you know, a bit more conventional and less purposeful than the movies he directed. Well, not since Tintin has there been a Steven Spielberg-directed film that feels more Spielberg-produced.

My favorite reference was the Battletoads. Or more accurately, imagining the seventy-two-year-old filmmaker going, "Oh, you know I gotta get the 'Toads up in this bih!"

64. Ben Is Back (Peter Hedges)- Despite a little bit of note-card screenwriting--"Get a line about how insurance doesn't care about drug addiction in there!"--The first two-thirds take their time revealing information to the viewer, dropping bread crumbs of the family history quite gracefully. Roberts and Hedges play off each other well, and their charisma powers the first half. She, of course, has an ample bag of Movie Star tricks, but, surprisingly, he already does too. You can see, in the confrontation at the mall, for example, how the mother's dissembling and conniving would pass down to him.

So it's a real bummer when the final third decides to separate the leads and rushes to a baffling conclusion. It falls apart like few movies in recent memory.

63. Avengers: Infinity War (Anthony Russo, Joe Russo)- Whatever. I admire the skill that it must have taken to balance the revolving wheel of characters--even if it does feel like check-ins half the time. The movie is exhausting in a bad way until it's exhausting in a good way. More importantly, here are my power rankings. (Their power in my own heart. Thanos is obviously the most powerful.)

1. Rocket 2. Hawkeye (Renner Season even when it isn't.) 3. The Collector 4. Black Panther 5. Thanos 6. Iron Man 7. Ned 8. Nick Fury 9. Star Lord 10. Thor (His scene with Rocket is the best one in the film.) 11. Gamora 12. Hulk (Your boy is so earnest in this. "They KNEW!") 13. Spider-Man 14. Wong 15. Okoye 16. Doctor Strange (Way cooler in this than his own movie.) 17. Captain America (His hair was beautiful.) 18. Drax 19. Pepper Potts 20. Falcon 21. Groot 22. Black Widow 23. Winter Soldier 24. Loki (Is he alive? Was he alive before this? Can he impersonate people or whatever even if he's dead? What's his deal?) 25. Scarlet Witch (Her first line is, getting out of bed, "Vis, is it the stone again?") 26. Gamora's Sister (No, you look it up.) 27. War Machine (Do you think Cheadle forgets that he's in these? Like, he misses a day of shooting just because he forgot?) 28. Vision 29. Whatever Peter Dinklage Was

62. The Old Man & the Gun (David Lowery)- Sissy Spacek's character explains, on a tour of her house, that she pulled up some wallpaper and found a signature from 1881 underneath, which is so unique that--ugly as it is--she couldn't bear to cover it. The movie is sort of about that. Does a way of life from a long time ago matter now?

Does it matter how you present yourself? How much does intention cancel out action?

The questions play themselves out in a way that is formally interesting--Lowery swish-pans and advances the scenes in a way that he hasn't since Ain't Them Bodies Saints--but informally pretty dull. Redford is engaging as possible, but I feel like I maxed out on my concern for a person who refuses to change.

I've had the Sean Penn "on one" scale for a long time, but I'm introducing the "off one" scale for Casey Affleck, who is so purposefully muted that he seems like he's going to pass out in some scenes. Keep doing you, Case. As far as acting goes.

61. Disobedience (Sebastian Lelio)- I admired how little the film spelled out about the setting and the characters' pasts. The beginning is cautious without being slow, and the women seem drawn to each other with a sort of magnetism that is difficult to pull off. While the triangle of people at the center is realistic and fair, the picture is ultimately a bit staid. I don't want melodrama out of the story either, but I do think it would work better if the characters were more passionate about anything, even the religion that makes them lack passion. 60. Crazy Rich Asians (Jon M. Chu)- This movie is sweet, and it nails the rom-com fulcrum scenes that it has to. Hear me out though: Both of the leads are winning, and Henry Golding's charm keeps us from acknowledging that his character is a psycho. Here is a list of things that, over the course of a year, he does not bother to tell his girlfriend:

a. That his family is the wealthiest in Singapore. Or wealthy at all. But more notably, he tells Rachel no details at all about his family, such as his brothers' and sisters' names. b. That he skipped an important trip home a few months ago, which caused a rift in his family. c. How to pack or dress for their trip to visit his family. d. That his mother did not want them sleeping together at her house, not that he "wants her all to himself." e. That his family wants him to take over their business, which would necessitate a permanent move to Singapore. f. That he went out with one of the women attending the bachelorette party, and that this woman has very good reason to sabotage Rachel and Nick's current relationship. g. That the wedding they're attending is also a super-rich affair that will be covered by international media. h. That the wedding party they're attending the night before is a formal affair with hundreds of guests, not the "family party" that he presents it as. By the way, this is one of the two times that he not only doesn't accompany her to an event, expecting her to meet him there and find him, but he doesn't even send a car. i. That he's thinking about proposing to her. "We haven't even talked about that stuff," Rachel tells her mother.

Communication is key, Nick.

59. Lean on Pete (Andrew Haigh)- I liked the first half and its patient doling out of information. Haigh sews quite a few credible threads to show why the gruff Dell would take a liking to Charley. When the film diverges into a drifter story, I got frustrated with it. To me, drifter characters aren't interesting because they take unpredictable actions, what enliven films, and make them predictable. A dine-and-dash is a dangerous, exciting thing to happen in a movie, but when this scared kid has already done so much similar running, it dulls that edge. This is Haigh's least successful film, but it's still empathetic and sensitive.

58. Hereditary (Ari Aster)- The first third of Hereditary is when it is at its most intimate and compact as a story of grief. And with the bridge of a genuinely shocking event, it becomes less Don’t Look Back and more of a hellish explainer.

Ari Aster is a master craftsman already, investing every element with intention, down to “Why are clocks so present in the frame?” That craft extends to Toni Collette, who is even better than she normally is. But in refusing to be mysterious and small, the film didn't connect with me on a level beyond admiration..

57. Gringo (Nash Edgerton)- The expository information about the company comes too late, the ending is too tidy, and I'm not sure what my girl Mandy Seyfried is doing in this. But it's funny overall, in large part because Theron and Edgerton bounce off each other beautifully, projecting a very specific brand of nouveau riche awful. She says, "Fat people are...hilarious," and he wears too many accessories in his pick-up basketball game, for which there's a running clock.

Many of these crime comedies fail because all of the characters are painted with the same cynical brush, but Oyelowo is so likable here as a frazzled guy in over his head, playing against the type of simmering dignity he inhabited as someone like Martin Luther King. I'm glad that he's getting at-bats with something this different.

56. Bad Times at the El Royale (Drew Goddard)- If you like table-setting (and I do), then this is going to be a fun time. Each room at the motel gets a two-sided mirror, each character is two-faced, many events are presented from two perspectives, and there's even a double in the title. It's hard not to share in Goddard's delight as he patiently lays out all of the Tarantinian pieces.

Once he has to start declaring things though, somewhere halfway in the meandering two and a half hours, the film doesn't end up having much to say. I'm not sure I wanted another Cabin in the Woods ending, but I did want it to add up to more than the modest pleasures that it does. Kudos to Chris Hemsworth and his dialect coach for finally piecing together a serviceable American accent.

55. Thunder Road (Jim Cummings)- As far as calling card movies go, this one is a pretty smart character study. It centers on how the things we find important, the impact of words in this case, can often be the things we struggle with the most, through dyslexia and spoonerisms and messed-up jokes in this case. That being said, no offense, the film would be 25% better with a more capable lead actor. 54. Annihilation (Alex Garland)- Much like Sunshine, another Alex Garland script, this story handles the mystery elegantly, with jolts of real horror, until we get where we're going, which doesn't live up to the promise. I do appreciate that it respects the viewer's intelligence--withholding answers to questions, sometimes never answering questions. I'm grateful that it exists. 53. BlacKkKlansman (Spike Lee)- Like Chi-Raq and Red Hook Summer, BlacKKKlansman would make for a hell of a YouTube compilation if you cut together its best moments. It's sharp and vital when it's at its best, which is pretty much any time it's commenting on the present, through "Now more than ever" Nixon campaign posters, mentions of how David Duke's policies might show up in Republican platforms, or the searing epilogue that brings back one of Lee's oldest tricks.

Like a lot of his recent work though, it's a mess tonally, and basic stuff like the timing of the cuts seems amateurish. I also think Lee's relationship with Terence Blanchard is hurting him at this point; the music doesn't match what's going on at all. I wish it hung together better than it does.

52. Widows (Steve McQueen)- This is the messiest film that Steve McQueen has made, which is its biggest strength and its biggest weakness. That loose quality allows for some expressive moves, such as when the alderman candidate takes a real-time two-minute ride from the poor area where he's campaigning to the tony area where he lives, in the same district. This is a film with admirable ambition to go with its cheap thrills.

But that same messiness produces as many bad performances (Farrell, Neeson, and, yes, Duvall) as it does good ones (Debicki, Henry, Kaluuya), and it elides so many moments near the end that I have lingering questions about whether a major plot point was even resolved. This is definitely the type of movie that has a three-hour cut that is better, and I still hope that director's cut doesn't waste five scenes on Debicki's prostitute relationship with Lukas Haas. (Where is his sliver of a face on the poster?)

51. The Death of Stalin (Armando Iannucci)- I feel as if I have to adjust to the astringency of any Iannucci property, and when I do, I laugh a lot. This movie is hilarious, and I'll save you from a list of the jokes that work the best.

Iannucci and his collaborators take one of the most violent, tyrannical periods of history and expose its perpetrators as sniveling, feckless children who might accidentally spit in their own faces as they're trying to spit on someone else's. Destabilizing those in power--in this case de-memorializing them--and portraying them as lost, scared humans is the goal of satire. So even though he does it so well, part of me wonders, "Is that it?" Bureaucracy is dumb? Isn't this an easy target? For what it's worth, I felt the same way about In the Loop, despite everyone else's praise. I'm waiting for Iannucci to find a weapon sharper than the middle finger.

50. Tully (Jason Reitman)- In a way, it's refreshing for a screenwriter to be bad at writing men. The outdated, clueless, manchild dad is the biggest weakness of the script, especially since everything else is pitched with such realism. There's also one scene that I hate but probably shouldn't spoil.

Put aside that character though, and this is a movie with wit, verisimilitude, and even a bit of visual agility. The protagonist--Marlo, a Diablo Cody name if there ever was one--has a special needs son, and I appreciated the honest way that Marlo's frustration with him sometimes outweighed her understanding.

49. Fahrenheit 11/9 (Michael Moore)- Fahrenheit 11/9 is diffuse, but it's effective enough to be in the top half of Moore's work. He stays out of it mostly (besides that familiar narration, as gentle as it is ashamed), but his heart is clearly in the searing Flint section. In fact, I wish he had made a documentary that focused only on that American travesty, not all of them.

He has the same challenge that many of us do--pointing out the crimes and perversions of Trump while keeping the high ground--and he doesn't always avoid the low-hanging fruit. Dubbing Trump's voice over Hitler's is the type of shit that people hate him for. At most turns, however, Moore's choices make sense. A long diversion into the Parkland kids, even though I find them kind of tiring personally, serves as an inspirational peak to the valley of any people of a generation or two earlier than them.

48. Isle of Dogs (Wes Anderson)- Many Wes Anderson movies are flippant about death and disease. When the effect works, it's refreshing and disorienting. When it doesn't, like in this movie, it feels cold, as if he's moving dolls around in a playhouse.

But in every other way, the sweet and wry Isle of Dogs benefits as a manicured chamber piece. The details are obvious (the tactile fur on all of the dog puppets), less obvious (a translation provides the legend "very sad funeral" to accompany a news story), and even less obvious (more than one joke about how many syllables should be in a haiku). If the narrative--jaded stray finds redemption through guileless child--doesn't offer much in the way of re-invention for the director, then I'm glad the large canvas does.

47. You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsey)- I wanted an artsy crime film, and I got an artsy crime film. I have no idea if I liked it. It's bleak and groady, more of a violence movie than an action movie, concerned with the cycle of abuse and the oily spread of vengeance. It begins twenty minutes after most films of its type might choose to, and it begins in earnest at the hour mark. The atonal Jonny Greenwood score is a perfect approximation of whatever kind of dark clouds are floating in the protagonist's head.

Even when it doesn't work, the film is a reminder that Lynne Ramsey is a real artist. Although this doesn't come close to the catharsis and real-world relevance of We Need to Talk About Kevin, it reveals a focused point of view. Whether it's depicting a sequence through only surveillance footage or cutting to a half-second of flashback, she includes exactly what she wants to.

46. The Commuter (Jaume Collet-Sera)- I gave Non-Stop two-and-a-half stars, and this is a much more elegant version of Non-Stop. Even though it succumbs to gross CGI and outsized conspiracy, the class-conscious table setting is non-pareil, and it lets Neeson act his age.

45. Vice (Adam McKay)- Vice is a difficult film to evaluate because its greatest strength, the resolute, partisan, experimental point of view, is also its greatest weakness, the hand-holding, pedantic, antic point of view. There are moments in this film--the menu scene, the fake-ending--that are more inventive than anything else this year. And credit to McKay for a sui generis structure that covers thirty years in the first hour and two years in the second hour; if nothing else, he has the talent to make unitary executive theory fun.

It's a big, angry, auteurist, '70s swing, so it also takes a lot of chances that don't work and, quite obviously, it wields poetic license in the way that Ron Burgundy swished around a glass of scotch. Sometimes it doesn't know when to trust the viewer, like when it freeze frames and flashes "George H.W. Bush, President, 1989-1993" over a Bush-looking guy talking about "Barbara and I" as his son misbehaves in the background. Through no fault of McKay's, the story feels anti-climactic as well. Although I felt more distance than I expected from events that I consider recent history, the dominoes are still falling in the world that Cheney shaped.

One thing that is less debatable is Christian Bale's transformation into Cheney. That word "transformation" is used any time a famous person wears a wig. This performance, which spans decades and is not directly related to any of Bale's other work, is different. The portrait of Cheney is one of monolithic evil, which Bale suggests, but it's also grounded in reticent, clenched jaw micro-movements. Cheney, who is four inches shorter than Bale, seems like the smallest and biggest man in any room. At this point, if you told me Bale was playing Grendel, I wouldn't bat an eye. In fact, his Grendel might look a lot like Dick Cheney.

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phoenixfeatherquill · 6 years ago

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Endgame (1/10)

AN: Silentshipping fic--Serenity/Kaiba. Because I have no willpower.

“So…whaddaya think?”

Serenity tried to think of something to say. Yugi made a noncommittal noise, Tristan shrugged, and Tea made a vague comment about the color of the walls. The warehouse was…unremarkable, if she were to be perfectly honest. Oh, it was very large and spacious. There was a faint smell of chlorine and gasoline. She did like the tall windows that covered most of the south wall—they brought in plenty of light.

“Well,” Serenity chose her words carefully. “It’s…big.”

“That’s kinda the point, guys,” Joey grinned at her and stretched. “Just imagine Serenity—on that far wall all of my equipment, a floor jack that can lift in two places, tire-mounted steps—this place is perfect!”

“So you’re really going to do it?” Tristan’s voice was laced in skepticism. “You’re really going to turn this place into a garage?”

“It’s certainly big enough,” Yugi chimed in. “And Joey’s wanted his own garage since high school!”

Serenity squinted and tried to imagine. She didn’t know much about mechanics or automotive equipment, but if Joey was certain that this was the perfect place for his garage, then she had to believe him.

“I like it,” She turned on her heels towards him. “You’ll need a lot of shelves and tables though. Are you going to build all of them on your own?”

“Of course!” He walked over to the far wall and drew a finger against the dust. “I want everything in here to have the Wheeler touch, Serenity. It’s gonna all be mine!”

“He is very handy,” Tea laughed. “He built Yugi and me some shelves not too long ago. He could turn this place into a garage no problem.”

“Heck yeah, I can! Nothing’s gonna stop us now, Serenity!”

Serenity smiled. She couldn’t blame him for being excited. Since Serenity had turned eighteen, they had both moved out of their mother and father’s house into an apartment of their own. Serenity’s mother had been furious and she couldn’t imagine how angry her father must have been—if the bruise on Joey’s cheek were any indication.

“I think that sounds great, Joey. So you’re going to buy this place?”

“Yep. I saw it on the way home from work one day and I just had a feeling…this is it. I’m gonna do it all here…cars, trucks, carpentry…motorcycles.”

His voice faltered a little and Serenity placed a tentative hand on his arm. He was thinking of Mai. She could tell by the distant look in his eyes. In an attempt to distract him, Tea walked towards the paperwork, where the “FOR SALE” information was listed. She rifled through it and frowned suddenly.

“Um…Joey?”

“What’s up?”

“This building…” She held up the paperwork. “Isn’t it owned by KaibaCorp?”

His face fell. Her brother ran over to Tea and scanned the information quickly. He groaned loudly.

“You gotta be kidding me! That just figures. KaibaCorp owns half the buildings in Domino City.”

“Well,” Yugi said doubtfully. “Maybe he’ll let you buy the place with no problem. We do all have a history together. I wouldn’t call us friends exactly, but I guess we have respect for each other.”

“He has respect for you, Yugi,” Joey corrected. “He’s always hated me. He barely recognizes me as a duelist.”

“Oh please,” Serenity placed her hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious, Joey. Kaiba couldn’t be as petty as to not let you buy this place, just because of a card game rivalry!”

There was an awkward silence as the gang glanced at each other. It seemed that the group thought Kaiba could very well be that petty.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Tea said finally. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get a meeting with him.”

****

Of course setting a meeting with Seto Kaiba was easier said than done. Mokuba needed to be called to arrange it. They agreed to meet at Kaiba’s office to discuss the property.

Serenity didn’t know that much about Seto Kaiba. True, she’d spent some time on his blimp (who owned a blimp?), she had seen him duel, and he showed up in the news every so often. And of course, she knew how much Joey hated him. Frankly, she couldn’t blame her brother. Everything told Serenity that this man was unpleasant, arrogant, and proud—qualities that she did not care for.

Yugi, ever the fair and reasonable soul, claimed there was more to Kaiba. He had seen his heart and knew how much Kaiba loved his family. But even if that were true, it didn’t stop him from being an ass.

The group convened outside Kaiba Tower where Mokuba met them out front. He greeted them happily and familiarly, always with that sheepish expression that seemed to indicate he really liked the gang, but felt guilty for doing so on account of Kaiba.

Mokuba led them to a glass elevator and they all piled inside. The younger Kaiba slipped an identification card into a slot and the elevator zoomed upwards. Satisfied, Mokuba turned towards them.

“So…you wanted to buy some old warehouse from Seto?”

Joey scowled and scuffed his foot. He nodded begrudgingly.

“Well,” Mokuba glanced upwards. “I don’t…see why he would turn down a good offer for it…I don’t know why you guys need to see him directly about it though, that stuff usually goes through our accounting and real estate department.”

“I already tried,” Joey snapped. “They said they were reviewing my paperwork and then they wouldn’t return my calls!”

Mokuba snickered a little to himself. “Yeah, that sounds like Seto.”

“C’mon, Mokuba,” Yugi protested. “If Kaiba had plans for that warehouse, he wouldn’t be selling it! It’s not fair to deny Joey the purchase just because he’s Joey.”

Mokuba raised his arms in defense. “I’m not the president here, Yugi. All decisions are ultimately up to Seto. I don’t deny I have pull, which is why you guys get to meet with him—but if he wants to deny the offer, for whatever reason, I can’t stop him.”

“Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt,” Serenity suggested. “If Mokuba doesn’t see why Kaiba would turn down a good offer for the warehouse, then he should be reasonable about it too.”

The gang gave her that look again, the look that indicated she was being naïve. Serenity hated that look and it was even more annoying that Mokuba was giving it to her too.

“We’re all adults now,” She protested. “There can’t still be bad blood.”

She was saved another pitying look by the glass elevators opening. Mokuba gestured them to follow a long mirror-lined corridor till they reached an icy blue door. Mokuba knocked lightly and opened the door.

They were led into a sleek and spacious office. The first thing Serenity registered was how freezing the room was. The next was Seto Kaiba himself, seated behind his desk, typing away furiously.

He glanced upwards and his frosty blue eyes warmed slightly as he noticed his younger brother. When he took in the rest of the group, his eyes narrowed.

“Mokuba,” Kaiba’s voice was filled with warning.

“Don’t get mad, Seto,” Mokuba requested. “They’re here on business.”

Kaiba looked at them critically—Yugi, Tea, Tristan, Joey, and Serenity. Tea crossed her arms self-consciously and Joey appeared to be biting his cheeks to keep from yelling.

“What business?” Kaiba snapped.

“There’s a building of yours I want to buy,” Joey’s voice was strangely measured as he approached Kaiba’s desk. “Right here. This address. I tried to put in an offer and your department won’t get back to me.”

Kaiba took the paperwork and flipped through it. His expression remained blank. Uncaring. Callous.

“How much you want for it?” Joey demanded.

Kaiba tossed the paperwork off the desk. “The building is no longer for sale.”

“Argh, yes it is, you jerk!” Joey shouted. “You’re just saying that because I want it!”

“Easy, Joey,” Yugi carefully took a step between the two to keep Joey from throttling Kaiba. “I’m sure we can work this out.”

“That’s right,” Serenity agreed. “We’re all adults here.”

“Fine,” Joey growled. “Let’s do this like adults—Kaiba, let’s duel for the building!”

Kaiba pursed his lips. “Wheeler, what makes you think I’m going to duel you? Haven’t I destroyed you time and time again? You’re not a challenge for me. And I wasn’t lying. I’ve already been considering offers for the building and I’ve decided on one.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Joey glowered at him. “Right after I told you I wanted it! Stop the bullshit, Kaiba! If you want to do this fair, let’s duel for the building.”

“I already told you, Wheeler, you’re not a challenge to me. I—”

“If he’s not a challenge, what about me?”

The group turned towards Serenity. She stared directly at Kaiba with a thoroughly irritated expression, arms crossed in front of her chest. Her green eyes flashed and the group took an involuntary step away from her. It was rare to see Serenity…angry.

Kaiba looked blank. “Who are you exactly?”

Serenity closed her eyes. She had a better control over her emotions than her hotheaded brother, but she still had the Wheeler temper. Living with her mother had required perpetual control over her emotions at all times, but living with Joey had loosened her restraint at this. Joey encouraged emotional expression, whether it was tears, tempers, or laughter.

“You’ve seen me before. I was at the Battle City tournament. I’m Joey’s little sister, Serenity.”

Kaiba looked like he was trying to place her and failing. Serenity sighed.

Joey recovered from his shock. “Sis, you want to duel him?!”

Serenity quickly shook her head. “No way. I want to play a different game.”

Kaiba gave up on trying to recognize her and returned to his cold manner. “What kind of game?”

Serenity pointed. One of the only pieces of decoration on the wall was a framed chessboard. It was a beautiful game, inlaid with pearl and ivory. She stared directly into Kaiba’s icy blue eyes and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“You want to play chess? With me?”

The amused scorn in Kaiba’s voice made Serenity smile. He was laughing at her—but he was still intrigued.

“Yes,” She said calmly. “I have a board and set I would like to use.”

She opened her messenger bag and pulled out a lightweight wooden box and folded board. She unfolded it gently and Yugi actually gasped at the craftsmanship. Everything from the hinges on the board to delicate box was carved by hand. Yugi also noted that her board had raised bumps up and down the black and white squares.

Kaiba found his voice. “You just carry a chess set and board wherever you go?”

“It’s special to me,” Serenity replied. “And anyway, don’t you carry a duel disk and cards everywhere you go?”

The duelists of the group glanced at each other sheepishly (save Kaiba, who merely glowered). Serenity had a point but wasn’t it a little unfair to compare a nerdy chess set with a tool that created holographic monsters?

“Well?” Serenity tucked her board under her arm. “What’ll it be, Kaiba? Are you up for it? Or do you only play games with flashy holograms? Can you even play chess anymore?”

Kaiba’s eyes flashed and for a brief instant, Serenity wondered if it was a bad idea to taunt him. Still, it seemed to work. Kaiba stood and circled his desk towards them.

“All right, little Wheeler,” He sneered. “I’ll bite. White or black?”

“Black.”

“Wait a second,” Tristan protested. “Serenity—this is a bad idea. You don’t need to prove anything to this jerk!”

Serenity fixed a steely gaze on her friend. “I’m not proving anything, Tristan. I’m offering to play a game so my brother can buy Kaiba’s property. Actually, if we look historically, chess games have been used to broker business deals for centuries.”

“Wait a second, Serenity,” Mokuba said nervously. “Um—I don’t think—see, Seto’s really good at chess.”

“I figured he would be.” Serenity calmly laid her chessboard out on the coffee table. She began to set the pieces out. She could feel Kaiba’s gaze boring into the back of her head, but she resolutely ignored it.

“But—you see—when we were adopted, the reason Gozaburo Kaiba��”

“Mokuba,” Kaiba said sharply. “Not another word.”

Mokuba shut up. Tristan, however, was not finished. He grabbed Serenity’s shoulder to stop her from setting down Kaiba’s rook. She frowned and looked up at him.

“Serenity,” Tristan said warningly. “Don’t do this.”

She moved away from his hand firmly. The pieces were set. She looked at Kaiba expectantly. To her surprise, he was staring at Tristan with a very inscrutable expression on his face.

“You know,” Kaiba said finally, taking a seat across from her. “Your boyfriend’s probably right. Aren’t you just embarrassing yourself? And your brother?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Serenity said quietly, ignoring Tristan’s wince. “Make your first move.”

Kaiba moved his first pawn forward. She mirrored the movement. The first plays of the game were basic defense—castling the king and rook, moving the knights into position, setting up pawns. But as the game continued, Serenity realized something.

Mokuba was not lying. Seto Kaiba was very good. Better than almost anyone Serenity had ever played. Her breath hitched a little when he captured her bishop but she remained calm, earning one of his knights out of the struggle. Kaiba’s sneer soon turned into careful concentration. He recognized her skillset. His moves became more careful. Less arrogant. His attacks were precise and calculated, but her defense was nearly impenetrable.

When she took his bishop, she decided to speak. “Who taught you how to play chess?”

Kaiba glowered at her and didn’t answer. Mokuba said quietly, “He taught himself, Serenity.”

Self-taught? That was impressive. Chess was not an easy skill to learn by yourself—there was a reason community centers and universities offered chess classes. He must have been very young when he learned…after all, he took control of KaibaCorp when he was sixteen…that’s what the magazines said, after all.

“How did you learn, Serenity?”

It was Yugi who asked. Kaiba’s only comment to Mokuba’s reply was to take one of her knights. His second bishop was getting closer and closer to her king, slowly whittling down her defenses.

“An old friend taught me long ago, when I first started going to eye doctors about my vision. I spent a lot of time in waiting rooms and hospital rooms. His name was Amemori.”

Mr. Amemori. She could see his craggy, dragonish face so clearly in her mind’s eye. A cranky, abrasive, thoroughly unpleasant man—who for some reason was only kind to her. She had been a frightened ten-year-old at the time, shivering in an icy waiting room while her mother talked to the doctors in low, urgent voices. Mr. Amemori had shuffled next to her and abruptly shoved a chess board in front of her.

“Let’s play,” He grumbled at her.

“I—I don’t know how.”

Amemori had snorted at this. He then took out a rook and showed it to her.

“You see this? It only goes straight across or side to side. Understand?”

She obediently scooted the rook across the board, mimicking his movements. He pulled out a small wooden horse.

“You see this? It goes in an L shape. It can hop over pieces.”

And so it went. On and on, over and over, until they were playing full games. She lost every time. But slowly and surely, though each failure, through each lost game…she got better.

When Kaiba took her queen, Yugi inhaled sharply. The queen was the most important piece, the piece that had the most power. She moved a pawn forward. The sneer reappeared on Kaiba’s face. He thought she didn’t have any moves left. He thought she was given up, that she was too focused on her pawns.

He wasn’t paying attention.

Joey was whispering quietly and urgently to Yugi. He was asking if she was losing. Yugi’s voice was low and soothing. She smiled a little at the board. To the layman, it looked a little uncertain. She had an excellent defense around her king though, but only a few scattered pawns for her offense.

She moved another pawn. That was Kaiba’s weakness. So focused on breaking her defenses, on tearing through her fortress, he wasn’t paying attention to her pawns.

That was why Serenity liked chess. It had a way of revealing people’s strengths—and their weaknesses.

He captured her second bishop. He was very close to breaking through. But by the time he did…it would be too late.

Two more spaces. He took her knight. He was so close. But not close enough. Her pawn had reached the other end of the board. Kaiba snapped to attention. He realized what that meant.

“A queen,” Serenity said clearly. “I’d like a queen.”

“Wait, what?” Tristan asked in confusion.

“If your pawn reaches the other end of the board, you can turn it into any other piece except a king,” Yugi’s eyes widened. “But—if she chose a queen—then that means—”

“Checkmate.”

Kaiba’s eyes widened. She plucked the queen from his end of the coffee table and placed it on her pawn’s square. His king could not move anywhere. He was blocked in by her rook and his own knight, which he’d left as his only defense against her. His bishops and queen were focused on trying to attack her own king.

She had won.

“No way!” Mokuba exclaimed. “How did she do that?”

“Impossible,” Tristan said dumbfounded. “She—she actually beat him?”

“Yeah, sis!” Joey pumped the air. “I knew you could do it!”

Kaiba continued to stare at the board. He was looking for a way out, she felt sure, looking for some last minute escape route. Many a times an over eager declared checkmate too soon. She couldn’t blame him. She would do the same.

But Serenity knew chess, just as her big brother knew Duel Monsters. It was one of the few things she felt confident about.

She snapped a picture with her phone—win or loss, she always carefully catalogued the end of a chess game for study later. Kaiba watched her do this dazedly before finally standing. He exited his office without another word.

****

“My sister,” Joey declared. “Kicks ass.”

He pointed a spatula at her victoriously and Serenity giggled. She was sitting at their breakfast table drinking a revitalizing cup of coffee as her brother cooked breakfast. That was the deal—Serenity would clean, Joey would cook. Not that Serenity was a shabby cook herself, but she preferred baking. And besides, Joey seemed to get a kick out of feeding her. Maybe it assuaged his big brother instinct.

They’d been living in a sunlit studio apartment for over a year. Joey worked full-time while Serenity went to classes and searched for a part-time job. Their parents hadn’t been too happy about them moving out—least of all their mother, who urged Serenity to live at home to save money.

But Serenity had been denied the greater part of her childhood with her brother. She was determined to spend the first part of her adult life with her big brother and she knew Joey felt the same. Thus far, they’d gotten along swimmingly with little to no conflict or squabbles.

“It really wasn’t that big a deal, Joey,” Serenity took a sip of coffee and exhaled as the bitterness tempered her senses. She loved black coffee.

“Wasn’t that big a deal?!” Joey gasped in mock shock. “Sis, you beat Kaiba. That never happens. And didn’t you see the look on his face?! He was crushed! You destroyed him!”

Serenity frowned. “I certainly hope I didn’t do that. Chess is a game, Joey. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Joey snorted and flipped a pancake. Serenity sighed. That was something the siblings would never be able to agree on—the purpose and point of games.

She wondered if Kaiba was all right. She’d heard something from Tea years ago…hadn’t Yugi sent him into some sort of existential crisis after losing a game of Duel Monsters?

There was a knock at the door. Joey flipped a pancake onto a plate. “I’ll get that. Breakfast is served!” He handed her the plate. She smiled as she took a bite and flipped idly through the newspaper. There was a new demonstration of sorts going on at Kaibaland. Perhaps the others would be up for going today…

Joey opened the front door and froze. He stared through the entryway, seemingly at a loss for words. Her brow quirked, Serenity scooted away from the breakfast table and rounded the corner to see what he was looking at.

She gasped. “Mai?!”

Chapter 2

#Yu Gi Oh!#Silentshipping #Polarshipping #fanfic #YGO

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keelywolfe · 7 years ago

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Summary: Edge wasn't sure when he became the diplomatic one but he did know that mistakes had been made.

Notes: This is set after they've gotten to the surface, maybe a couple years after?

The building itself was unremarkable. Plain brick with odd, narrow windows and in front of the building near a set of flagpoles was an engraved sign declaring it the Ebott County Police Station.

Edge took a moment to note the different entrances and exits, an old habit that he had no inclination to break. Several police cars were parked out front and from the distance he could see humans walking in and out of the building, some in uniform and others not. He closed his sockets for a moment, breathing evenly, readying himself. For a brief moment, he missed his usual clothing. The human sense of fashion wasn't unappealing, per se, but Edge simply could not feel as threatening in a suit and tie.

Then he got out of his car, carrying a small leather briefcase, and walked to the front entrance.

There were a few glances his way, curious or wary, he wasn't sure. Interpreting Human expressions hadn't come easy to him, although he'd learned 'angry' and 'afraid' quickly enough. To be fair, 'happy' hadn't been difficult to puzzle through, either.

A bored looking man in a uniform waved him through a metal detector and Edge stepped through readily. He hardly needed to carry a weapon when he was one. It was likely not an observation that would go over well if he pointed it out but it was hardly his fault if humans were too ridiculous to take such things into account.

He followed the appropriate signs with their helpful arrows to a reception desk, where another officer, this one a woman, was working. She looked up at his approach and her smile only faltered briefly.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked, politely.

Edge stepped up to the desk, setting his case on the ledge. "I’ve been informed that there is a monster in holding here."

"A monster?" She turned to a computer, hands posed over the keyboard. "Name?"

"Papyrus."

She hummed faintly. "Last name?"

Edge sighed inwardly. "We don’t have last names. I suppose if he was being a smart ass, which is likely, he used Font."

Another hum, this one perplexed, "I don’t have anything under that."

Edge took a long, slow breath, already weary of this idiocy. Bureaucracy was never going to agree with him; he should have taken Blue up on his offer to come along, he was always better at tolerating the Human's stupid insistence on their endless variety of paperwork. But no, his nerves would never have allowed him to bring a Sans into this place; bad enough that Stretch--

"Is it possible that somehow you have a second monster in holding with the name Papyrus?" Edge asked coolly.

"Well, I…no," she faltered, clearing her throat, and visibly rallying her courage. Lovely. "But I need to find the name in the computer for you to post bail."

"Then please, allow me to interrupt you," Edge told her calmly. He opened his case and took out a stack of papers. "You don’t need to worry about me posting bail because that isn't why I’m here. He doesn’t have bail because he’s no longer under arrest."

"Sir…" she began, clearly flustered, as he began laying papers down on the desk.

"This is my identification, which you may note lists me as an official Liaison for Monsterkind," Edge slapped down his ID and peeled the first sheaf of papers from the pile. "This is from the Secretary of State confirming Papyrus's release conditions. Please note the notary seal. This is a statement of a civil suit we are filing against your department for violating his rights by arresting and holding a monster without contacting the embassy. Unfortunately for you, your department decided to arrest a monster who is part of the King's court. He has diplomatic immunity. Which it clearly states on his ID, exactly as it does on mine."

He set his hands on the counter, deliberately looming over her as she shrank back. "What you should have done was immediately contact the embassy and hold him in a private room. What you did was arrest him and allowed him one text, which he sent to me."

A text that had been a particular delight to receive, Edge thought sourly.

in jail. help. bring snacks

At least he'd included a map link to the station.

He took one last thing out of his case before closing it with a decisive snap. "And here’s a business card for you to put right by your phone, so next time you can call before you people do something else to cause a diplomatic incident."

He held it out to her between two fingers, deliberately forcing her to lean forward to take it. The poor woman looked close to tears. It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself, it wasn't.

The reminder did nothing to soothe his anger.

"Now, will someone please take me to Papyrus?"

Another officer took him downstairs, this one a man, and from his surly silence, Edge gathered that bad news traveled quickly. He was led down a flight of stairs into a corridor lined with cells, most of them with people in them.

"…so then i told him…"

Through the cluster of noise and the sounds of people moving within the cells, Edge clearly picked out one distinctive voice. He could have picked it out of any crowd, that well-abused, whisky-sweet voice.

"…if this is my thermometer, then where's my pen!"

A roar of laughter overshadowed the dull cacophony of a dozen conversations and Edge closed his eyes, pained. The officer led him to a cell at the end of the corridor and Edge could already see him, the glaring orange of his hoodie better than a neon sign.

The low burn of anger he'd felt since he'd gotten that text flared hotter and it took considerable effort to keep a scorching glow of magic from illuminating his eye. Stretch was sitting at the back of a cell. A cell that contained several other humans and considering that they were in a jail cell, it wasn't likely they were of high moral character. Edge swallowed back the acid burn of anger and nausea. If any had had ill intent, if even one...

Stretch saw him before he could say a word, a lazy smile brightening his face, "hey, see, guys, didn’t i tell you a handsome prince was coming to rescue me?" He raised a hand in a wave that would have done justice to a prom queen. "hey, handsome, slay any dragons on your way in?"

"Only paper ones," Edge said. He could hear the roughness in his own voice, knew that Stretch had heard it. His smile didn't so much as falter but his eye lights flicked down the floor for the briefest second, then back up to meet his.

"welp, i’m short of hair to let down for you so you’ll have to let me out the door," Stretch said cheekily. "but i gotta tell you, prince charming, i’m not leaving without my friend andy here."

He slung an arm around the human closest to him, a young man with messy brown hair and what looked like the beginnings of a spectacularly colorful black eye.

"I keep telling you, it’s Jeff," the human, Andy/Jeff, said. He sounded long-suffering but amused. Edge could relate.

"i know you keep telling me but hear me out! andy is so much better. you can go by handy andy and be helpful and vulgar at the same time. jeff doesn’t rhyme with anything and jeffry sounds like a brand of peanut butter. Go with andy, you won’t regret it."

The human grinned and shook his head. "Thanks but I think I’ll stick with Jeff, I wouldn’t be able to stand all the paperwork."

"spoilsport."

"Excuse me, is he leaving or not," the officer said impatiently.

"He's leaving right now," Edge gritted out, glaring at Stretch. Who looked ready to continue his earnest protest, although whether it was about if he was staying or his ongoing pursuit of the name Andy, Edge couldn't be sure. "The attorney for your friend is enroute right now; he should be here any time now."

"who did you get?" Stretch asked. His smile, his posture, were lazy and relaxed, fingers drumming lightly on the top of Andy/Jeff's head. His eye lights were razor-sharp, assessing.

"Who else?" Edge snorted. "Antwan."

Stretch closed his sockets briefly. "good. good, he's…he'll take care of you, andy."

"Jeff," he correctly amicably.

"okay, kid, I get the feeling if i don't leave, prince charming is going to morph into the evil queen and none of us want that visual." Stretch shuddered. "he's got great legs but that dress does no one any favors. you gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine." Andy/Jeff gave Stretch a shove in the direction of the door and gentle as it was, Edge tensed, a faint shower of crimson sparks dancing at his fingertips. He curled his hands into fists, struggling for control.

"take care, kid. i got your twitter handle, we'll get together for lunch and chaos again some time, yeah?"

"Less chaos and more lunch next time?" Jeff/Andy said wryly and Stretch laughed.

"no promises, but it sounds good. laterz!"

He stepped through the door, hands in pockets, and followed the officer and Edge upstairs to the reception desk. The young woman seemed to have decided to let someone else handle their departure and in her place was an older woman, her graying hair pulled back into a bun. She was briskly efficient, a large manila envelope in her hands.

"Here's your personal effects," she said, evenly, and Edge put out a hand, forcing Stretch to keep two paces back. Out of reach.

"Open it," Edge said curtly. Her nostrils flared, whitening with annoyance but she did as he said, naming each item as she set it out. A wallet, with identification and twenty-seven dollars inside. A handful of change, American, monster gold and for some reason, a Canadian loonie. A cell phone. A pack of cigarettes with a lighter.

The latter Stretch leaned in over Edge's arm to scoop up, fishing a cigarette out of the crumpled pack. He flicked the lighter with practiced ease, inhaling deeply.

"Sir," the woman said it like an epithet, glaring at him, "this is a nonsmoking building."

There. The first dregs of anger, a flare of orange in his left socket before it guttered out. Stretch took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke, and met her glare with a sharp-edged grin. "arrest me again for smoking," he said, biting off each word with bitter precision. "please. i’m begging you."

A tense silence fell over the room. No one moved.

Edge reached out and gently rested a hand between his shoulder blades, smoothing it down his back. "Calm down," he murmured. He could feel Stretch trembling.

"we aren't leaving until antwan gets here," Stretch muttered back and Edge nodded. He took Stretch's wallet and cell phone, gently stuffing them into the pocket of his hoodie. Antwan was one of the first humans they'd met when they'd come to the surface. Young and fiercely intelligent, he was also one of the few humans they both trusted. He'd done his time in the courtrooms to earn that trust, helping Monsters secure a place in this world. He couldn’t think of a better person to help Andy/Jeff with what would surely be a frustrating and expensive legal battle.

Price was not going to be an issue for that young human. He'd helped a monster and put himself in the way of bodily harm doing it. Andy/Jeff had no idea of the debt that Edge owed him and likely never would. Edge was never going to forget it.

Stretch smoked his cigarette, the tremble in his hands easing and no one protested when he lit another. He was halfway through it when Antwan walked in, neatly dressed in a suit and his sunglasses still perched on his nose. He was shaking his head before he even got to them.

"Stretch, this is a nonsmoking building." Did everyone sound like that when they talked to Stretch? Resigned and yet amused, Antwan grinned at them both.

"eh, so it is," Stretch shrugged, "my mistake." He pinched it out with his fingertips and stuck the butt into his pocket. "you gonna help out my new best friend?"

"Always leaving me with the problems," Antwan said, shaking his head. He proved he was far more adept at reading Monster's behavioral cues than Edge was at human ones because he kept his hands to himself, only holding out a fist for Stretch to tap. "Don't worry, I got this. Edge, get this fucker out of here before someone else takes a swing at him."

Edge nodded curtly. He kept a hand at the base of Stretch's spine, guiding him like a lost, bony little sheep, herding him out the door and to the car.

Stretch was silent on the ride home, his sockets closed and his head leaning against the window. Not really pretending to be asleep and Edge only turned on the radio, keeping the music low. The embassy was downtown but he and Stretch lived just outside of the city in the community that monsters had formed at the base of the mountain. Fenced and guarded, Humans didn't often try to cause trouble in New New Home. It was safe, safer, even living amongst Fell monsters.

Stretch didn't speak as Edge pulled up in front of their house. Not a joke or a word or a pun as they walked up the sidewalk, not a single snide remark or a hint of sarcasm. Edge held open the door for him and Stretch walked inside, Edge at his heels.

The moment the door shut, Stretch shoved him against it. Hard enough to knock the breath from him, his fists clenched in the fine pressed cotton of his shirt. His teeth were hard against Edge's, rough and fierce and Edge let him, parted his teeth to let Stretch's frantic tongue tangle with his own.

"please," Stretch whispered, thin and reedy. He was shaking, hard enough that Edge could hear the rattle of his bones. "please, tell me if you want me to stop…if you don't…"

"Shut up," Edge breathed it into him, "and just take it. Anything you want, anything you need."

The sound Stretch made was guttural and lost, "fuck, don’t write me a blank check like that."

He pulled Edge away from the door, pulled him staggering through their living room to the sofa and shoved him down on it, straddling his lap. His slight weight was always a faint surprise; he looked solid, sturdy beneath his hoodie and baggie shorts. Instead, beneath them he was delicate, clean bones, tall and slight, and his HP so painfully low.

Stretch pulled at Edge's shirt, fumbling with the buttons and Edge only held his wrists in a loose grip and let him, let him take whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, fuck, he loved this idiot so much, he loved him and--

A drop of wetness fell. They both looked at it, a droplet of watery orange on Edge's white shirt.

More tears fell, Stretch's shoulders quivering as he struggled to hold them back, fought against the sobs that were trying to escape even as he kept trying to kiss Edge, tried to open his belt with shaking hands.

Edge took him by the shoulders, gently. "Stop."

"no," Stretch said stubbornly as tears streaked their way down his cheekbones. "i want...i just…"

"I’m here," Edge told him, softly, pulling him down despite his struggles, pressing Stretch's face into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. "I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere."

Stretch tried to resist even as he faltered, sagging into Edge. Who only held him as he shuddered and wept, abruptly burying himself into Edge's shoulder, hiding his face in clean cotton, wetting it with his tears.

"Shhh, it's all right," Edge crooned to him. His soul ached, throbbing in time to those hoarse, wracking sobs. His lover was hurting and there was nothing he could do but hold him and ache with love and overwhelming sorrow, "You're home, you're safe. It's all right."

He shifted on the sofa until he was lying down, tugging Stretch down to curl against him. "Come on, come down here."

"why?" Stretch's voice was thick with darkly bitter amusement, "so you can see how weak i am?"

"Sweetheart—"

"don’t," his voice cracked, "don’t be kind to me, please."

Edge pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. "Why wouldn’t I be kind to you?"

A raw chuckle, "to begin with i'm pretty sure i ruined your shirt."

"Fuck the shirt," Edge growled. He traced his fingertips down Stretch's skull, across his cranial sutures. "What happened today?"

Stretch shifted against him in a strange combination of discomfort and yearning. "you know what happened."

"I read the police report, yes. Now I want to hear it from you."

Stretch was silent for a long time. Edge waited.

"…i was taking the bus." So softly.

Taking the bus because he didn’t drive and hated harassing others for a ride. There was a bus stop just outside New New Home and buses stopped every twenty minutes to take Monsters into Ebott. For work, for shopping, for whatever simple reason a monster might simply need to go into the city. When he was in a good mood, Stretch frequented coffee shops and old books stores like a ridiculous hipster and he was an easy friend to make, on the surface-level at least. He had several thousand followers on Twitter and if he'd actually been the amiable monster he appeared, the King would have hooked him into public relations.

That idea had been quashed when the amount of swearing in his Twitter had nearly given the former Queen an aneurysm.

"You were taking the bus," Edge prompted.

Stretch shrugged, his bony shoulder rubbing painfully against Edge's clavicle. "this guy…this human. he didn’t like my face, i guess, i’ve always thought i was handsome kinda fella in an evil dead sort of way but—"

"Papyrus."

He felt Stretch swallow, felt him curl a little harder into himself. "he took a swing at me and i…i could have teleported and i didn’t. i couldn’t believe...i didn’t want to...he could have killed me and i couldn't—andy stepped in and…"

"Jeff."

"jeffry stepped in, they shared a few fists, and we all ended up in jail," Stretch finished roughly. "the end."

"He was in that cell with you?" Cold fear tightened around his soul and he was going to gut that police station, he could taste his own anger, bitter-sharp and clear, and he was going to--

"nah, they weren’t that stupid. no idea what they did with him."

His anger didn't ease and Edge breathed through it, wrapping his arms around Stretch and holding him tightly, moving to tangle their legs together. Stretch only pushed harder into him, molding his lean body against Edge. Skeletons weren't particularly designed for cuddling, all hard angles and edges. They made it work.

Edge pressed a kiss against the top of Stretch's skull. I can't lose you, he didn't say, I couldn't bear it.

Stretch didn't reply, i know. i know, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry

In the end, Stretch did manage a grumbling, "you know, if you crack any bones, you get to fix them."

"Shut up and cuddle," Edge muttered back.

"Whenever you want, lover," Stretch sighed, burying his face into the damp ruin of Edge's shirt. He drowsed, his breathing going slow and even, while Edge stroked his skull, staying awake and keeping watch.

-finis-

Read The Next One

#spicyhoney #papcest #uf!papyrus #us!papyrus #keelywolfe #A little hurt/comfort for the soul #by any other name

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supporthosechi · 7 years ago

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Visitation Reflection June 21st, 2018

Alisha was nervous about us driving in the rain. She called twice to check on us while we were on the road. It’s about three hours without traffic or under normal weather conditions. It took us a long while to reach the prison because the torrential downpour forced us to take it slow almost the entire way. Using phone calls (anyone who is used to how expensive and precious they are will tell you) to check-in on us was beyond considerate, and was not thrifty. It was touching to be checked-in on, something that we wish we could do for her, whenever the want or need to will arise. Unfortunately calls from prison are just that, from and not to. You have to wait to check up on your loved ones. When a few days go by and there’s silence, you are forced to infer the worst, because of the shitty prison mandated phone usage protocol.

The rain flooded the low roads practically the whole way to Decatur. It was nerve wracking and I felt terrible--we were panicking our friend.

We have not seen Alisha since her (incredible) Shakespeare performance in April and were beyond excited to catch up. We brought zines (Support Ho(s)e Year One, A Survivor: Alisha Walker, and Client & Co-Conspirator) as well as the comic book about our first visit with Alisha called “No One’s Victim,” published by Vice Versa Press, to try and include them in a property drop off (as a property officer had advised me over the phone) since the past four times we’ve tried sending them, they’ve gone missing. We also brought more money for snacks during our visit. As we pulled into the visitor’s parking lot it was really pouring. We grabbed all of our identification, cash, vending machine money card, zines and shoved everything down our shirts as we hurried in the cold rain toward the processing area.

I hate this place. We hate this place. Everyone should hate this place.

We walk in: “What’s that under your shirt?!” A CO yells out as soon as we come in from the storm. A has all of the precious print material we’ve brought for Alisha protected from the rain under his shirt. We look up, “it’s raining, they’re publications we’re dropping off.” I’ve met these COs on duty at least half a dozen times and they still ask if I’ve visited before. I say yes, they hassle me about my expired driver’s license and my renewal print-off. They hassle us about the zines and comic. This really infuriates us. The zines and comic look “homemade” (they are). We can’t drop them off...we have to mail them in…only “publications” are admitted this way. I plainly explain that they were purchased (they were not) publications. They say that doesn’t matter. I ask what constitutes as “publication.” They say a professionally produced magazine or book. I explain about Vice Versa Press publishing the comic...they say it still looks “homemade,” and the won’t approve it. They tell me I have to mail them.

I raise my voice. I rarely do this.

“I have tried mailing them in. Four times.” They tell me I must be mailing them wrong...Then they look through them more and see a photo of LeLe that appears to be a screen shot of her during a video visitation. They start lecturing me on how this could get her a citation and list-off creative punishments if this is the case. I ask them if they’ve ever used skype or known someone who used skype before they were locked up. They didn’t get my inference so I said I didn’t take a pic of her during a video visit and removed myself from the intake area to go piss before the full screening/inventory. I splash water on my face, I look like shit. I am so fucking angry. We lock up the zines and comic in our locker with our IDs, and it’s A’s turn to take a piss. I go through screening first. The CO begins lecturing me again about video visitation protocol.

I’m better at playing dumb and nodding this time.

She sends me through to a room where she touches my breasts and makes me take my shoes off. She grabs my hair bun and yanks, “just making sure!” ...Of what, if I feel pain?

A is screened next, I can hear the CO who’s screening him offer a similar lecture. A is better at keeping calm, he always is. We go into the visitation room and LeLe’s wing mate is there having a visit with her brother, his kiddo and another friend. Alisha comes in shortly after this, a complete 180 from our last visit where we waited hours to see her after the play. The kiddo is very interested in us and Alisha for most of our visit, asking questions and dancing around, showing off her daisy barrettes that make truly wonderful sounds as she throws her head around dancing-- they click and clack into each other.

We take a photo. We laugh wildly because LeLe sprang this on us, and quite frankly A and I were not our most photogenic--but of course LeLe was! She had on some gold eyeshadow she had made.

LeLe had her hair done-up differently, in a half-bun; it’s lighter, the sun bleaching it more and more because she’s been working outside, a new job cutting grass that she’s really liking because she’s left alone and gets exercise. She makes $30 a month doing (at least) 8 hour shifts per day, every day. She does the entire prison grounds over the course of the week. Essentially she gets $1 per day for her labor.

She’s giddy and nervous, in a good way. She likes a fellow visitor in the room and it shows. More on that when that fact doesn’t threaten either of them…

She spends the visit mostly talking about wanting to go to college, and talking about the research we’ve been doing on correspondence courses and how she can best get an Associates degree while inside. She updates us on what she’s reading, she’s deep into “Invisible No More” by Andrea Ritchie and she’s revisiting “Soledad Brother: The Prison Letters of George Jackson.” We talked about afrofuturist sci-fi (a genre she adores) and how she’s basically doing upper level college reading already. She reminds us she’s still got like 60 books from supporters for her birthday to go through, and how thankful she is for this.

As an aside--after she reads a book, she donates it to the prison’s library which is woefully understocked and most features self-help books (she despises these) and romance novels (she tolerates these).

We talk prison medical treatment (we agreed it’s bogus to use the word “care” in relation to anything in a prison) and how fucked it is. She started taking birth control and now she really can’t stand chow hall meat. She’s been craving fruit and juice and yogurt. Things she can only get when we visit and buy them from the vending machines...and that’s if the machines are stocked. Thankfully they are, so we can. She gets her fruit and yogurt fix.

We do our normal organizing debrief to wrap up our visit, filling her in on project ideas, taking cues and inspiration from her thoughts. We talk about the other folx we’ve been talking to inside and what they’re thinking and feeling. She reports back on her contacts some more. It’s like working with someone who can read your mind or at least anticipate the capacity/building/organizing needs. It’s pretty fucking remarkable. That’s gotta be what’s meant by the saying “find your people.” She says she’s ready to be free--she’s been ready. She’s “got work to do.”

- Red

#freelele #alishawalker #freethemall #SurvivedAndPunished #supportsexworkers #supportsurvivors #standwithalisha #justiceforalisha

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psalexanzondria · 7 years ago

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Human Cullen? Paul x Cullen!Reader

Fandom: Twilight

Pairing: Paul x Cullen!Reader

Word Count: 10,000 on the dot

Requested: No.

Warnings: Cussing, Mentions of attempted homicide, abuse. (It’s kind of dark in some places guys)

AN: Too all my loyal readers and followers. Thank you. Enjoy your present for hitting 211 followers!

Sitting on the porch, the rain falls through the trees around the house, inside my family is discussing the “Not-Quite-A-Request-But-Not-Quite-An-Order” they’ve gotten via Bella, about me from Sam. I managed to escape outside, because after asking if my opinion on the matter was a hand, I was told it was not, and Jasper noticed my anger faster, thanks to his ability, and managed to distract them so that I could make my escape. Tucking my blonde locks with blue tips behind my ear, I take a deep breath of the crisp Forks air, my blue eyes trailing over the line of the forest, before letting out a sigh, knowing that Alice and Edward would be able to stop me before I made one step of the wood of the porch. “’Ro?” Rosalie calls from behind me, I turn to see her sticking her head out the front door, hand on the handle, and I let out a sigh, seeing the perturbed look on her face.

“Coming.” I sigh, pressing off the banister to turn on my peep toe shoes, stalking back inside as gracefully as I can, though I know that compared to a family of vampires, I’m probably as graceful as a duck waddling across a broken bridge, or a duck trying to waddle in quicksand. Even in style, I can’t compare to them, even though Alice and Rosalie dress me, but compared to everyone in my family, it’s like I’m wearing a trashbag with a duct-tape belt, and shoes made of old mildew newspapers. Walking into the living room, I notice that the entire room is practically split it two, Carlisle, Esme, Alice, and Bella are on one side of the room, Edward, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie are on the other side of the room, causing me to stumble to a stop in surprise. It’s rare to see Edward and Bella openly opposing, let alone Alice and Jasper. “Okay, what is going on here?”

“They’re sending you to stay with those... mongrels.” Rosalie snarls.

“For a few days,” Carlisle is quick to explain when my head snaps over to look at him, aghast at the idea. “to keep the peace, Sam wants to make sure you’re truly human, and he wishes to see how living with us for most of your life has affected you.”

“Do I not get a say in this? I am almost 18 years old!” I shout in annoyance, causing Carlisle to sigh, and Esme steps up to set a gentle hand on my arm.

“Aurora, my little lily, listen... We are worried about your safety, that is why we must send you to them. If you care about us, your family, you will go.” Esme says carefully, her warm tawny orbs drawn to mine.

“I-” I bite my lip. “Yes mamma.” I finally relent.

“That’s my good figlia (daughter).” Esme grasps my chin lovingly, before pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Now, be a good ragazza (girl) and go pack, Bella will be dropping you off in twenty minutes.” I sigh as I tromp upstairs to my room, grabbing a random bag from my closest, and throwing a bunch of my usual clothes into it, along with a fancy dress or two, and two pairs of shoes with my change of sweat pants and tank top. Next, my laptop, then a few notebooks and pencils, my phone charge, computer charger, my wallet full of money and identification cards, before I finally zip the duffel bag up. Sticking my phone in my pocket, I grab my MP3 player and headphones, blasting my slipknot as I put on my headphones, I sling my bag over my shoulder, and stomp down stairs, giving quick good byes before, I climb into Bella’s rattling death trap. I glare out the window the entire way towards the Reservation, watching the green and brown of the trees pass me by, before very long, we’re pulling up outside an old house. It’s an all brown two story house with a porch and a screen door that leads directly into the kitchen, the smell of baked goods waft out as I slam the screeching door of Bella’s truck shut, and four of the seven boys, including Jacob Black, and two girls all come piling out of the house.

“Bella!” One woman, with scars along the right side of her face, greets my brother’s girlfriend with a warm hug, and a half smile half grimace, the skin around her scars tugs firm, making my nerves in my stomach tighten even more about this.

“Hey Emily.” Bella gives the woman, Emily, a hug in return, before they turn towards me. “This is Aurora Hale.”

“So,” Emily smiles at me. “You’re the Cullens’ special girl?”

“Something like that.” I answer with a shrug, my headphones hanging loose around my neck.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Emily says, holding out her hand for me, which I shake as the guys and other girl continue to observe me from the side.

“Hey brat.”

“Jake.” I answer shortly. “I’m older than you.”

“Still shorter.”

“Almost everyone is.” I answer, and he smiles at me, stepping forward to wrap me in a hug, surprising his packmates.

“So this is Quil and Embry, Seth and his sister Leah.” Jacob introduces, pointing to each one, and I offer my hand to them each, Leah only sneers, and smacks my hand away causing me to raise an eyebrow, setting my jaw as I glare at her, crossing my arms as I cock a hip.

“Pah-lease, hon, I grew up with three vampire women, I can throw shade better than any other person by now.” I state, causing her to gape at me a bit. Quil and Embry burst out laughing, shutting up only when Leah glares at them, then turns on her heels, stomping off through the woods, and Jake sighs.

“You’ll get used to that real quick.” He states, causing me to roll my eyes.

“Why don’t you come inside, and have a snack. Bella, staying?” Emily offers as starts up the steps to the door. “Sam, Jared, and Paul will be back soon.”

“Nah, I think I’ll head back. Gotta cook Charlie dinner, otherwise he’ll order a pizza again.” Bella answers.

“See ya, Bella.” The boys all call, running inside.

“Bye Bella, come back soon.” Emily calls, and Jacob walks over to her as I watch them for a second, before starting into the house. “So, Aurora-”

“Ro.” I interrupt, purely by habit.

“What?” Emily asks, tilting her head at me as she lifts some flour from the bag on the counter, and sprinkles it across the table.

“Ro. Aurora is such a girly name, everyone just calls me Ro.” I explain as she lifts some rising dough from the bowl on the counter, and slams it down onto the table where the flour was.

“Alright, so Ro, do you like chocolate or blueberry?” Emily asks.

“I beg your pardon?” I tilt my head at her, watching her start to pummel the dough on the table.

“Chocolate chip, or blueberry pancakes? For the morning.” Emily asks.

“Oh, uh... even though I love them, I’m allergic to blueberries.”

“Is that why it looks like you have a smurf blended up in your hair?” Some jerk demands from the door, causing me to turn in time to see a taller guy walking past the guy in the door, smacking him upside the head.

“Don’t be an ass, Paul.” The man walks over to Emily as a third guy comes in the door, smacking the guy, Paul, upside the head as well, and Paul turns to swing on him, then smirks like it’s a joke. “So,” I jump at the booming voice, turning back to the man who has his arms wrapped around Emily’s waist. “you’re a Cullen? I’m Sam.”

“Great, another leech lover.” I hear Paul groan.

“I’m a Hale, actually. Aurora, just call me Ro.” I explain.

“Cullen or Hale, you’re a leech lover, ain’t ya.” Paul demands.

“Ain’t is not a word, for one, and two I’m not a fan of my family being referred to as ‘Leeches’ because they are no more leeches than you all are, giant puppy dogs.” I retort just as sharply.

“Oh-ho.” Quil laughs from the living room as I turn to look at Paul, who is leaning against a counter now.

“Is that so, Princess? You’re still human, I’m amazed you’re so comfortable living with those blood sucking parasites, that you call “family”.” Paul states, simply observing the apple he’s picked up, before I snort.

“What would you know of family? Packs, aren’t “families” they’re just a bunch of people running together like a bunch of pigheaded jocks.” I state.

“Oh, because being family with monsters is so much better?” Paul demands, causing me to clench my face, my blood boiling as I drop my duffel-bag, crossing the floor in three strides as I rip my sleeve off my arm, and shove my wrist in his face.

“YOU WANT MONSTERS, TRY MEETING THE PEOPLE THAT GAVE BIRTH TO ME, THAT TRIED SLITTING MY WRISTS BECAUSE ADOPTION WAS JUST OUT OF THE QUESTION! ESME AND CARLISLE SAVED MY LIFE, SO IF YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT MONSTERS, I CAN SHOW YOU MONSTERS!”I scream at the top of my lungs, pulling away to cover the pale silver lines on my wrists as I pant for breath. “You know nothing about my family.” I cross the room, grabbing my bag as I realize that there is a stunned silence in the air. “What?!” I demand, causing Sam to clear his throat, and every hurriedly goes back to what they were doing.

“I still don’t trust you, Princess.” Paul spits.

“You know what?” I turn to glare at him, meet his eyes, and his eyes widen as I sneer at him. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you pansy ass, roided out, little mama’s boy!” I snarl, suddenly I notice that he’s shaking, anger rolling off him in visible waves, and I let out a snort. “Maybe you should go jump in a lake, and cool off, hothead.” With that, I look at Emily. “Where’s my room?”

“Uh...” She’s staring at Sam, who is watching Paul. “Upstairs, third door from the left.” She answers, causing me to nod as I start towards the stairs. Getting to the top step, all I hear is “Paul you better not shift in my kitchen!” before I smirk victoriously, and prance off to my bedroom as I hear the kitchen door slam shut. Walking over to my window, I pull back the curtains to see Sam, Jared, and Jacob are pushing Paul off the steps, he is shaking and shaking, and he looks up at my room, meeting my eyes once more, and suddenly his head snaps away as he doubles over, skin and shorts and shoes go flying as a giant Gray Wolf stands just where Paul was moments ago. His head is thrown back as he howls, my heart skips a beat at the beautiful sound, and as his wolf looks at me, a sad look in it’s eyes, I shut the drapes, falling onto my bed.

“Way to go, Ro. Managed to piss off someone you weren’t supposed to. Probably put the treaty in danger too. Greeeaat. Putz.”

The very next day, early in the morning, I quickly go for a jog, then come back, shower, and get dressed for the day, making my way downstairs before any else is up still. Sitting on the bay window bench, I tug the sleeves of my black turtleneck down past my wrists, watching the morning rain outside the window, my damp curls draped over one shoulder. Tugging my cat beanie further down on my head, I lean my head back on the wall my back is presses against, hugging my arms to my chest, and let out a deep sigh. “What the fuck is that on your head?” I jump, whirling around to nail Paul with a glare.

“It’s called a beanie, it keeps my head warm.”

“You so smear smurf in your hair, and pull a cat over your head?”

“Can’t you go five minutes without being a complete an utter asshole?”

“No, I can’t. It’s my nature. You’ll get used to it.” I let out a snort at that.

“No, I won’t.” I answer, turning back to look out the window. “Won’t be here that long.” I mutter to myself.

“What’s with the tragic trapped princess mojo?” Paul demands, dropping onto the couch with the remote in hand. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“For your information,” I start, turning my torso to look at him. “I like looking out at the window. It’s not a luxury I had the first 9 years of my life, and secondly of all, it’s your alpha’s fault that I’m here in the first place!”

“Oh please, cry me a river. Where else were you gonna be? In the Bahama's, getting a tan?” Paul snorts.

“No, smartass. I was going to use my spring break to help the refugees in Africa. I booked a plane ticket, I got vaccinated, and everything. It all got ruined because Bella opened her big mouth about me living with the Cullens, and you guys flipped!” Paul stares at me in surprise. “Now, I have to move my Africa trip to Fall Break, and my Fall Break plans to my Winter Break, and my Winter Break plans to Spring Break. You guys have ruined a year’s planning in the process!” I snarl, turning back to the window.

“What were you gonna do for your other breaks?” Paul asks carefully.

“What do you care?” I snarl.

“That’s a good question.” He answers, silence hangs over us for a few more minutes, he continues to flick through the channels, before I sigh, and rip my beanie off.

“Missionary work is Siberia was the plans for Fall Break. Summer, I have to go to summer school, because I have a job at the library, otherwise I’d go then. Winter, I was going to work in Haiti with the Hurricane victims, and Spring was going to be more Missionary work.” I explain carefully, looking at my interlocked fingers, picking at the purple paint on my pinky finger with my thumbnail.

“Holy fuck. Paul, your imprint’s a saint!” My head snaps up to look at the three boys standing in the door as Paul’s eyes widen, and his fists clench.

“His what?!” I demand.

“You didn’t tell her man?” Jacob demands, his hand falling from Quil’s mouth, letting me know that he’s the one who spoke first.

“In case you morons can’t tell, we don’t get along!” Paul snarls as he climbs to his feet.

“You... imprinted on me?!” I bellow, causing Paul’s head to snap over to me, eyes full of worry at the panic in my voice. “I signed up for... a few days! Hell, I didn’t even sign up for that, my parents did. Not... for the rest of my life! An imprint?!” I stand from the bench, my fingers gripping my roots as I take rapid short breathes, my world is swirling and colors are spinning and twining together. “I mean, I can’t hardly think for myself in terms of a relationship, because I’ve never been in one, and now suddenly I find that you,” I gesture blindly towards Paul and the other three boys. “are my soulmate?! I can’t- I can’t- I can’t breath!” I manage to force out, my knees finally give out, and there is a pair of warm arms catching me before my head collides with the floor.

“Deep breathes. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Someone coaches, their voice is muffle by the fog in my ears, but I obey as best as I can, the combination of coaching my breathing and the warmth of their person holding me helps. “That’s it, in through your nose, out through your mouth, deep breathes Ro.” I realize that it’s Jacob.

“Call. Carlisle.” I wheeze out, causing him to nod, grabbing my cellphone from my pocket, and dial the number that says dad. “Tell him. My Panic Attacks. Are Back.” I manage to struggle the words out between breathes, and Jacob nods.

“Doctor Cullen, it’s Jacob Black.” Jacob pauses. “No, yeah, there’s a problem. Ro just had a panic attack.” Another pause. “Well, you see, Paul imprinted on her-”

“He did what?!”I can hear Edward from the other line, causing Jacob to flinch, gritting his teeth.

“Anyway, she found out, and she’s panicking.” Jacob pauses, then pats me on the back. “Yeah doc. Okay. Bye.” He hangs up, shifting as I take deep breathes, wheezing them out. “Quil get me some warm water in a glass, Jared grab me as soft a blanket as you can find. Ro, head between your knees, keep breathing.” He instructs, and I move with my head between my knees taking deep breathes. “That’s it, good job.” Jacob says, then I notice his body jostling with sharp movements, like his gesturing wildly.

“No.” Paul answers.

“Get you ass over here Paul. You’re presence alone will help, you don’t even have to touch her.” Jacob demands, causing Paul to sigh, and I feel a bigger, warmer hand encompass the small of my back as Jacob forces me to drink the warm water that Quil brings, and Paul wraps the soft blanket around me as I continue to try regulating my breathing. Before I realize it, my chest is rising and falling in sync with Paul’s, as though I’ve matched up our breathing unconsciously. My eyelids flutter weakly as I fall against his chest, my panic attack taking more out of me then I thought, but he stiffens under my head, causing me to jolt away once more.

“S-Sorry.” I stammer out, only for him to reach out, yanking my head back into place on his chest.

“Sleep, you’re up way to fucking early, and had too much shit going on.”

“I don’t wanna,” I let out a yawn. “sleep. Only rest.”

“Whatever, just go ahead.”

“See, I knew you weren’t always,” I let another yawn. “an asshole.” With that, my eyes flutter shut once again, and I fall asleep against his chest.

“You’re in so deep, and it’s just the first day.” I head someone say with a pathetic excuse for a whisper.

“Shut up, you’ll wake her up.” Paul answers.

“Face it. You’ve imprinted on a leech lover.” The woman retorts.

“A badass saint leech lover. She spends her breaks volunteering in place like Africa and Haiti.” Jared responds.

“Lie.”

“How would you know?”

“How would you?” Leah counters.

“Easy, check her scent. Underneath the bleach of leech.” Paul answers, causing the room to go silent, then there is a huff of defeat.

“So? She’s still a leech lover.” Leah answers.

“So will you be,” I let out a yawn, slowly sitting up. “one day.” I state causing everyone to go silent as I rub my eyes.

“Sleep well?” Paul asks, causing me to smile sleepily at him.

“Can I cuddle with your wolf form?” I answer, causing everyone to laugh, even Leah. “Cause if you’re this comfy as a human, I want a bed made of your pelts.” I answer with another sleepy smile, causing Paul to chuckle, sitting up.

“Sorry sweet cheeks, but the pelt’s off the table. Maybe I could get you Jacob’s.”

“Deal!” That draws more echoes of laughter, before Leah finally speaks up.

“What did you mean?”

“Hmm?”

“About me being a leech lover someday?”

“Oh! Nothing!” I sing, stretching my arms and fingers out to my toes, causing her to grunt as she realizes that is all she is going to get, and she stomps out of the room in anger, the boys all laughing after her.

“Are you really feeling better?” Paul asks, causing me to tilt my head at him, giving a firm nod.

“I’m fine. Thanks for the headrest.” I answer, clambering to my feet, and I start into the kitchen to get something to eat.

“Fucking Princess.” i hear Paul mutter from the living room, but I pretend I didn’t.

“Did you want something to eat, Pauly?” I call teasingly, his face blanches as the guys burst out laughing and cackling while I steal the last slice of pizza from the box on the table, chewing on the very end of it as Paul climbs to his feet, stumbling over the blanket as he cusses and curses, and as he stops before me, I sway from side to side, batting my eyelashes innocently. “I didn’t do anything, I just woke up.” i state, taking a large bite out of the very tip of the pizza, then drop the rest into his hand. “Enjoy.” With that, I disappear out the back door as the guys hoot and holler in laughter.

Stalking downstairs later that night, I’ve changed my clothes as I enter the kitchen, tugging my leather into place as Emily and Sam look up along with Paul, Jacob, and Embry, and I pull on my fingerless leather gloves. “Where are you goin?” Paul asks.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I called some friends, and we’re going to dinner and movies in Port Angeles.” I answer, there’s a honk outside, and the sound of shouting over rock music.

“Bitch, hurry up already, before I have to come in a get yooou!” Vanessa calls, causing Marylinn to laugh too.

“I’m coming slut.” I call out the door.

“Oh, they sound lovely.” Emily states.

“They’re my only friends, okay? Nobody else in this Podunk town talks to me, causing I’m one of the precious “Cullens.” Meh.” I shake my head.

“Hey, Ro, we’re gonna miss the movie!” Marylinn calls, honking again.

“I’m coming, Mary!” I answer. “Anyway, I know where the spare key is, Em showed me. Don’t wait up!” I throw up the rock on sign, and dash out the door, into the black BMW, and Marylinn backs out the clearing, start down the road as Vanessa and I sit on the top of the backseats, howling to the moon, before burst into laughter. It’s nearly midnight by the time I slide the key from the fern, and unlock the door to Sam and Emily’s house, sneaking inside so as not to wake them, turning I freeze when I see Sam, Paul, Seth, Jared, Jacob, Quil, and Embry all in the living room, wide awake, playing video games.

“Hey, how was your night out?” Sam calls from the couch.

“Fine? Why isn’t someone on patrol?” I ask.

“Leah wanted to solo, just left, Seth’s about to go too.” Sam answers, jerking the remote as I walk past towards the stares. “Freeze!” I freeze with one step nearly on the bottom step. “Backtrack over here.” I obey. “Breath.” I breath on him. “No alcohol... no cigarettes... good.”

“I’m not a moron. I don’t have vices.” I snap, and walk towards the stairs once more, there is a choir of good nights, which I wave off before I head upstairs, falling into bed.

Day four, I get up, go for a jog, shower, and get dressed for the day in one of my dresses, stepping down the stairs as I shrug my vest on, I swing into the kitchen, only to stop at the sight of Emily serving half asleep boys half cooked hashbrowns. “Am I the only one that got any sleep last night?” I ask, taking the pan and spatula from Emily, having her sit down as I scoop up the food from their plates and throw together a quick hash to cook down on the stove.

“Yeah, cause not all of us need extra beauty rest.” Paul answers sharply.

“When do you ever get beauty rest, Pauly?” Embry taunts.

“I’ll pummel you when I’ve have breakfast and coffee.” Paul answers.

“Hey, Embry, brutto è brutto in ogni lingua Tu, amico mio, sei brutto.” I state.

“What?” Embry shakes his head in confusion as I dish out the hash.

“Ugly is ugly in every language. You, my friend, are ugly.” I answer, causing the guys to manage a barely weak chuckle, causing me to frown. Emily slumps onto the table, face first. “What happened last night?” I finally ask.

“Rogue vamp. A red head, she was here when you and your family left, she’s been leading us on a chase ever since.” Sam answers, entering the room bright eyed and bushy-tailed.

“You drank the last of the coffee made, didn’t you?” I demand, glaring at him in playful accusation.

“Nope, just naturally this awake. Anyway, we chased her all the way to the Canadian border last night, not the first time we’ve done that.” Sam explains, I pull the coffee pot off the stove, pour the last of the inky black liquid into coffee mugs of various sizes and colors.

“Carry your wife to bed, there is no reason for her to be awake.” I order Sam, causing him to grin at me, shrugging as I set the mugs before the boys, saving Paul’s for last.

“Just pour mine in my ear.” Paul groans playfully.

“Aw, that’s not the spirit of coffee in the morning.” I set the coffee before him on the table, then drop into his lap with all of my weight, causing him to groan in discomfort alone. “You need all this energy and all this spirit, cause I agreed to go on a trial date with your today, remember? To try and make this imprint thing work.”

“Oh yeah.” He groans. “Can’t we wait until another day?”

“Canceling on our first date, for shame. I don’t think my father will approve of me dating you.” I shake my head with the most playfully fake pout and furrowed eyebrows are I can, crossing my arms over my chest. “Come on, Pauly!” I finally cry. “Where you’re sense of adventure? Your spontaneity? Wake up!” I shake him roughly as the other boys start to chuckle at or antics. He pretends to snore, his head falls against my chest, and I scoff, shoving his head away roughly as I stand up again. “So help me, dogboy, you’re not the only one with a mean streak, I will tickle you.” I threaten playfully.

“Oh no! Not the dreaded tickling! Whatever shall I do?” Paul gasps, before he jumps up, picking me up like a sack of potatoes, and spins me around as I squeal, beating on his bad.

“Pumme down! Pumme down! This isn’t funny, Paul!” I scream, the boys at burst out laughing. “You bunch of fakers!” I screech, causing more laughter as Sam and Emily join us in the kitchen.

“Please be careful of my cabinets!” Emily calls over the laughter and my screams of “Pumme down, or Imma puke!” because Paul knows I’m faking going to be sick.

“Pumme DOWN!” I scream yanking at his ear, causing him to flinch, dropping me on my feet as he glares with a pout. “Now maybe you’ll listen.” I state, brush the skirt of my dress off.

“Nice polka dot underwear, Ro. Could see em through your leggings.” Jacob states, causing me to squeak, my hands flying to my but as my face burns in embarrassment, and I turn on my heel, dashing back upstairs to change, hearing Paul snarl at Jacob on the way.

Rocking on my heels, I look around the movie theater in curiosity, and Paul chuckles as he reaches over, grabbing one of my swinging hands, and gently rubs circles across my palm. I smile at I look over at him, a cold chill causes me to shutter as the AC kicks on, and his brow furrows before he twirls me around, pulling me into his embrace as I laugh. Cuddling my head into his warmth, I practically purring, nuzzling him as he chuckles again, resting his chin on my head, he only lifts me off the ground as he shuffles into the theater as the doors open, a few people who are watching, laugh before he deposits me in the seat beside his, and sits down as he grabs my hand. After we finish Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, he takes me to a small diner a few blocks away, watching me as he and I order our various meals. “You’ve never been to Seattle?” Paul asks.

“No, Alice has this shopping thing where, if I want to get new clothes, even a simple pair of running shoes, she drags me to Paris, or Milan. She’s only even been lenient with Bella, but since I’ve been with them since I was ten, I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Thats eight years?”

“Yeah, we’ve always moved around after two years, so I never really got many friends, or ya know, boyfriends.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Moving around a lot kinda makes it hard to get close to people. Oh!” My head snaps up. “But, I’m not complaining- we’ve been here longer than anywhere else because of Bella, and I love it here. The weather is comfortable, and the people are nice, and I actually have friends.” I explain as Paul leans on his hand, watching me as I look down at my hands, a bit of a sad smile on my face. “I’ve enjoyed our time here so much, I was sad when we had to leave because Edward freaked out. I missed the small town, but then we came back!”

“Do you ever let anyone see the truth?” He asks, causing my head to snap up, and he frowns. “You’re lonely, it’s okay to say it. You wish that you’d be able to stay where you’ve been, but you haven’t been able to. You’re happy with your family, but you’re sad too.” He reaches out, placing his hand over my own.

“I-” The waitress comes over, setting our plates of food down, I notice her eyeing our hands, causing me to blush, drawing my hands away from his to tuck in my lap, and she smirks as she shoots Paul a wink, sauntering off with her hips swinging in exaggeration. “I’m not sad, and I’m not lonely.” I counter, causing him to sigh, shaking his head as he picks up his roll, biting into it. “I mean, so what if I was? It’s not about me, it’s about them- they’re my family. It’s about their protection, in turn they worry about my protection just as much.”

“So, you what? Fake being happy? That’s not healthy.” Paul states as I shrug, spearing a piece of steak that I cut, and popping it into my mouth.

“It’s not the same as being fake happy. I’m really happy most of the time, but sometimes I just...” I sigh, and drop my fork to my plate with a clatter, dropping my head into my hands. “It’s just that I want to be a kid again, when I know I’m not. Everything was so much simpler after Carlisle and Esme first adopted me.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“You want to hear about my tragic past?” I snort, causing him to shake his head.

“It’s a part of you. I want to know you.” He answers, causing me to shrug, and I take a deep breath. “I guess it was pretty scarring, what your parents did.” At his words I flinch, my hand goes to my scarred arms, the bangles around my wrists covering the pale silver lines. “Bad choice of words, I’m sorry.”

“N-No, it’s fine.” I stammer out the lie, I move the bangles up and down my wrist as he frowns. “I was little, almost 4 when they did them... It’s strange, I healed almost as quickly as they did it, so they kept doing it.”

“You healed?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve always been a fast healer- I never understood it. Carlisle said it’s possible that one of my ancestors was a supernatural being of some kind, which left a trace of magic in my blood, and that’s why I heal so quickly, but I don’t know.” I shrug, taking a bite of my mashed potatoes. “Well, after a while, they’d stopped trying to kill me, and just locked me in the basement, there was one small window that was really high up- I used to get fed through it by one of the neighbor kids. That’s how I stayed alive, food and water once a day from her, and my biological parents caught her one day, she finally told her parents, and they called the cops. Took three days for the police to get there, when they did, the had to break down this wall my parents built over the basement door, and by then I was suffering from serious dehydration and serious undernourishment.”

“My god.” Paul breaths.

“After I got out of the hospital, I was put in foster care, and hopped from home to home for almost a year. Nobody wanted a child as broken as I was, but then Carlisle had found me- he’d been reading the newspaper, and came across my story, and told Esme. They immediately came to get me.” I shrug, sawing at my steak with my knife. “It took me a long time to get used to them, I mean... i always expected them to send me back to the system, so I acted out. I skipped school, Rosalie would find me and skip with me. I’d break things, they’d just replace them. I’d have panic attacks, and I’d lock myself in my room, Carlisle prescribed anxiety pills and they’d simply try three times to talk to me, before leaving me be. Anything I did to pull away, they’d counter it with something to get closer. I was broken, and they fixed me.”

“My god, Ro...” Paul shakes his head, standing up he crosses the table, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he seals his lips over my own, causing my eyes to widen as I freeze. He coaxes me to kiss him back, his tongue tracing my bottom lip, my eyes flutter closed as I reach up, twisting my hand into his hair, and kiss him back as best as I can. He chuckles as he pulls back, smiling at me as he strokes my flaming hot cheek, his eyes are swirling with worry, with lust, with emotions that I have no names for as he squats down before me, stroking my cheek as I carefully extract my hand from his hair, covering his hand on my cheek with my own. “You’re amazing, you’re strong, you- I understand you so much better now.”

“Paul, I-��

“Excuse me?” We look up as our waitress hovers nearby. “We’ve had some complaints about you two, your public displays of affection are making some of our customers very uncomfortable.” She states, causing me to look around, seeing the area is practically deserted, save for two more couples, one of which is practically clinging to each other, the other is a man with a woman literally in his lap, and they’re kissing.

“Seriously?” I demand. “Is it in your policy to be a complete and utter bitch and liar, to try and break up couples?” I stand up as Paul watches me, the waitress cocks an eyebrow at me as she crosses her arms over her check. “You’re what, 40? Why don’t you find someone your own age, Betty off your rocker. He’s 19, and I’m 18, I have a better chance with him that you do with any man at this point. I’m sorry you don’t have enough self respect to try having a relationship with a man your own age, but you need to leave people be when you know they’re on a date.”

“Excuse me, is there a problem?” A balding man in a tweed suit comes over.

“Yeah, there is.” I answer. “Your waitress here is jealous over a relationship that my boyfriend and I have, so she’s treating us, or I should say me, like complete an utter shit. She’s a liar and a flirt, and I’m telling your right now, I’ve had three bites of food, and I’m not paying because of her.”

“But- I- Miss, I-” The man stammers.

“Listen here you little twit.” The waitress pokes my chest as hard as she can, I stumble back. “You think you can talk down to whoever you want,” She pokes me in the chest again. “you’re an immature little twat, a spoiled brat who needs a good spanking, huh Princess.” She snaps, poking me again, and I slap her hand way.

“Don’t touch me, Grandma, and don’t call me Princess. That’s his nickname for me.” I snarl at her.

“Liddy, please don’t make this worse.” The manager begs.

“No, I won’t let her talk to me that way, and you’re the boss, she needs to show a little respect.”

“You’re a moron if you think I’ll ever respect someone dumber than a lamppost.” I answer. “You’re going off about our public displays of affection, when that couple over there is practically humping each other in the booth, and the other couple as kissing every other minute. Excuse me for enjoy my first kiss with my boyfriend.” She flushes with anger.

“You are a little bitch.” She snaps, causing me to grit me teeth, and swing my arm back, landing a punch to her nose, she falls to the ground as I glare at her boss.

“Your service sucks, and you’re lucky I don’t report your ass for hiring whores.” I answer, turning on my heels to see Paul watching me in awe. “Paul, come on.” I start out the door, and he follows behind, once we’re outside he bursts out in astonished laughter.

“Baby, that was fucking amazing.” He says, causing me to blush, he wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me against him. “You’re fucking amazing, I swear.” He says, causing me to smile as my cheeks burn even worse, and he leans down, capturing my lips in another gentle kiss.

“We should go back to Sam and Emily’s.” I state, causing him to grimace as he pulls back.

"Yeah, it’s getting late.” He answers, sorry for the crappy end to our date.

“Date’s not over until we’re back.” I answer, causing him to smile.

“Oh yeah, so I’m your boyfriend?” He asks.

“I was trying to make a point.” I lie, causing him to chuckle, leaning in for another kiss, which I lean into with a hum, and he chuckles, I realize why when I feel his hand on my ass. “Paul!”

“Ro!” He mocks with a teasing grin, causing me to shake my head, shoving him with all my strength, which just makes him stumble, and chuckle. “I’m sorry, I have a hand with a mind of it’s own.” He teases as I shake my head, smiling at him.

“Lets get going.” I state, causing him to chuckle as I start towards the car, he catches up in no time, wrapping an arm around my waist, and I lean into his warm touch.

“You’re so amazing, babe.”

“Thanks Paul. I know.” I tease, causing me to chuckle again, shaking his head as he opens the passenger door, allowing me to slide into the seat.

“You’re also impossibly difficult.” He states, leaning in to peck me on the lips, before closing the door, before he rounds to the driver’s side , climbing in, and starts back towards Forks, and the Rez, talking and laughing the entire way, his hand never leaving mine.

On day 9 of my stay on the Rez, I’ve fallen into a pattern of waking before the sun, going on a jog, coming back to shower, and get dressed. Tromping down the stairs, I enter the kitchen to get a quick meal of milk and a muffin left over form yesterday, before I enter the living room to fall onto the bay window bench, looking outside as I wait. It’s a total of five minutes, before the screen door in the kitchen slams shut, and I’m engulfed in a deep, burning hot hug, a chin lands on my shoulder. “Morning babe.” Paul whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my neck, causing a shutter to slink down my back, and he chuckles.

“Morning Paul.” I answer, turning my head to kiss him on the lips. “Patrol run late?”

“Nope, I woke up early.” He answers as he joins me on the bench, pulling me into his lap as he sits with his back to the wall, him knees making a warm wall on either side of me, and his chest is against my back, our fingers intertwining. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, I was woke up by some howling though.” He chuckles, pressing his lips to the back of my head as we watch the sunrise. We stay like that, even after Sam and Emily wake up, after Emily starts making breakfast, and even after the rest of the pack come over. Paul’s chin is resting on my shoulder as we watch the rain come and go, the animals scattering around the area out front, and everything else that he’s never taken the time to enjoy before.

“You guys are awfully cuddly over there.” Jacob calls from the couch, I flip him off without even looking, causing the boys to all laugh. “Emily, Ro flipped me off!” Jacob whines like a little kid.

“You probably did something to deserve it.” Emily calls from the kitchen, causing Jacob to make an insulted sound, and all of the boys to start roaring with laughter.

“Hey,” I look up at Paul, who smiles down at me. “how about we get out of here?” He says, causing me fore blink.

“Where?”

“You’ll see.” He answers coyly, causing me to nod as we stand, and he grabs my hand, pulling me through the house to his truck before the boys can get up to follow. After I slide up into his passenger seat, and he’s in the driver’s seat, he pulls something from the glove box, causing me to observe the black bandanna in his hand. “Let me put this on you.” He says, causing me to swallow thickly, then nod as I turn around, he slips it into place over my eyes, before taking my hand, placing a kiss on the palm he links his fingers through mine, and starts the truck. It’s quiet as we drive, save for the rattle of the truck, or the occasional murmur of “It’s okay, I promise we’re almost there.”, and after what feels like an eternity of darkness and rattle, we stop. “Hold on.” Is all he says, before he long he opens the door, his hands on my waist as he lifts me from the truck, guiding me towards our destination as my hands are blindly outstretched before me.

“Paul?” I ask, causing him to chuckle as he takes off my blindfold, and I blink at the abrupt change in light, looking up at the house before me. “Wh-Why are we here?!” I squeak, looking at my boyfriend.

“I thought it was time.” He answers, causing me to swallow thickly, and nod, taking his hand as I open the front door.

“Mamma? Papà?” I call out, leading Paul up the stairs towards the living room.

“Aurora?” Carlisle enters the living room, Esme on his arm, they blink in surprise as I come to a stop before them, Paul’s hand clasped between my own.

“Ah, my little ragazza!” Esme chirps, stepping forward to hug me, she takes my face between her hands, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Welcome home.” My stomach drops at that word for a second.

“I didn’t believe it, to be honest.” Edward says, entering the room from the office, his eyes on Paul, who is hovering barely a foot from me.

“Ah, mamma and Papà . Paul wanted to formally meet you both, as...” I clear my throat. “my boyfriend.” I state, causing Esme’s mouth to fall open in surprise, and Carlisle’s eyes widen.

“So quickly?” Carlisle asks.

“Edward and Bella were together in Edward’s mind three days after they met.” Rosalie answers, walking down the stairs, she crosses to my side in a flash, sweeping me into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” I answer, hugging her back, before she steps back, looking at Paul’s face, her lip curls in distaste, before she clears her throat, and holds out her hand to him.

“A pleasure to meet you formally, Paul.” She says in a polite tone, he nods as he takes her hand.

“Likewise.” Rosalie yanks him close, glaring into his eyes.

“You hurt her, and I will hunt you down like the dog you are.” She growls.

“If I hurt her, I will willing throw myself to the ground at your feet.” He promises, causing my throat to constrict, Rosalie smiles brighter than I’ve ever seen, and they finally let go of each others hands.

“If... this is what you truly want, Aurora, we will accept him.” Carlisle says carefully, before holding his hand out to Paul, I notice Alice twirling in from the tree that branched from the forest, to the house. Jasper is slowly following after, and Emmett enters from the back, most likely just finished hunting. “Welcome to the family, Paul.”

“Whoa! What?!” Emmett booms, glaring at Paul as I shoot Edward and Carlisle an accusatory glare.

“Aurora is Paul’s imprint.” Edward explains to Emmett, only instead of the calm that had settled over everyone, suddenly my siblings implode, save for Edward.

“WHAT?!”

“Jesus Edward, tact much?” I snarl, causing him to smirk at everyone starts to yell, and protest, though Esme shakes her head in disbelief at my siblings, after fifteen minutes of being scolded for something I had no control over, and Paul sitting beside me with his hand on my back, taking the brunt of the attack, I clench my fist. “That is enough! Holy shit!” My family falls silent in shock, I never curse around them. “I am so sick of this fucking rivalry. So my mate, in vampire terms, is a wolf? So. Fucking. What? Edward’s is a human! What does it matter that I’ve been imprinted on? What happened to, “as long as it makes me happy?” huh? That’s all you guys ever say when I want to do something. When I dyed the tips of my hair blue. Or I pierced my ears. Or, hell, when I got a tattoo!”

“You have a tattoo?” Paul asks, causing me to shoot him a scowl. “Right, not the point.” He leans forward to whisper in my ear. “Tattoos are sexy.” I blush as I shove him, and my family watches us.

“Look, Paul is who. I. Want. If you guys can’t accept him, and that I want him in my life, then... I guess I’ll just have to move in with Sam and Emily.” Everyone gasps, and I cross my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow. “I’m 18, I can legal move out. So, those are my terms. Accept Paul, or I leave this family.”

“You... feel that strongly about this?” Jasper asks in surprise.

“I can’t explain it. It’s like how he Imprinted on me, and how you have mates... I can’t stand the thought of never being with him, I love you guys, but...” I look at Paul, taking his hand. “I care for Paul like I could never have imagined.”

“You’ve... Marked.” I look over at Carlisle, confusion evident. “I was doing research into your biological lineage, your parent’s parent’s parents, they were Fae. Fae blood skips a few generations when families of human and Fae interbreed, you were third generation of half-human half-Fae, that’s why your parents were trying to kill you. You were born in a bundle of lights, they panicked, thinking you were a monster, that’s why they were trying to kill you. That’s why you healed no matter what they did, Fae are immortal, and because you’re half-human, you bleed and that’s it, eventually you’ll stop aging as well.”

“But... what is Marked?” Paul asks.

“Mated. Imprinted.” Carlisle answers. “Fae Mark when they find their soulmates, it’s rare for it to be human, but her parents and grandparents both marked humans. The fact that it’s a wolf is strange, because Fae are more commonly Marked by other Fae.”

“So... I’m Fae?” I ask.

“Yes, that’s why your hair is so light, and you are so pale, and why your eyes are so blue. Fae have always been people of light, eyes as blue are yours, are the sign. All Fae have blue eyes like yours.” Carlisle answers. “You’re wings will come in, on your 22nd birthday, and you will be able to withdraw and sheath them in your back, between the hollow of your spine.”

“I-Paul, catch.” I stammer out, before everything wobbles and I fall backwards, everything going black before I hit the ground.

“I-Paul,” I turn to see Ro’s face turn ashen. “catch.” She faints as soon as the words leave her mouth, as she goes down, I catch her as fast as I can, sweeping her into my arms as I look up, seeing her family all looking like they’re about the dash forward to catch her.

“I think that was an information overload with the wings.” I state, carrying her over to the couch, and carefully deposit her onto it, caressing her face as Carlisle steps forward.

“Paul,” I look up at him. “she’s in no danger, ever. As Fae, she’s in no danger from the Volturi, or any Vampire in general. That is why she was able to live her life with us. Her blood has no appeal to us.” He explains, and I look back at my light haired imprint passes out on the couch. “However, she will need protection if she wishes to do what she wants. There are hundreds of thousands of various other supernatural creatures out there, we can not protect her in the sun.” I realize why they were so willing to let her go to Sam and Emily’s now.

“You want her to give up on her dreams of helping people?” I demand, my fist clenching. “That’s all she ever wants, Carlisle. She wants to give others the chance you gave her, to save those that she can. You want to rip that away from her?”

“No,” Esme speaks, coming forward. “that’s never something we want to do. We love her, and we know you are in love with her, you could travel together, you could protect her.” She explains, causing me to relax, looking back at Aurora, then back to the vampires that raised her, her family.

“I’ll leave it up to her. I’ll never take away her choices.” I answer.

“That’s all we ask.” Esme answers.

“Ugh,” Aurora groans, shifting as she sits up, gripping her head. “my head. What were we talking about?” She murmurs, causing me to smile, kneeling down to reach out to stroke her cheek.

“You. Remember?” I ask.

“You. Remember?” Paul asks, looking into my eyes, memories flash behind my eyes, and I swallow thickly as I nod.

“Yes, I remember.” I nod again, leaning into the touch of his hand, enjoying the warmth that engulfs my face from his touch. “So,” I look back at Carlisle and Esme, the rest of my family seems to have cleared the room once I fainted. “I’m a fairy... I guess all the best supernaturals sparkle.” I joke, causing Paul to chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’re still one of my favorite.” I say to him, causing him to smile.

“You’re one of my favorites too.” He answers, helping me to my feet, and he keeps his arm around me waist to keep me upright. “Why don’t we head back now?”

“Yeah, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.” I answer, Esme smiles as she carefully hugs me, then Carlisle walks up, placing a kiss on my forehead.

“We’ll see you after next week, alright?” Esme asks, causing me to nod.

“Alright, I’ll see you mamma and Papà.” I bid them as Paul escorts me to the door, and out the the truck. Once inside the truck, and on the road again, I look at him with a smile, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Thank you, Paul... It means so much to me that you wanted to meet them formally. I know that it took a lot for you to do that, and I’m so sorry that the news of the imprint was received like that.”

“It’s alright. I’m glad you didn’t change your mannerisms around them, it’s really hot when you yell like that.” Paul answers cheekily, causing me to duck my head, my cheeks burning once again. “Besides, I need them to like me, considering we’re soulmates, and I love you.” I blink at the words he just said, gaping as he grins at me.

“I-I love you too.”

~9 years later~

Gasping on the hospital bed, Paul caresses my sweaty face with one hand, the other is crushed between my grip. “Almost there honey, I promise you’re almost done.” He murmurs, kissing my hand.

“I can’t push anymore.” I shale my head.

“One more push Ro,” Carlisle responds. “One more big push. I promise you’ll be able to rest.” I look at my dad, and nod, forcing myself to push. The world spots black and my ears fog, then the sound of a high pitch wail fills the room. “It’s girl!” Carlisle says.

“You hear that, honey?” I let out a sweet laugh. “W-We have a little girl.” Paul smiles at me while I watch Rosalie take the baby to get her cleaned.

“Alright, are you ready to continue?” Carlisle asks, causing me grip Paul’s hand, and nod.

“I’m ready.” I rasp out. Five minutes later, the second baby is born, another wail accompanying the first.

“A boy!” Carlisle cries, causing Paul to jolt, looking at his son in Carlisle’s arms. “You have a healthy baby boy.”

“A boy and a girl.” Paul breathes, causing me to smile at him as he looks at me in adoration. “You’re amazing.” He breathes, leaning in to kiss my lips.

“I hate you.” I joke weakly, causing him to smile as Carlisle swaddles the baby boy, and hands me him, while Rosalie swaddles the girl handing him to Paul, who looks at her with glassy eyes.

“What’re you naming them?” Rosalie asks, knowing that we’d managed to hide the names from everyone, even Edward.

“For the girl, we were thinking... Alisme Emily Rose Lahote.” I answer, looking up at her, venom fills eyes in place of the tears that will never be able to fall, a hand over her mouth. “For the boy, we were thinking... Samulisle Tobias Achak Lahote.”

“Truly unique names.” Carlisle answers, causing me to beam at him.

“They are unique children. Just as unique as Renesmee.” I answer, causing him to chuckle as I look over at Paul, who is cooing at our daughter.

“My perfect little Alisme.” He whispers, causing me to smile, looking at our son in my arms.

“Hello, Samulisle.” I murmur, rocking him in my arms as he stretches a bit, yawning as he flutters his blue eyes open at me, tears well in my eyes as I press my forehead to his. “My little cluster of lights, I love you so much.”

“Does he-?” Carlisle asks as I nod to him. “Amazing.”

“What?” Paul asks, standing with Alisme in his arms, he hands her to me, and takes our son, smiling at his blue eyes. “So you’re why we could see you guys.” He chuckles. “Hello my little Faewolf.” He smiles, rocking his son as I caress our daughters face.

“Hello Alisme.” I murmur. “I love you so much.” I press a kiss to her forehead, and Paul smiles as he hands me Samulisle, and climbs into the bed behind me, his warmth engulfing me.

“Can we coming yet? We’re dying out here!” Emmett booms, causing me to chuckle, nodding to Carlisle, who opens the door, and the pack of wolf and the coven of vampires all pile into the room, followed by a walking pile of stuffed animals and balloons, which are soon deposited onto the counter in the corner of the room, revealing Emmett.

“They are already spoiled.” Nahuel chuckles, Leah elbows her imprint in the side, and he chuckles as he presses a kiss to her hair.

“What’re their names?” Emily asks.

“This is Alisme Emily Rose, and Samulisle Tobias Achak.” Paul answers, causing Emily to burst into tears, Sam chuckles as he holds her, his hand on her swollen stomach.

“They’re beautiful names!” She sobs, causing me to smile sympathetically, knowing the hormones that are coursing through her body.

“They truly are.” Alice answers, standing beside Jasper in the corner of the room. “Samulisle is the Fae?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m honored to be a name sake.” Sam speaks up.

“As am I.” Esme chirps.

“I’m just sorry we couldn’t include everyone, but I think we’d need about five more kids to so that.” I say, laughing a bit before I yawn.

“Can I hold one?” Seth asks, causing me to smile at the lone wolf. I feel bad because, Seth and Embry were the last ones left without imprints, even Collin and Brady had imprinted, and up until last year, when Embry went away to College, he and Seth had a brother in binds thing going on, but now we’ve learned that Embry has imprinted on a girl, and is bringing her home when the graduate.

“Sure Sethy.” I answer, he steps forward as I hand him Alisme, since she’s wide away right now, and he smiles as he lifts her into his arms, I watch him distinctly freeze, a now familiar look crosses the 24 year old’s face, having seen it happen to so many of the wolves before. “Aw, Sethy imprinted!” I cry happily, causing everyone to freeze, Paul growls under his breath, causing me to reach up, kissing him on the lips, and that causes him to calm down once again. I watch as Alisme latches onto Seth’s finger, cooing happily up at the melted pup.

“I guess it was just a matter of time, Seth.” Leah says, smiling as she pets her brother’s head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He answers, keeping his eyes on Alisme like he’s afraid she’ll vanish.

“Does someone want to hold Samulisle? I need to sleep.” I say with a soft yawn.

“Oh, me!” Alice answers, dancing forth to pluck my son from my arms before I can say anything, or anyone else can butt in. I smile as I watch my families, the ones that once hated each other, that grew close thanks to Paul and I, but grew closer when Renesmee and Jacob imprinted, thinking to myself ‘Isn’t it funny? How love can change things? How it can even bridge to biggest of gaps? How it can fill even the deepest of holes?’ I look back at Paul, who smiles down at me. ‘All it takes, is one little push.'

“You know, it’s funny, who would’ve ever thought it. That I’d fall in love with the Human Cullen?” Paul rumbles in my ear. “I guess all we needed to come together, was one little push.” I burst into laughter, leaning up to kiss him passionately, nipping his lip as I pull away.

“You, mister, need to stay out of my mind. Oh, I am serious too. Besides I am a proud Fae, who you calling Human Cullen?”

#Cullen!Reader x Paul Lahote #twilight saga #twilight wolf packs

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monaisme · 4 years ago

Text

Day 12: “who are you?”

All May had wanted was to pick up a quart (or two, but don’t tell!) of her favourite cookie dough ice cream to enjoy sometime during her three blissfully quiet hours of alone time.

Peter was out with MJ on their first official “Spider-Man/MJ outing” (Of course, they weren’t calling these dates because MJ was dating Peter. Per MJ, Spider-Man was simply an experiment in alternate transportation methods.) while Happy was caught up in some SI security restructuring caused by that asshat, Quentin Beck, may he rest in Hell.

Regardless, she had at least three hours to herself before Peter got back and five hours before Happy was done with work. If she had timed it correctly, her Thai delivery would be arriving at the same time she was getting back from the bodega down the street. From there, she had an appointment with a remote control and a face mask. It was going to be amazing.

She offhandedly hoped that the delivery guy hadn’t come early, because her cell phone was at a whopping 0% in her purse and her charger was currently sitting in Happy’s car. Such was life, she guessed. She would have to wait for her boyfriend to come over later and hurry up home, just in case.

She arrived back at the apartment, forever grateful that this one was only a three story walk up for them versus the seven they had to deal with pre-Blip. It was only a few minutes before the ice cream was sitting in her freezer and her Netflix was cued up and waiting.

A knock sounded from the front door. Her stomach growled at the thought of curry so she hurried to answer it, grabbing her wallet along the way. No Peter-shaped vacuum cleaner meant it was all for her and she was loving it.

The delivery person knocked again, a little more aggressively.

“Here I am,” she sang out as she threw the door open, revealing a tall, muscle bound, and heavily tattooed man wearing a set of brass knuckles. “Um, you aren’t the delivery guy...” She stepped back, realizing her mistake. “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer.

She reached for the door, thinking that if she simply closed it, the man would be gone and she’d be safe.

But she was wrong.

A large, steel-toed boot wedged itself between the door frame and door, preventing her retreat, and he pushed himself into the apartment. May was knocked to the floor next to the bookshelf in his enthusiasm, her wallet landing in the entryway to the kitchen.

“What do you want?” she cried out.

He grinned. “You know what I want, Mrs. Parker.” He leaned over her and caressed his brass knuckles along her cheek, “And I’m telling you now, that we can do this one of two ways.”

She shook her head frantically. “I don’t know what you mean!?”

His touch changed then, and what had been gentle brought pain as he grabbed and yanked her hair, forcing her head back as he came down, snarling in her face. “Don’t play dumb with me, Mrs. Parker. Tell me where he is now and maybe I’ll let you live.”

She tried to shake her head again, but his tight grip gave no yield. “Look, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but he’s not here! You’ve got the wrong apartment, I swear it!” She pleaded, tears of pain rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, Mrs. Parker, I am definitely in the right spot.”

That was when she heard, realized, stopped struggling. “How do you know my name?” she whispered, fear halting her tears.

The man took a moment to really look at her. She wasn’t sure of what he saw, but he barked out a laugh and pulled her face away before releasing her hair from his grasp. “You don’t even know, do you?”

“Know what?” she cried out.

“Spider-Man, Mrs. Parker—or maybe you would know him as Peter Parker?”

May blanched. “What?”

The man laughed. “It seems that JJ Jamison really does have a hate-on for your,” he scanned the apartment casually, “nephew, right?”

She froze and then her gut clenched. How he could make her love for that boy sound so casual...

“Don’t bother pretending, Mrs. Parker. We all know who he is now, thanks to Quentin Beck and good ol’ JJ, and with the gift of technology and a few clicks, we all know who you are, too. Now... should I be calling you Maybelle instead?” The man crouched down over her. “Maybelle, darlin’, I’m done being nice and I really don’t have time for this. You’re up to speed so let’s get down to business, tell me where he is.”

May shook her head, ‘no,’ not knowing what else she could really do. She didn’t know how this goon had figured out who Peter was, but she’d die before she told him anything.

“Very well,” he responded. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He moved lightning fast. May barely had a chance to see the glint of his brass knuckled fist flying toward her—but she absolutely felt the explosion of pain as the skin of her cheek split open from that first strike.

“I will ask again,” he snarled. “Where is Peter Parker?”

Maybe it was the way he asked it, all monster in that moment, but something in May snapped, and with a determination she’d never felt before, she reached back to the bookshelf and grabbed the first thing her hand touched.

The heavy ceramic ashtray that Peter had made Ben for Father’s Day at age seven was wielded by May like a warrior. The jagged edges connected with her assailant’s cheek, leaving him with a wound mirroring the one he’d just inflicted.

He reeled away from her, hand flying to his cheek. “You bitch!”

The adrenaline flowing now, May scrambled back to her feet. If she could just get out of the apartment, she could call out and a neighbour would get the police.

She just had to get to the door.

The problem with him being so much larger than her was his significantly longer arm span, and within two steps, the man had her hair in his grasp again, using it as a leash. “Look, lady, I tried to be a gentleman about this, but I am not giving up a ten million dollar bounty just because I couldn’t get a damned nurse to crack!” He pulled her into his chest and pinned her arms. He leaned in, whispered in her ear, “And if you think you’re safe if you get outta here, think again. I just got here first... there are so many more coming.”

“How...?”

The man chuckled. “What? You think superheroes are the only ones who know how to email? Watch a news stream online? Hack a high school directory after seeing such a cute picture of your little Petie-Pie? Pfft. That’s nothing.”

He repositioned her so he could free up an arm and pulled a gun from the back of his jeans with it, and pressing it against above her ear. “Now, I’ve just caught a look at the time, and this is definitely taking longer than I’d planned. But no one can accuse me of not goin’ with the flow. So. Change of plans, Maybelle. We’ve gotta get movin’ before it gets too crowded in her, ‘kay? ”

May was terrified to ask, but she had to. “Moving? Where are we going?”

“Well, if you won’t tell me where he is,” He gave her a push, forcing her into the kitchen and onto one of the mismatched chairs. “You, his poor, widowed Aunt Maybelle, are going to call him up and tell him to meet us somewhere else.” He saw her phone peeking out from her purse. He pointed the gun to the purse. “You can take it out now and start dialling.” He walked across the apartment then, taking a peek out the window and checking the streetscape. “Tell him that you’re heading to his school and to meet you there.” He didn’t seem too stressed by what he’d seen outside, so he moseyed over to her. “Once that’s done, I’ll figure out what to do with you, but for now, I just need to get the kid. Got it?”

May couldn’t respond. How did he think she would do what he was asking? She was dead either way; she was coming to grips with that, but that she’d play a part in luring her baby to his capture and death? This man had no soul.

Someone knocked at the door for the second time in, May checked out the clock on the stove, this had been going on for barely five minutes?

He straightened up. “Well, it looks like the party is about to start.” He pulled his gun from her head and slid over to the door. He disengaged the safety from his gun and—

The thought flashed through her head. “Wait! I was waiting for delivery for dinner! It could be Cameron!”

“Cameron? You know your delivery guy’s name?”

May shrugged, “When you cook like I do, you get to know the people who are feeding you.”

He snorted at that. “Fantastic.” And then he thought for a second. “What does Cameron look like?

Thinking hard, she blurted out as accurate a description as she could. “I don’t know!? Middle aged, starting to thin at the top... maybe a little soft around the middle.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth when she panicked. “No! You can’t kill him! He has a wife and two daughters! Please don’t—“

He raised the hand not holding a gun up in surrender. “Chill, Maybelle. I can’t have carnage piling up in the hallway, can I?” He shook his head, almost like he was disappointed in her, “You know, not all villains are bad people. You should really watch how you judge—especially in this day and age.”

May wondered what sort of alternate reality she’d fallen into when—

Three hard knocks on the door distracted them from the conversation.

“Right, Cameron.” The man tucked his gun back into his pants and grabbed May’s wallet off the floor, “Who is it?” He called through the door.”

“Um, it’s a delivery for May Parker?” the voice called back.

May tried not to panic.

“But who is it?” The man asked again, this time peeking out the peephole in the door.

“It’s Cameron from Sup Thai Kitchen, sir. Is May Parker in?”

The man looked to May for confirmation. All she could manage was a single terrified nod.

“Yup, she’s just a little busy. Be right there!” The man rifled through her identification and cards, seemingly satisfied with the interaction. He grabbed a handful of bills then smiled and gave her a wink, “You’re gonna be tipping really well, today, darlin’”

The man was insane.

And—

Happy came flying through the barely opened door, gun drawn and ready to deal with anything that came at him—including the man, who Happy recognized immediately. “Mac Gargan.” Happy growled.

Knocked off balance by the intrusion, Gargan found himself on the floor but this time, there was no banter or intimidation. Happy Hogan was delirious with anger and on top the man who’d tried to hurt the woman he was falling in love with. There would be no let up. Gun cast aside, fists flew and Happy’s years of boxing came into play and he hit—1-2, 1-2, 1-2-3-4.

For a man of so many words, Gargan was silent except the grunts of pain as Happy rained down fury. He tried to fight back, but his hits were impotent to the rage.

And then the man found an opening, managed a shove and nothing more, but it was enough to free him from cage Happy had locked him into. Breathless, he crab crawled away, hitting a wall within seconds—having nowhere else to go.

It was over.

Happy stood over the man, panting from the exertion, but looking no less lethal.

And May sat still in the kitchen chair.

Happy gave her a quick glance, eyes barely lingering over the cut on her cheek. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, yes.

Happy looked down at the man and then back to her. “You’re phone’s dead and you left your charger in my car, again. I think we’re gonna just pick you up an extra, okay?”

She nodded again, yes.

Happy pulled his phone from his pocket, barely noting his bleeding knuckles as they brushed along his lapel. “I’m just gonna make a call and take care of...” He gestured to the man who had—

Reached behind himself in Happy’s distraction—grabbed his gun and moved to aim—

*thwip*... *thwip-thwip*

All three of the apartment occupants looked to the now open window where a maskless Spider-Man was crouched and holding the weapon that Mac Gargan had almost used to shoot...

“Dammit, Peter! I thought I told you to make for the cabin!” Happy yelled at the unmasked vigilante.

“I was gonna! But then I tried to call May and couldn’t get through so I figured she’d forgotten to charge her phone again so I came over to check and then, well, this—“ Peter wiggled the gun between his fingers.

Happy sighed in frustration and looked at the now webbed and muzzled Mac Gargan, literally stuck to the wall. “Yeah, fine then. I totally had that under control, though, kid.”

Peter smiled big at him, “I’m sure you did, but now we can all ride together, right?” He looked over to May and then back to Happy. “You brought the big SUV that’s parked out back, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, kid, that’s the one.”

The casual conversation seemed a tad too surreal for May, who suddenly remembered, “He said more are coming! We’ve got to go!” She jumped up from her chair, seemed to forget how to stand, and listed sideways into the table.

“May, honey, maybe you should stay sitting for a minute. Let me take a look at you, okay?” Happy helped her back into the chair with a gentleness only May knew and crouched before her, assessing. “Pete, you wanna grab her a glass of water?” Peter moved to the cupboard as Happy prodded at the wound on her face.

May batted his hand away. “But he said he was only the first!” She grabbed Happy by the lapel and gave a weak shake. She needed to convince them to run. “He said that we’re on the news!”

“May, May... sweetheart, listen to me.” Happy was firm. “SI security has set a perimeter around the building. No one is getting in. We’re safe for now. Just drink some water and we’ll get you to the cabin, okay?” He poked at her face again; she didn’t stop him.

A glass of water appeared from over her shoulder. Happy nodded at wherever it came from and then pressed it into her hands. “Do you need some help?”

She shook her head, no, and took a shaky, tentative sip. And then another.

“Pete, why don’t you go grab some clothes for the two of you and save us a trip back later, ‘kay?” Happy said quietly.

She couldn’t see Peter, but assumed he’d nodded because he was plodding down the hall, past the man, Gargan—and adding another blast of webbing on him to be sure.

The kitchen was quiet.

A few minutes passed.

“Feeling a little more steady?” Happy whispered.

She nodded ‘yes,’ so Happy started talking. “You’re gonna need stitches here, love, but I want to get you out of the city more. Are you okay with some butterfly stitches in the car or do we hit the med bay at the tower before we got to Pepper’s?”

She couldn’t find an answer.

“May?” Happy cupped her chin to look more closely at her, “Are you okay?”

She thought about it for a second, almost nodded another yes and then stopped herself. “He was going to kill my baby.” She breathed back. Her eyes filled, “and he expected me to just... give him to him.”

He brushed his fingers along her cheek, bloody and swollen, and so much like that man—but not. “I’m guessing that didn’t go so well?”

May chuckled as she fought down the sobs. “You know? I always wondered how I’d be if... if...” and then she couldn’t fight them anymore.

Happy pulled her into his arms and she grabbed on tight to him. “I used to wonder if I was ever really gonna feel like a real mom to him, you know? He was so small and afraid when he first came to us and then he never called me...“ She pulled in deep breath, trying to stay calm as she spoke, “Tonight, if I had to, I’d have died for him, Happy. I would have!” An edge of hysteria was bleeding into her words.

“You didn’t have to, though. Everyone is safe and we’re gonna get outta here, okay?” He held her closer still.

She shifted, burrowed into his chest and savoured the feeling of safety for a minute more. She took a couple of deep breaths, steeled herself for whatever came next, and pulled away.”

Happy groaned as he stood up fully again, and again pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m just gonna take a second to get some guys up here to deal with this shit here, ‘kay?” He waited for her to acknowledge before he stepped away to make the call—leaning over to scoop up her wallet from the floor as he did so.

Peter chose that moment to come from the bedrooms, two backpacks hanging off his shoulder.

May thought he looked upset and she imagined how devastating all of this must be for him. She extended her arms to embrace her nephew. “Come here, honey.”

Peter dropped to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her middle. “May, I love you so much.” He choked out.

“I love you, too, Peter! It’s okay.” She comforted him. “Pepper and the others will get whatever this is sorted and you’ll be back out there before you know it.”

He pulled back to look up at her, “May. I’m so sorry—“

“No-no-no—don’t you dare apologize for this,” she scolded.

Peter looked to her with an earnestness she’d never seen before. “No, May. Let me speak. I heard you!”

May was confused.

“When you were talking to Happy, I heard you! And I’m so sorry that I didn’t make you understand!”

“Peter, honey, what are you talking about?”

“May, I love you so much—and I didn’t even think to call you mom because—“ Peter teared up and pressed a hand over his heart. “I didn’t because May already meant mom in here.”

“Oh.”

“If anything had happened to you today, you’d have thought I didn’t...”

May reached forward and pulled her son back into her arms. “Sh-sh- it’s okay now. We’re okay, and I love you, too, baby.”

They stayed that way for a while, mother and son comforting each other, only pulling away from each other when a contingent of SI security and SHIELD agents came barrelling into the apartment to collect Mac Gargan.

Peter provided the solvent necessary to get Gargan free of his web constraints and within minutes, the man was being whisked away to whatever hole she hoped he’d die in.

Happy approached May who, to be completely honest, was feeling a little overwhelmed with the day. “Are you ready to go?”

She smiled tiredly at him. “Yup.”

“Okay, Pete! Can you grab the bags and May’s purse, please? We’re gonna hit the road.” He looked at May again while he gave instructions. “And can you grab some juice or soda for your aunt? She’s still lookin’ a little peaky.”

“On it.” Peter responded and he headed over to the fridge.

“And you, Mrs. Parker, are comin’ with me.” Happy leaned over and with a grace belied by his size, swooped her up in his arms. “I think we’re gonna keep a close eye on you for a while, if that’s alright?”

She gave a weak smile. “I might be okay with that... for a little bit.”

Peter popped up beside them. “Okie-dokie—I think I’ve grabbed everything. Let’s blow this pop stand!”

The three of them made their way down the stairwell, and out into the street, the atmosphere so different from when she’d been out only a short time ago.

“Hey, May?” Peter called up from ahead of them.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is that Cameron back behind the barricade?” Peter sounded excited. “Please, please tell me you ordered Thai?”

@febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #fanfiction #tw home invasion

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pucketknife-blog · 7 years ago

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WE GOT HIM~ Finn&Puck [PG]

↪ TAGGING: Finn Hudson ( @infinnite ), Noah Puckerman ( @pucketknife ), Belinda the LNPC employee, Mr. P; ↪ LOCATION/TIME: The L. Naturae Protection Committee, New York City; January 25th; Thursday afternoon; ↪ SYNOPSIS: Finn and Puck go to the LNPC and find someone that can lead them to missing Common NYADA student Kurt Hummel. ↪ WARNINGS: none but Finn freaks out a bit idk if it can be considered a panic attack but just in case cw: panic attack

FINN

Finn's leg was shaking as they sat down to be called up to the front. This place sucked. It reminded Finn of the DMV in Ohio, and in a small town where no one had anything except a desire to go fucking elsewhere, it was something awful. Finn kept on checking around if anyone could know of their intentions. He was absorbing the crowd's feelings like a sponge. It was dizzying. All this fear and anger was the nothing though to the helplessness. Finn tried not to block it out as he had done all the other times before. 2018 was a new Finn. He visualized opening his receptioners or whatever they were called and let the feelings flow into him. He was feeling dejected but through that dejection, Finn thought back that he had to keep going. He had to have hope and fight for those who needed to be fought for. The two people waiting next to Finn sat up straighter in their seats. Finn didn't notice that they were looking at each other with teary smiles. Finn turned his attention to Puck. "Dude, when's our number again?"

PUCK

He looked back at Finn trying not to roll his eyes. He was used to the Committee, but Finn wasn't, and his shaking leg what making him nervous. "Relax, we're up next. Just let me do the talking and, y'know.... act chill. Pretend you are on our side." By our side, he meant the Slayer's Guild. If Kurt was missing, then there had to be someone looking for him, and that was them. If there was no contract, then they would be able to confirm something else was going on in there, which was the whole point of the visit. A not-so-subtle beep rang over them and the number he was holding in his hand started glowing, making him stand up and straighten up his t-shirt as he walked up to one of the desks. "Afternoon there, miss. We're here to check on a contract for a missing LN that might have not been released yet? Would you be so kind to give us a hand?" he flashed her a charming smile as he leaned over the desk a bit -body language was everything.

FINN

Puck's chill was affecting his mood better and Finn was kinda grateful. Not that he'd tell Puck. Finn was still getting used to the telling everyone else he was feeling their emotions shit, and he didn't want Puck to not hang around him. "Uhm..." Finn made a face at Puck's request. Finn was a terrible liar. "I'll just uh, shut up, dude." Finn smiled as a nervous response when they were called up. Shit. It was showtime. Finn could feel that the woman was interested in what Puck had to say. It was better to let Puck lead this for now.

PUCK

The lady looked Puck up and down and gave him a courtesy smile. "Sure thing, darling," she said as she typed something into her computer. "Magical Identification Number and SGA ID, Please?" Puck recited the numbers and handed her a card with his Slaying data, his smile just as bright in the ID picture as the one he was flashing now. "What can I do for you, Mr. Puckerman?" she asked once she checked his data and handed back the card. "Well..." He eyed at her name tag, "Belinda -can I call you Belinda?" He didn't really wait for an answer before he kept up with the act. "See, we're not only Slayers, we're also NYADA Students, and we're trying to find a particular contract of someone in our class that's been apparently listed as missing. If he's missing, then there must be a capture order, right? See, we try our best to work in our free time, but it's better if we stay local, so we don't miss out on our classes. Can't say these big wave of LN disappearances haven't done wonders for our bank accounts, if you know what I mean," he tried to joke around, though Belinda didn't smile so much this time as her eyes went from Puck to her computer screen and back.

FINN

Belinda's mood shifted. A hint of annoyance was coursing through her and Finn felt something else there. It was as if she was tired of someone asking for Kurt again. Finn tried to focus that energy, wondering what it could have meant. The secretary sighed and told Puck flatly, "Mr. Puckerman, his items have been transferred. Not cleared." Finn didn't know what that meant and it must have shown on his face. Belinda sighed again. "They're sent to a different location, Slayers. That's all I can say." Finn sighed and crossed his arms, wanting to ask for more information when he felt a sudden chill down his spine. It was a strange feeling. A mood that was uniquely cold and fucking predatory. Finn tried to send it away but it was so damn persistent. Finn leaned on Puck for support.

PUCK

Puck's smile widened. "Whose Items, Belinda? I haven't given you a name yet..." She had made a mistake, and he had caught her. "How can you know which student I'm talking about without a name, Belinda? Don't you think that's kind of curious? 'Cause I certainly do..." His smile didn't falter even for a second, but he didn't add anything else as he made eye contact with her, noticing the nervous tick in her left eye. "You see, usually when LN's are transferred, they are transferred by Slayers, am I not correct? So, can you at least give me the name of the Slayers who were in charge of transferring this student's belongings? I mean, the one you're thinking about whose name, again, I did not give you..." His brows furrowed a bit as he challenged her with a subtle glare, assuming Finn was leaning on him just to back him up in the staring contest he and Belinda were having.

FINN

Belinda sighed and said flatly, "Mr. Puckerman, the gentleman before you was also a NYADA student and this office has been extremely busy this entire week. You are looking for Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, the changeling." Finn felt another wave of cold callousness shooting into his skull. Belinda said, "And I've said it to another person, a blond witch, that this is all I am cleared to say on the level of my authorization. That is all. If you continue to push me, I have been given orders to send a complaint to the SGA. NEXT." She shooed off Puck and Finn.

Finn was having trouble standing on his feet and grabbed onto Puck's shirt. "Dude, someone here." Finn strained to speak. He fisted his hair as he scanned around and that's when he was able to narrow the feeling down to one dude. It was a blond man with a long face wearing a city slicker suit with white gloves. He smiled at Finn nicely when they caught each other's eyes but Finn felt a dark excitement emanating from the man. Finn was never so certain about it and his feelings began to leach out. "Dude. Dude. Fuck. Puck, that's the guy." Finn muttered, scared but also angry. "He took Kurt!" Finn couldn't say more. The suited man checked his watch and zipped into a portal.

PUCK

His smile fell and his subtle expressions soon shifted to an annoyed and menacing grimace. "You know what, Belinda? I thought we had a connection here," he protested leaning closer. "I'm just trying to work, just the same as you-" He was soon cut off by Finn pulling at his shirt, and he suddenly forgot about Belinda and Kurt as he turned around and realized Finn was looking pale, grabbing onto his friend's shoulders. "Yo, you okay, bro? Wanna seat down or something, what's going on?" He guided him out of Belinda's booth, a worried look on his eyes as Finn fumbled with his words. "What guy?" He said lowering his voice, "What are you talking about, how- ?" His gaze followed Finn's, finding the blonde man with the white gloves just before he entered the portal. "Dude, what the hell?" he asked then turning to face Finn, one hand on either of his shoulders, "Who is he? What do you mean, ‘he took Kurt’?" His brow raised with curiosity.

FINN

Finn couldn't explain it full to Puck but he grabbed at his friend's arm and ran to the Portal where the man went through.They exited out to New York City. Finn looked back and there was nothing. Shit. One way portal. "Dude." Finn panted. "That's the guy. I gotta... tell Matt. You gotta believe me, that's the guy. He was giving off a real mean vibe, Puck. I felt it, he was happy when he overheard Belinda rejecting us about Kurt's information." His heartbeat was pounding so damn fast Finn felt like it would fall off. He was looking around for any other glimpse. That mood was so precisely that man that Finn couldn't detect it around. It was just the regular moods of busy and annoyed business people on the move.

PUCK

"What are you- ?!" He tried to protest, but Finn was quite strong and he was taken by surprise as he pulled at him. Next thing he knew, he was standing in some streets in NYC, but he was more worried about Finn freaking out than anything else. "Dude, chill, I believe ya, just... breathe or whatever." He wanted to ask what Finn meant when he said he felt him being happy, but he thought it was probably not the best time. He put Finn's arm around his shoulders and guided him to a nearby hot-dog stand, sitting him down on a bench and getting him a soda, urging him to take a sip as he tried to find the man with the white gloves around the crowded street. "Alright, you just chill, you can text Matt later and let him know." He took a seat next to his roommate and patted his shoulder as he gave him a small smile. "Yo, if you're right, then we got our first lead. All we gotta do now is follow up on it. We're good. We got him. We're gonna find Kurt. It’s gonna be alright."

#Infinnite #paras #para: finn #para: we got him #mission: save kurt #panic attack cw

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lifeinahole27 · 7 years ago

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CS ff: “Wait for the Moonrise” (1/10) (au)

Summary: Emma doesn’t remember who she was before she was found in the woods, but she knows that she has a few close friends, a good job, and a loyal cat that greets her every day when she gets home from work. What she doesn’t know, however, is that her past is about to catch up to her in the strangest of ways. She learns quickly that not everything is as it seems, not even her cat. Rating: E Content warnings: smutty smut (sorry, not this chapter), brief mentions of the loss of a hand Chapter specific content warnings: None A/N: Oh man, where do I start? With thanks, of course. To @clockadile for the absolutely beautiful artwork that I can’t believe goes with my story. To @captainstudmuffin for the intense beta work and idea bounces and listening at every turn. To @phiralovesloki for the guidance and the love and more hand-holding than I should’ve ever subjected you to, but still you helped. (Edit: I AM THE WORST and forgot to thank @sambethe for her wonderful feedback, which also helped me shape scenes to be better than they were!) Without you all, this story would not be here. I’ve got nothing else. Enjoy! Catch it on Ao3 or FFN! And catch @clockadile‘s artwork HERE!

The first day that Emma Swan remembers, she is barefoot, in nothing but a cotton nightgown that looks straight out of another world, and she is freezing. Her hair is icing over, the wet tendrils hardening in the frigid weather, and she’s vaguely aware that she should be worried about her toes, her fingers, any of the exposed flesh that keeps getting colder by the minute. Instead, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to push away the pain that shoots through each foot as she breaks twigs and finds sharp stones with her nearly-numb soles.

She stumbles over a root, crying out as she falls to the mud, her hands sinking into the nearly-frozen earth as a sob wracks through her body. Icy water seeps into the cotton under her knees, and it is tempting, so very tempting, to fall the rest of the way, to curl up in the fallen leaves she spies to her left below a sprawling tree, and let the elements take her away from the pain and confusion she’s drowning in.

Emma Swan does not, in fact, know that she is Emma Swan. She knows that she is a woman, she is lost in a forest, she is in danger of frostbite, and she is losing hope fast as the daylight sinks closer and closer towards the horizon.

There are voices getting nearer, calling something out, and she’s incredibly worried for a moment that they’re speaking another language. Her ears are ringing, stopping her from grasping anything besides the sensations she’s focused on. Her limbs ache, her head throbs, and a drop of blood lands in the dirt under her; the rest of her mind is utterly blank. It’s just weariness and exhaustion blocking the path between her ears and her brain someone is close enough for her to see when she finally looks up.

“Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He’s dressed in thick attire, his hands wrapped in warm gloves as he reaches for her. Emma’s shaking hand reaches out for him and she keens as her skin meets fabric. It almost burns, this contact between her frigid fingers and this man’s protective clothing. A green peridot ring on her middle finger glints in the low light that filters through the leaves, but her attention is quickly pulled away from this discovery when the second person speaks to her.

“Is someone chasing you?” Another man kneels next to her, muttering to himself, “Where the hell did she come from?” as he looks around the woods that surround them.

“P-please,” Emma stutters out. “Please, help me.” Her eyes meet those of the man kneeling next to her, his expression one of worry for this strange woman he’s just found out in the middle of nowhere.

“Come on,” the other man says. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

It takes nearly no effort at all for them to haul her up, and as soon as her body is aware that something like ‘safety’ is on its way, she loses consciousness.

The next time Emma Swan is aware of her surroundings, the light of the room she’s in is dim but harsh. There’s a steady noise to her right that starts speeding up the moment her eyes open to unfamiliar sights, and she blanches at the antiseptic smell in the air. Her extremities all seem to be intact, but her body hurts when she tries to move, which causes the noise to speed up again.

It all starts piling up, more and more, as there’s a needle stuck into her arm and tubes stuck in her nose and foliage in her hair and small sticky pads stuck to her chest that she tries to tug at, causing a shrill noise to sound from the machine that was almost soothing before. Emma shrieks without realizing that she’s making the noise, and the curtain to her left suddenly swishes away to reveal a gruff looking man with a sour expression, grousing at her to keep it down because some people are trying to sleep.

“Help,” Emma manages to say, her hands shaking too much to get a firm grasp on the wires connected to her body and tears starting to flow from her eyes again. The man’s brows draw together as he watches her helpless movements, watches the panic rising to her eyes, and he fruitlessly reaches a calming hand out to her.

“Calm down, lady. The nurses will be here in a second. But you gotta breathe, okay?”

She understands nurse, she understands the nature of infirmaries, and it helps calm some of the panic that seems to be clawing at her insides, but everything else is so foreign that the abated anxiety doesn’t last long.

“Why don’t you tell me your name and where you’re from until they get here, okay?”

It’s that which finally breaks the dam, and Emma’s absent tears turn to full-fledged sobbing as she admits in halting tones that she has no idea. None at all. As far as she knows, she is absolutely no one.

-x-

She’s sedated through the rest of the night, and when she wakes in the morning, she’s groggy and sluggish. Her eyes labor to remain open at any point that someone comes to check on her, and nearly her entire second day of memory is spent sleeping except for when she’s fed and someone comes to hum at the papers attached to the board at the foot of her bed.

When she awakens the next day, her head is clearer. She remembers immediately that she’s in the hospital, that the monitors she’s attached to are keeping track of her heartbeat, and the IV in her arm is keeping her hydrated. She’s told repeatedly that she’s lucky she didn’t get frostbite, and no matter how many times someone inquires as to how she found herself out in the woods, she has no answer for them. She is still, as far as she knows, no one at all. The name on her wristband currently says “Jane Doe,” although she knows now that’s just what they call someone they have no identification for.

It’s somewhere during the course of this day that Emma ventures to use her legs on her own. Any time before when she used the washroom, she was accompanied by someone holding her steady, but her need to use the facilities outweighs the amount of time it would take to call a nurse to her room during this busy time of day. Despite how unused her legs feel, she slowly shuffles from the bed to the bathroom in the corner of the room, smiling in triumph when she’s safely ensconced beneath her sheets again.

There, on the table beside her bed, is a small pot of flowers that wasn’t there before. Emma turns to the other bed, but remembers that the man that was staying in the room with her was released earlier that morning, so she has no one to ask where they might have come from, or from whom. With a small shrug of her shoulders, Emma leans over and snatches the card that sticks out above the flowers.

Get well soon, dearie.

There’s no name to indicate who may have sent them, but the envelope that the small slip of paper was enclosed in has the first real clue she’s found in days: her name is Emma Swan.

As soon as she whispers the name out loud, she gasps, her head filling with the knowledge that her name is, in fact, Emma and that she’s twenty-five years old. Her birthday is in October, a matter of days prior to the current one, and while the information she remembers stops there, she’s relieved to know that she is someone. She has a name and an age and a date of birth, and that’s more than she had moments before.

Another day passes, and when Emma wakes up, there’s a small plastic bag with an assortment of items inside it. She looks at it curiously, until a nurse appears at her bedside, happily clicking her tongue at whatever she finds there and smiling down at Emma.

“Good afternoon, Miss Swan. Your vitals are all steady, and it looks like you’re going to be released today. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get any of your belongings from your place, so we have some scrubs for you to change into when you leave, and I’ve given you a pair of my old sneakers so your poor feet aren’t out in that snow! We don’t usually see this weather until a little closer to winter, so you’re really lucky you didn’t freeze to death out there.” The nurse putters around her bed, checking various machines and instruments for their readings and writing the numbers down on her charts. She hums quietly and tells her to sit tight for a little longer as she exits the room.

The nurse is gone for less than ten minutes before she returns again, greeting Emma cheerfully once more. “This bag was left at the nurse’s station at some point this morning. It looks like some of the items from your wallet, and your keys! Still no wallet found, but hopefully that’s something you left at home.”

Emma nods, not really sure how else to react. She has a home here, a place where there are things that might spark more of a memory than what she’s gained in the last day (which isn’t far beyond what she discovered after opening her card). She reaches out for the bag when the woman hands it over, though, and treats each item as a treasure.

There is an identification card, her face smiling in the picture with all of her personal details. There’s her birthday and her address, but it also mentions her weight and hair color and eye color, which doesn’t produce any new knowledge so she moves along to the next objects. There’s another plastic card, this one with her name and a series of numbers printed on it. She’s informed that it’s a credit card, that if that’s how she chooses to pay for her stay that she’s welcome to do so. The nurse starts talking about health insurance, which she is clueless about, so she waves the woman away to let her explore in peace.

Not much else comes forth from the contents of the bag, however. Other than the ID and credit card, there’s a smattering of cash. The bills and coins all look like they were found out in the woods where she was found, as they’re dirty and wrinkled, some of the coins caked in mud. She grimaces, dusting off her fingers the best she can on a corner of the sheet and reaching for the keys. These, too, are a little dirty, but Emma takes the time to wipe them off. There are two keys on the ring, neither with any kind of identification, and she figures she’ll just use trial and error when it comes time to use them.

The next nurse who passes by, she asks for a piece of paper and a writing utensil. She still has a few hours until they’re going to release her, so she takes her time writing down everything she knows about herself, copying the name and address found on the ID in hopes of committing them to memory.

At some point, she’s given a change of clothes, and she helps herself to the tiny shower in the room’s bathroom. Emma is positive it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her life when the hot water sluices down her body, washing away the remnants of dirt that they didn’t get off her from when she was admitted. She works gingerly to wash her hair, avoiding the wound on her forehead that’s to blame for her loss in memory.

After a thorough examination and another round of questions she can’t answer, she’s told she can go home.

When she’s officially released, Emma’s tattered nightgown is unceremoniously shoved into a plastic shopping bag. She places her belongings in there as well, holding the flower arrangement in the crook of her elbow as she signs her name with an unfamiliar flourish. She’s handed a payment booklet, instructions for what to do if she notices any further symptoms that the cold did any damage, and a list of emergency phone numbers to call if she needs help. She’s scheduled for a follow-up appointment, as well, to discuss her recovery with the doctor.

“Do you have any friends you can call to stay with you for a while?” a nurse asks. It’s not her fault. She’s not been there the last couple days that Emma has been staying, so she blushes furiously when Emma answers that she doesn’t even know if she has any friends.

A taxi drops her right off at the door to her apartment building, and Emma apologizes profusely as she hands over the grubby money from her bag to pay for it. Thankfully, it’s just enough, with a couple extra cents thrown in for a tip. Emma stammers another apology as she clambers from the back of the vehicle, and the man behind the wheel gives her one long-suffering sigh before he drives off once the door is shut.

With a sigh of her own, Emma turns around to look up at the building she apparently lives in. It’s five stories, by her count, and the number on her ID starts with a three, so she walks in and heads toward the elevator, pushing the button with a corresponding number and hoping against all other hopes that she’s correct in her assumptions.

The door marked ‘311’ is just as much a mystery to her as everything else, but she pulls out the second key. She sends up one more prayer as she tries to turn it, expelling her breath in a half-laugh as the key turns and she twists the knob. She makes sure to latch it again when she’s inside, and she leans back against the door before trying to figure out what comes next.

What comes next, it turns out, is a strange adjustment period, where Emma must figure out how to keep herself alive before she can figure out anything else about her life. Food is easy enough. There’s a smattering of groceries in the cupboards. The refrigerator is entirely barren, but she’s thankful for that. There’s no telling how long she was gone and the last thing she wanted to come home to was spoiled food.

Thoughts like those are surprising, whenever they appear. She has no idea how she knows what she does, but it’s almost a comfort that some form of muscle memory is at play and that she has instinct to rely on. She spends hours reacquainting herself with various items and their uses in her apartment. She’s not brave enough to try cooking food, so she decides to venture out.

She dresses in clothes from her own closet and dressers, finding a bare minimum selection of undergarments to choose from before sliding on a pair of jeans and a cream sweater. She slips on a pair of boots and goes to find a coat and gloves, still not wanting to expose herself much to the weather outside.

When Emma reaches for the keys and credit card she left on the table by the front door, she finds a purse sitting there as well. She swears it wasn’t there before, but it has a wallet inside, empty slots for her ID and credit card, plenty of cash, and a medical insurance card. She looks around, trying to figure out where the purse came from, but there’s no logical explanation. The bag she brought back with her is still on the kitchen counter where she left it. The flowers are displayed in the middle of the kitchen table, and suddenly she has a purse.

With how disoriented she was when she got in, maybe she just missed it. But she swears she went over every inch and every item. She shakes her head again, clearing it of the confusion trying to build up as she grabs the cards and puts them back in. The strap gets hefted onto her shoulder in a gesture so familiar she’d think she was doing it her whole life, and at least she figures she’ll have something new to explore as she eats by herself.

Out in the hall, she almost slams into another person coming or going to their own dwelling, and she’s met with an eyeroll as she focuses on the other woman.

“I see you’ve still not learned to watch where you’re going, Miss Swan.”

“Sorry,” she mutters, moving to edge past this stranger and down the hall to the elevator.

“That’s it? No witty comeback? Emma, are you okay?” The other woman raises an eyebrow as she gets a look at Emma’s forehead, the bruising around the gash now dark purples, stark against the still pallid color of her skin.

“I uh, I don’t know? I don’t know anything, though. Do you – well, obviously, you know me. But do I know you? Are we friends?”

The woman stares at her as if she’s suddenly grown a second head, her brows furrowing down as her mouth drops open.

“Um, sorry again, I’ll just go.”

“Emma, wait. It’s Regina,” the other woman says, raising an eyebrow in question. “My name is Regina. You really don’t remember me?”

Instead of verbally confirming this fact again, Emma just shakes her head.

“We’ve lived next to each other for as long as I can remember. And while I wouldn’t call us besties, by any stretch of the imagination, I like to think of us as acquaintances who would call each other if we got injured or something.” Even behind the irritation in Regina’s voice, there’s some level of camaraderie under the surface.

Emma has no idea what ‘besties’ are, but they must not be very enjoyable by the way Regina’s mouth twists around the word. She has no idea what to say in response again, so she just makes an ‘o’ shape in what she hopes is a non-committal move.

“Why don’t I treat for lunch and you can tell me what happened,” Regina suggests, changing her course to walk by Emma’s side instead of heading for her own apartment.

-x-

“And that’s it,” Emma says as she finishes her, admittedly, extraordinary sounding tale. Regina purses her lips in thought, taking in all the information that’s been handed to her and responding in exactly the way Emma has learned Regina responds to things in the very short span of time she’s been with her.

“Well, that was stupid of them to let you go from the hospital with little more information than your name and shoe size. Do you need me to talk to Graham about time off?”

“Graham?”

“Right. Amnesia.” She taps her fingers on the laminate a couple times. “You’ll probably need some time off.”

“I don’t even know what I do for a living,” Emma mutters, letting out an exasperated sigh and picking at the food on her plate. She’s told it’s her favorite, if the proprietress is to be trusted. The grilled cheese sandwich is nothing but crumbs, but she’s taking her time with the onion rings on the plate. Beside her elbow is a steaming mug of hot chocolate, a perfect swirl of whipped cream sitting on top and a light dusting of cinnamon covering it.

She watches the whipped cream melt into the warm beverage as Regina chatters on about texting Graham and ‘paid time off.’ She nods whenever it feels appropriate, and answers the questions that are asked of her, but otherwise Emma remains silent for the rest of the meal. She dips a finger into the last remaining peak of cream and brings it to her mouth, but almost bites her own finger off when Regina yanks her hand towards her.

“I don’t remember seeing this before,” she says, a sly smile on her lips as she eyeballs the ring that Emma has yet to take off.

“It was my mother’s,” Emma says quickly, knowing nothing about lying but the words at least sound plausible coming out of her mouth. Emma withdraws her hand immediately, dropping it to her lap and turning a little pink. She shrugs, her head tilting to the side before she looks down at the glinting jewel. A sense of warmth spreads through her, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, even if she doesn’t know why. All she knows is that she’s calmer than she’s been in hours. “So about getting time off from work?” Emma says soon after, wanting to draw attention away from things she can’t explain.

There’s a big to-do when Regina mentions something about Graham texting her, and she looks like a lost soul again, but the other woman quickly brushes it off, saying that they’ll just have to get her a new phone when they leave the diner.

The next half hour is spent picking out a phone and programming the key numbers into it. Regina tells her as she’s cautiously typing that the number for the police department is also her number for work. If Emma had an idea of what ‘too much money’ was, she would guess it’s how much she pays for the small device in her hands, her eyes popping wide at the amount. Again, it all must be knowledge from her past that leads the reactions because the piece of plastic in her hand is arbitrary, as far as she’s concerned, and so she hands it over and signs when told.

They walk back to the apartment complex, thankfully right down the street, and on the way they pass the clock tower above the library, and it chimes loudly.

“So strange,” Regina comments as they keep walking, with Emma doing her best to keep up with the other woman’s brisk pace. “That thing hasn’t worked in ages, but it started working a couple days ago out of the blue. No one knows why, or what was wrong with it.”

“Yeah, strange,” Emma comments back, even though she has no idea what’s up or down in this world.

Emma goes to bed that night straddling the line between aware and confused. She knows more than she did when she woke up, but she’s left with so many more questions. Regina assured her before she closed her door that Emma could call her or Graham if she needed anything, but how is Emma even supposed to know what she needs?

A noise of exasperation leaves her as she runs her fingers through her hair. Tomorrow is another day, and she’s hoping she has more answers than questions at the end of it.

-x-

A week after she’s released from the hospital, Emma returns to have her follow-up appointment with one Dr. Victor Whale. From what she can tell, and her instincts seem to be pretty accurate, the guy is a creep, but a harmless one at that.

First comes her physical health, which mostly consists of him poking and prodding at the healing cut on her forehead. The bruises are all fading, she’s eating and sleeping so her complexion looks better, and thanks to her scare in the woods, Emma has taken to carefully layering and paying fanatical attention to the weather channel.

Her mental health is a whole different story.

“Have you remembered anything new?” Dr. Whale asks as he checks the rest of her vitals.

Emma tries hard to not blink as he shines a light in her eyes. “Not much. I stopped by the police department to meet with Graham about some time off after I was released, and things like what I do for a living came back to me.”

“How about anything to do with how you ended up in the woods the morning of October 25?”

“No, but there are some days I dream that I’m wandering the woods again, and I wake up feeling like everything is tilted on its side. Does that sound weird?”

“Not really, no. Especially after what must have been a doozy of a birthday party if you’ve lost all your memories in the aftermath,” Whale says. He’s joking, his grin stretching wide across his lips, and Emma tries to fake one back at him even though she’s still stuck with that churning feeling in her gut that says something isn’t quite right. Not with Whale – at least, not directly with him – but with this whole situation. “Well, Emma. You’re in top shape, physically. I’m going to recommend you start seeing Dr. Hopper to see if you can’t unlock those memories. Whatever you went through, your mind has decided to lock them up tight. I’ll see you back here in six months for your check-up.”

-x-

It takes time for Emma to feel comfortable in her own skin. The bi-monthly trips to Dr. Hopper help on some level. Mostly, he’s good at uncovering her memories from childhood. They spent the entire first session going over her current mood and mindset, and even though the good psychiatrist knows that she can’t remember anything prior to the hospital, he’s still taking the time to poke around what he claims is her past.

“So, your file tells me that you were in and out of the foster system as a child,” Dr. Hopper starts during their second session. “What can you remember about that?”

“I don’t really…” Suddenly, her brain feels as if it was submerged in ice water, and a shiver works all the way down her spine. She blinks a couple times, partly to gain her wits and to also clear the tears that have gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I remember… Feeling lonely, a lot.”

“You’re remembering something?” The excitement in his tone is subtle, but Emma can still pick up on it. “Don’t push yourself, but tell me anything you can.”

“Um, okay,” Emma says, her voice shaky. She takes advantage of the glass of water that Dr. Hopper poured for her at the start of their session, and when she speaks again, her voice is stronger. “I remember some older kids taunting me about being an orphan. I can’t see their faces or remember how old I was, but they told me that I was found on the side of the road out by the woods.”

“This is progress, Emma. Good job. Take it slow and tell me as much as you can remember.”

Icy chill after chill races down her spine that day as Emma digs through her memories, with the help of Dr. Hopper’s limited notes on her past, and she remembers more of her early life than she thought she ever could. There’s the sparse bedroom with the hand-me-down toys and second-hand clothes. There’s the slow gait she would use when wandering the halls of the school, wondering if the number of steps she takes are greater or lesser than the amount of days until she’s shuffled to another foster home.

There’s the feeling of packing up her meager belongings time and time again, the expressions of pity on the faces of adults as she’s put into the backseat of a car and taken back to the group home. Again, and again, and again.

“How about we save the rest for our next appointment?”

With relief, Emma nods, gathering her stuff and making an appointment for two weeks to the day.

She’s continually asked if she remembers how she got in the woods, and with each appointment that the memories don’t return, Emma’s tone gets sharper and sharper. They stop asking after she goes in for her six month checkup with Dr. Whale, and he makes the mistake of inquiring if she recalls that moment.

“That day in the woods then, anything new that you remember?”

“Listen, can we assume unless I specifically mention it that I currently don’t remember that day in the woods? Is that something we can agree on for the time being? If I remember anything, I’ll tell you.”

Across the room, Dr. Whale taps the folder containing his notes on Emma against the counter and pastes on a grin. “Noted. Looks like you’re all good to go. Call us if you notice anything and continue your sessions with Dr. Hopper as long as you feel you need them.”

Looking just slightly put off, he exits the room, and Emma heaves a sigh of relief. It’s been six months, but she’s finally starting to feel like a normal, functioning member of society here in Storybrooke. These appointments are the only things still dragging her through the wringer of the past, because work has been going well, she’s figuring out a system in her home life, and she got behind the wheel of the car that Regina claims is hers. To say that the first time trying to drive was rough would be an understatement, and she’s sure Regina has other words for how that little adventure went that would include “hazard” and “whiplash,” she’s sure.

But just as the wind is likely to shift without notice, so does Emma’s life, although she doesn’t realize it at the time and still won’t for a while.

It all starts when she falls into bed hours after she meant to, reaching sleep just as the streetlights outside are considering winking off and the sun is cresting over the horizon. She’s working herself to the brink of exhaustion, but at least it’s less time to brood about her missing past. Emma is asleep before her head even hits the pillow.

It starts with a dream.

She’s standing in a field surrounded by flowers. The dress she wears flows around her legs, the bodice fitted over her torso and bell sleeves hanging elegantly over her wrists. It could be white, or ivory, or a perfect iridescence to match the clouds. She can’t really tell, as she’s too focused on the flowers spreading in every direction. They’re all different – wildflowers of every shade and variety – all in various stages of blooming and barely shifting in the almost nonexistent breeze.

Sucking in a deep breath, Emma flicks her wrist on the exhale and all the delicate buds sway gently, shimmering colors as they wave back and forth like hundreds of metronomes. Carefully, she weaves between the blossoms, lifting the color from one and replacing it with another at whim, until the flowers surrounding her path are nothing but multicolor swirls.

In the distance, she hears someone call her name, equal amounts of fascination and exasperation in the smooth, male voice that comes across the field clear as day. In the midst of the flowers, he stands, but she can only make out bright blue eyes that sparkle with mirth. She feels happy, the warmth of the sun soaking through her dress and glittering along her skin. Feeling free, she easily snaps her fingers and returns all the flowers back to normal as she heads towards the figure in the distance. Affection leaks through the way he says her name, noticeable as she steps into the circle of his arms and feels his pulse against her cheek where it rests against his neck. He is as warm as his voice, the sun, and the feeling spreading through her stomach. Yet, all she can make out are those eyes.

When Emma wakes up, she remembers nothing of the dream, but her fingertips are tingling with pins and needles. It’s afternoon, but outside the warm cocoon of her blankets, there’s a chill to the room.

She wakes with the same feeling gnawing away at her stomach: the feeling that something isn’t quite right. It’s the same feeling she explained six months ago when Dr. Whale was asking her if she remembered how she ended up in the woods outside of Storybrooke.

No, of course she didn’t. She didn’t even remember her name at that point. How could she be expected to remember how she ended up in a place that she’d be hard pressed to point out on a map if given the opportunity?

Now, she knows more about herself, but that feeling remains.

A gurgle from her stomach alerts her that it’s past time to roll out of bed and eat, and Emma’s scrambling for clothes to head down to Granny’s Diner for her usual and favorite lunch. All her other thoughts can wait until she has time to dissect them, for the time being.

Chapter 2

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #csbb #csbb 2017 #wait for the moonrise #sarah writes ff #enchanted forest #modern #mix em together #and have a ball

266 notes · View notes

s3hun-ah · 7 years ago

Text

foreign affairs (sehun) - two

4.2k, part 2/?

part one

"Your attitude? Not that bad?" I barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, sorry hyung, but even I don't get the nicest vibe from you, gotta be blunt." Chan said, leaning onto the counter beside me and shooting Sehun a raised brow.

"Why's that, hyung?"Sehun replied, sneering at Chanyeol with his face contorted.

"Well, that tone is certainly a start." Ky said, frying veggies in a pan.

"The dark and brooding demeanour is another point on the list." Baek added.

"The whole 'lone dog' thing is a lot to deal with as well." I quipped, tucking my hair behind my ears and grinning.

"Oh, come on." Sehun said, a aggravated grin playing at his lips.

"Well seriously man, do you have any friends?" Chan said, smirking.

"I'm not interested in making friends."

"I think I've decided!" Back said triumphantly, throwing my door open with a wide grin.

Chan groaned from his nap on my bed. "Baekhyn-ah, it shouldn't be this hard to pick a fucking outfit."

"Come on Baekhyun, you made me lose my place!" Ky groaned, adjusting his glasses from his nose. Classes didn't start until tomorrow, and yet he was already waist deep in revision for his culinary history class. Such a good student.

Even I huffed. "Baek, this is the fourth time you've-" I raised my hands into quotation marks "-decided on your first-day-of-class ensemble."

Baek knitted his eyebrows at me. "Wha- what's this?" he said, imitating my quotation marks and pulling a nasty face. "You canadians and your stupid hand gestures. No, I'm serious this time!"

"Oh yeah? Well go on then, model it off to us." Chanyeol said, shooing Baek to the bathroom with a flick of his wrist. He rolled onto his side, sleepy eyes heavy lidded. "In the meantime, how long was I out?"

"Only since he had last 'decided'." I said, repeating my 'stupid canadian hand gesture' and glancing at the invisible watch on my wrist. "So, about ten minutes or so?"

"Ah, fuck this." Chanyeol said, a lopsided grin forming as he pushed himself into a sit. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "There's no point if this will keep happening all day."

"Yeah, I'm surprised you've kept trying for this long." Kyungsoo said, leaning back and stretching from the kitchen table. "I would have given up after he tried stealing your sweater to try on."

"Yeah, that almost pushed me to the edge." Chan chuckled. "He's lucky I'm so patient."

"Are you guys done bitching about me or should I leave?" Baekhyun yelled from behind the closed door of the bathroom, followed by a harsh thud. "Ah, fuck, almost slipped and broke my dick."

I closed my laptop with a soft thud. "Baek, can you not talk about your dick for like five minutes, please?" I asked, rubbing my temples in disdain.

"You love it!" he laughed, swinging open the door softly. He strutted out, in impossibly tight black skinny jeans, swinging his hips animatedly. His white tee shirt was crisp and clean, and he tousled his tawny hair softly with a smirk.

"Wow." Ky said dryly, leaving his head on his hands and giving Back an uninterested look. "You look amazing, hyung."

"Truly a gift from God himself." I said, with a sarcastic smirk playing on my lips.

"Holy, do you happen to be single? I'd like to take you out, hot stuff." Chan said through the open door to my room, grinning.

"Can you guys fuck off, for like, two seconds please. Is this too understated?" Baek asked, rolling his eyes and pressing his shirt with his hands.

"Honestly Baekhyun, anything will look fine. The profs aren't even going to notice -" I started.

"Well, this isn't for the professors!" Back whines, shoving his hands in his back pockets.

"Then who's it for?" Ky asked wearily, folding his glasses and setting them on the table.

"The ladies, obviously." Baekhyun grinned, sauntering over to join Ky and I at the table. He plopped down beside me with a soft thud. "Come on, now I'm reconsidering this whole thing."

"It looks fine!"

"Who cares you idiot!"

"Can you stop worrying about it already?" We all whined un unison.

Baekhyun shrugged. "If you tell me that its actually fine, then sure."

"It's fine!"

"Thank you." Baekhyun said with a smirk, folding his arms. "So, who wants lunch?"

"Ah, me!" Chanyeol said, rolling back to lay on my bed once again. "But not if you're making it."

"Don't worry, I need practice anyway." Kyungsoo said, signing and standing up. "Where's your pot again?"

"There." I said, pointing to the cupboards. The past few days, we had gotten into the habit of cooking for each other. Baek burnt ramen first time, and we haven't trusted him since.

"What are you thinking today, Kyungsoo?" I asked, folding my legs up on the chair. "Something spicy, I assume?"

"Is there any other way?" Ky said, turning and shooting me a grin. He loved his spicy meals, which worked out well for me, who also has a rather adventurous palette.

Suddenly, these was a soft rapping at the door, so quiet I almost missed it. Ky heard it as well, turning to face me with wide eyes.

"Ah, you have a guest?" he said, gesturing a soup ladle at the door while gathering supplies from my fridge.

"I guess so." I shrugged, rising from my creaky chair. "Trust me, I'm just as surprised as you are."

I grabbed the handle and opened the door softly, not wanting to scare off whoever was here to see me. I glanced out, but was surprised to have my view completely hidden by a broad chest.

"Eh? You?" Sehun said, his lips twisting into a frown. "I must have the wrong room."

I shot him a smirk. "Aw, you missed me that much already?"

Sehun ignored me, looking at my room number and chewing his lip in concentration. "Huh, one-oh-eight... the fucker must have given me the wrong - "

"Sehun?" Ky said, peering out from behind my shoulder. He looked just as confused as Sehun. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you."

"Well yeah, but why?"

"My keycard isn't working."

"What?!" Kyungsoo said, his eyes growing larger by the moment.

"Yeah, you told me you were coming here again... why on earth are you with her? Whose room is this?" Sehun asked, pointing to me. His brows knit together as though the fact that Ky and I being friends was the most difficult algorithm he had ever encountered.

"Hey, I'm standing right here you know. It is my room, after all." I quipped, shuffling aside so Kyungsoo could face Sehun. It was clear he wasn't here for me anyway.

"Whatever. Can I borrow your key?" Sehun huffed, holding out his hand and expecting Kyungsoo to hand it over promptly.

"Uh... my key's in the room." Ky said, his eyebrows raising.

"What?!" Sehun exclaimed, his voice growing louder by the moment. His hand raised to rub at his temples in annoyance. "Are you kidding me, DO?"

"Well, it's not like you ever leave the room anyway, I figured you would stay holed up until I came back."

"Well you thought wrong, you idiot."

"Hey, at least my keycard works though."

"Yeah, that would really be useful right now, wouldn't it."

"Well, maybe if you had left the room before you would have realized that your card was broken."

"Well, maybe if you weren't a stupid fucki-"

"Can you guys stop bickering for two seconds?" I said, rolling my eyes. I swear my ears were about to burst from listening to the two of them. "Are one of you going to call the supervisor and get this fixed, or will I have to take on the mother figure here?"

"I'll call, since apparently I'm responsible for the fucking mess." Ky sighed. "Chan, watch the rice. Don't let it boil over."

"Got it hyung!" Chan said, rolling off my bed and walking into the kitchen.

Ky slipped out into the hallway to make the call, leaving Chan, Baek, Sehun and I waiting in awkward silence. The tension was so thick, you could cut through it with a knife.

"So... you coming inside, or...?" Baekhyun asked, staring at Sehun with a raised eyebrow.

Sehun scoffed in response. "Polite pass on that offer."

"Why?" Chan asked, stirring the rice and glancing at him past my shoulder. "We don't bite, buddy. Come in, have lunch. I doubt you'll be getting into your room for a while."

"What makes you say that?" Sehun asked, now intrigued. Even though he was trying to hide it, I could tell he was glancing at Kyungsoo's culinary creation, now intrigued. He shifted to lean on my doorframe.

"Well, if the key doesn't work, they'll need to go through the paperwork and prove that you're you. Do you happen to have your wallet on you?"

"No." Sehun said sheepishly, hands starting to fiddle in front of him.

"So, you don't have any identification on you? They won't just unlock your room for some random without his Student ID." Chanyeol said, shooting Sehun a crooked grin. "Come on in, we're having lunch."

Sehun, seemingly torn, glanced between Chanyeol, the pot of rice, and me.

I shrugged. "Seems to me like you're out of luck buddy. May as well get comfortable."

Sehun tossed back his head and let out a groan, but his feet still carried him inside my doorway.

"Come sit here." Baekhyun said, patting the chair next to him. Sehun grumbled, yet did as he was told. He flopped into the chair roughly, like a five year old going to time out.

"Come on man, smile a little bit! Classes don't start until tomorrow, there's no reason to be this pissed off." Baek grinned at him. "What's your program?"

"You won't get it." Sehun sighed, picking invisible lint off his dark blue jeans.

"What's not to get?" Chan quipped. "Is it Astrophysics? Neurology? Biomedical toxicology?" He narrowed his gaze. "Mechanical engineering?"

"No, no." Sehun grimaced at the thought. "I'm going through the Hattoke Jeunmyeon branch, for Dance and Preforming Arts."

My eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "Wait, you're a dancer?" I asked in disbelief, my tone certainly giving away my stunned demeanour.

"Yes, what's it to you, jagi?" Sehun sneered at me, rolling his eyes at my response.

I shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. Just didn't see you as the dancing type."

Sehun glanced at me through his thick lashes. He ran a hand though his disheveled mop of a haircut. "Oh, yeah? And what did you see me as, then?"

I looked at the ceiling, pretending to be lost in thought. To add to the effect, I stroked my chin slowly. "Oh, I don't know... Gatekeeper to Hell?"

Baekhyun grinned at my response. "That's funny Chae, I was going to say the same thing!"

"I was thinking he's more 'Portal to the Underworld' kind of guy myself." Chanyeol smirked, stirring the rice absentmindedly.

"Either that or Lucifer's Apprentice, but those were off of our thrilling conversation on initiation night, so can you blame me?" I grinned at him, to which he rolled his eyes.

"I thought we agreed to forget that ever happened." he sighed. his fingers rubbing his eyes in disdain.

"Oh, but it did." I said, walking to the countertop beside Chanyeol and hopping up for a seat. "And after, I said I was going to force you to be my friend, and here are. Funny how the universe works out like this."

"I said no."

"You really don't understand what force means, do you?" I said, making Chan snicker quietly.

"Can you fuck off with the attitude, jagi? Not sure if you can tell, but I'm not exactly in the mood." Sehun said, rolling his head to face me. His dark eyes were burning holes into mine.

"Sure, sure, anything for a friend." I grinned right back, ignoring my heart pounding at his intense gaze.

"And, we're good." Kyungsoo said, coming back into the room and closing the door softly behind him. "You can stop fucking with my meal now, thanks." He shot a quick smirk at Chanyeol.

"I literally stirred the rice."

"You're not supposed to stir rice!"

"Well, I'm not the culinary major, am I?"

"Obviously not." Ky said, rushing to save his meal from total disaster.

"Wait, can I go now? Did they fix it?" Sehun asked, his voice lilting up in hopefulness.

"What? Oh, no. They said it'll take an hour or two to get all the paperwork in order and get a new key, but after that we should be good." Kyungsoo said, grabbing a cutting board to dice some eggplant.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" Sehun asked, narrowing his gaze at Ky.

Kyungsoo sighed, falsifying a large, sickly sweet smile and turning to face Sehun. "Ha, yes! You got me! On that phone call, they actually managed to fix the door, tidied our room for us, and even gave me ten billion Won! Can you believe our luck?! " The smile dropped from his face and he returned to dicing vegetables. "No, I'm not fucking with you, why would I do that?"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Sehun said, leaning back in the chair with a loud squeak.

"He's just giving you the attitude you always seem to give out, hyung." Baekhyun said, leaning his head on the wall behind him and giving Sehun a soft smirk.

"Come on, I'm not that bad." Sehun said, his cheeks flaring a bit.

My jaw simply dropped in response. "Your attitude? Not that bad?" I barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, sorry hyung, but even I don't get the nicest vibe from you, gotta be blunt." Chan said, leaning onto the counter beside me and shooting Sehun a raised brow.

"Why's that, hyung?"Sehun replied, sneering at Chanyeol with his face contorted.

"Well, that tone is certainly a start." Ky said, frying veggies in a pan.

"The dark and brooding demeanour is another point on the list." Baek added.

"The whole 'lone dog' thing is a lot to deal with as well." I quipped, tucking my hair behind my ears and grinning.

"Oh, come on." Sehun said, a aggravated grin playing at his lips.

"Well seriously man, do you have any friends?" Chan said, smirking.

"I'm not interested in making friends."

"Who's not interested in making friends?" Baek asked incredulously, his own heavily-social-oriented lifestyle obviously a stark contrast to Sehun's.

"You really do belong in the Underworld." I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Now I understand why you want to be his friend," Chan said, slapping my thigh with his large hand. "You feel bad for the guy!"

"Is it really that weird that I'd rather spend my time at uni, oh, I don't know, learning stuff?" Sehun asked, adjusting his seat in my chair. You could tell we were slowly working our way under his crusty shell, making him actually engage in the conversation. He tried to mask his discomfort with an extra layer of saucy attitude, but it was too obvious to bear.

"Well, obviously that's a factor of going to school." I said, smirking at him. "But do you want to remember all your classes, or hanging out with your new group of friends?"

"Classes." Sehun said, his lips pursing into a tight line.

"Uh oh, I think someone's in denial!" Chanyeol said, sing-singing to irritate him even more. It worked, Sehun rolling his eyes and crossing his arms with a huff.

"Aw, it's okay Sehun-ah, we'll take care of you." Baekgrinned, and clapped shun on both shoulders, roughing him around a little bit.

"Can I opt out of this experience?" Shun whined, glancing around at all of us with wide eyes.

"Nope! No return engagements, no refunds." I laughed, sliding off the countertop. "Sorry, hyung, there's nothing we can do now."

"And what's your ultimate plan then?" Shun asked, his eyes narrowing at me. "Cause if you're hanging with a bunch of boys to get laid, not exactly sure if you're doing it right."

"Hey, come on now." Ky said, taking the pan off the heat and moving it to the table. "She's like one of the guys."

"Yeah, she's like a brother, it's not like that." Chanyeol laughed, roughing up my hair playfully. "Could you imagine?"

I grimaced at the thought. While the trio were all attractive in their own way, I was certainly not interested in sleeping with them. "God, no!"

"Come on Chae, the option's always open with me, oppa!" Back chirped, shooting me a playful wink.

"If you're trying to put on the moves, I don't suggest calling her 'sister' while propositioning sex." Ky laughed, grabbing some bowls and setting them on the table. "In the meantime, lunch's ready."

"Thank god, I think I'm starving!" I grinned, grabbing a bowl and the soup ladle eagerly. "What do you call this?"

"Spicy eggplant wok with rice." Ky said, a smile playing on my lips as he watched my expression carefully. I heaped it into my bowl, making his smile grow wider. He was obviously thrilled at my excitement.

"Ah, spicy again, hyung?" Baek groaned, not having the fond love of spice that Ky and I shared.

"What's wrong with spice?" Sehun quipped, shifting again in his seat and eyeing the wok eagerly. "You a little bitch or something?"

Baek rolled his eyes at Sehun's cold observation. "Or something." he sneered, imitating Sehun's voice -- badly.

Chan, Ky and I ignored their quarrelling, simply eating our food in soft silence. The food was amazing, as it normally was when Kyungsoo made it, which made us all scarf it down even quicker. Quickly, the pot got emptier and emptier, until finally the food was all gone and the bowls around the table were also empty.

"Ah, outdid yourself again, hyung!" Chan sighed happily, patting his stomach.

"Thank you." Ky said, cheeks growing rosy at the compliment.

"I'm stuffed!" I yawned, slowly working my way up from my seat. "Now, I need a nap."

"Not before me!" Chan said with a grin, darting up and running into my room. Eyes widening, I broke into a wide grin and chased after him.

"Oppa, no!" I whined as he flung himself onto my bed. I jumped on as well, the bed frame creaking between the both of us. "Come on, you napped all morning!"

"Yes, and now it's mid-afternoon, and I'm tired again. Come on, we can both squeeze." Chan said, his eyes growing heavy through even touching a pillow and blanket. He pulled his hood up around his face and rolled over to face the wall with a soft grumble.

"Sleepy boy." I tsked quietly, but laying down beside his huge looming frame anyway. I snuggled my head further into my pillow, stomach full and contented, listening to the soft conversation still going on in the kitchen flowing through my doorway.

- - - - -

I rough shake at my shoulder jerked me awake. I groaned sleepily, wiping the hair out of my eyes and blinking slowly. "What?" I grumbled.

"Mwo?" a deep voice said, confused.

Ah, shit. Stupid English kicking in.

"Sorry, what?" I said again, correcting my language.

"We're leaving." Sehun said, crouching beside me. His hot breath fanned over my face, smelling strongly of spearmint gum. I grimaced. "Our door got fixed."

"Oh, okay. You didn't have to wake me, you know." I grumbled. Not exactly a morning person.

"Exactly, I figured it would piss you off." Sehun gave a lopsided smirk, his tone brazen and confident. He raised for his squatting position and went to stride confidently out of the room, before I stopped him.

"Hey, what time is it? Where did everyone go?" I asked quickly, before he had the chance to dart away.

He glanced at his watch and sighed, as though it was the biggest annoyance that I had even asked. He pushed the sleeve of his black shirt further up his arm. "Sixteen - thirty." he said, glancing back at he. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it away and leaned on my doorframe. "Uh, Kyungsoo went to help the supervisor with the paperwork, and Baekhyun decided that he would rather nap in his own bed than on the floor I guess."

"Ah, gotcha." I groaned, head falling onto my pillow. "Sixteen-thirty already? Almost dinnertime then, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess." Sehun said, gaze falling to the floor. He adjusted his shoes awkwardly, and I could tell from his tense shoulders that he was uncomfortable.

I felt bad, this loner obviously not exactly feeling welcome in our little squad. Maybe we had teased him too much, or maybe he just wasn't used to having conversations with actual people instead of some weird online chatroom. His shoulders tight and tense, squared off, he positively loomed in the doorway. Even with his stature, you could really tell he was quite delicate, with his long legs and narrow waist.

His body was made to be a dancer.

His eyes caught my stare grazing his body, making me jump slightly. He shot me a arrogant smirk in response.

Refusing to let my cheeks redden, I quipped, "Are you wanting to come out with us? We'll probably go out tonight since Ky already cooked." I rested my head on my hands softly, brushing the scraggly hair out of my face.

"You guys all go together?" Sehun said, glancing between me and Chanyeol, who's still fast asleep.

"Yeah, at least we have the past couple days." I shrugged, my heart slowly returning to it's normal pace. "It's up to you."

"Eh, I'll think about it. Don't get your hopes up though, jagi." Sehun huffed, rolling his shoulders back. And, with a flick of his stupid hair, he walked out of my doorway.

"Wouldn't have in the first place!" I yelled after him, but only got my slamming door in response.

"'Don't get your hopes up, jagi' "Chanyeol grumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Eh, I thought you were asleep."I said, rolling over to face him.

His head fell to face me, one eye peeking open to look at me. "Nope, woke up somewhere around the time he got snippy again."

"So, you were awake the whole time?" I smirked.

"Yep, just didn't want to deal with his attitude. Have we officially signed on to try and tame that guy? Cause I don't know if I can deal with his snarky demeanour much longer." Chanyeol groaned, with a smile playing at his lips.

"Not sure. Hopefully if we did, we can reverse that decision before it's too late." I laughed, pushing myself to sit up.

"Well, you just invited him out for dinner with us, so good luck!" Chan grumbled, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. He opened his eyes wider, glancing out my window at the slowly sinking sun.

I stood, chuckling. "Yeah, and you really think he'd take up that offer? I don't think so."

"Let's hope not." Chanyeol said, moving to the edge of my bed. "In the meantime, I better go back to my room and shower before we leave."

"Yeah, I'll probably do the same." I sighed, stretching my arms above my head, and trying to crack my back. Hiking my leggings up further on my hips, I turned to face him and leaned against my desk. "What time will we go, do you think?"

Chan shrugged and stood. "Dunno, text the group chat. I'm gunna go, brainstorm where we should try tonight!" He shot me a lopsided grin. "See you soon, I guess?"

"Yeah, see you later Chan." I smiled back, to which he gave me a little wave and sauntered out off my room, pulling his hood over his head.

I, myself, headed into the bathroom, getting the shower running. Steam quickly filled the room

Why we had even invited Sehun into my room was rather beyond me. Yes, he was kind of screwed over with the door, but he was also very obviously a social pariah. Putting in the effort with him didn't seem to be exactly worth the effort when he was so obviously bent on pushing us away. Even though he had a very harsh exterior, simply forcing Sehun for more than a few minutes, you could tell he was a smart guy.

Maybe it was just because he didn't like anybody. Maybe it was because nobody took the time to like him.

Grabbing the shampoo and lathering up my sandy brown hair, my mind drifted beyond Sehun, to my class tomorrow. Obviously starting strong with a seven in the morning financial business intro class wasn't the smartest idea, however when I had signed up for it I was thinking that early mornings would be the perfect time to bond with other students. Now, I'm confident that I have a solid group of friends that I can lean back on if nothing works out.

I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, scrubbing at my scalp harshly. The warm, silky water flowed down my body, leaving raised goosebumps in it's wake. Soaked and silky, my hair hung down my back in a river of brown and copper hues.

Not sure if it's obvious, but I love showering.

I twisted off the knob with a quick yawn, stepping out of the shower onto the fluffy towel I had laid down previous. Wiping down the mirror with my hand, I stared at my unclothed body with detachment.

From what I've been told, I get all my looks from my biological father; long, lean body, gangly limbs, pale skin. My face was sharp and angular, petite nose, large blue-green eyes. All I knew was that my biological parents gave me a weird assortment of genetic code, resulting in in a jarring contrast of sharp and soft features that never seems to look quite right. The adoption agency had given me photos of both of my 'real' parents, but I was rather uninterested in them, seeing as my adoptive mother was the only mother I really needed.

God, I miss her.

Sighing, I grabbed another towel and dried myself off, done with picking myself apart and getting ready for the night ahead instead.

#sehun #SeHunnie #oh sehun #chanyeol #kyungsoo #baekhyun #exo #exo k #exo m #exo smut

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lukes-writing · 5 years ago

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Chapter 10: The Enclave

Project introduction | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Word count: 3500 Warnings: Profanity, gun violence

September 24th, 4:49 PM, Trinity Gate’s inhuman enclave

As Wiccan showed them, there is an underground tunnel from the conference room which leads directly to the enclave. But since there is nothing suspicious about their group, Wiccan decided to take a walk there on the surface. The enclave isn’t far away from the Heap of Ashes.

Kirlian vesseled into a small Transformer toy and let Whisper to carry him in her pocket. Despite the scare Kirlian caused her when they first met, they got used to each other rather quickly.

“Kirlian?” Whisper says while walking towards the enclave.

“Huh?” the Idean replies.

“The birth date on your ID says you are close to sixty years old,” the girl says. “Do Ideans age the same as humans? Are you… immortal?”

“No, Idean age is a rather complicated matter,” Kirlian replies. “We aren’t immortal, but we do live longer than humans, up to two hundred years. Then, our consciousness starts to scatter even when we’re vesseled and in the end, we fade away completely. If you wanted to convert my age into human age… I’d say I’m close to thirty. Fifty-seven is still considered young among Ideans.”

“I think Ideans are fascinating,” Whisper says.

“Trying to pick up a ghost boyfriend?” Parker heard the last sentence and decided to mock the girl a bit, but this time, there’s no apparent spite in his words.

Whisper returns him the favor. “Well, I’d always rather date Kirlian than you.”

“That hurts,” Parker grins.

After a short walk, they finally arrive to the walls of the inhuman enclave. The wall is white, slightly grayed because of the air pollution, with barbed wire and installed cameras on top. The logo of the fictional company, Luminance Haven, can be seen everywhere.

They approach one of the checkpoints - a large metal door embedded in the wall, guarded by four sentinels with assault rifles in hands. There is a small cubicle with an elderly man, tall and good-looking, sitting inside. When they arrive, he’s reading a book in a comfortable armchair.

“Pavel? Could you let us in?” Wiccan talks to the man through a hole in the glass, apparently bulletproof, which is supposed to protect the gatekeeper.

“Wiccan!” the man smiles. “Taking new recruits for a walk? Let me see their IDs.”

Everyone, Wiccan and Ophelia included, scans their ID using a scanner attached to the booth. Pavel is checking the computer screen, nodding slowly as the system recognizes the personal identification cards. Then, after everything is validated, the steel gate opens.

The guards let them pass, but Whisper still shivers at the sight of rifles in their hands. She has never been partial to firearms, not even in video games.

“I guess you haven’t even noticed,” Ophelia says, “but this was your second encounter with inhumans. For safety reasons, Pavel and all the other guards are Fexti. They look completely like humans, but their skin is impenetrable. That means also bulletproof.”

“And they are also strong as hell,” Wiccan adds.

The whole team looks over their shoulders to take another look at the guards, hoping to catch a glimpse of their non-human essence. But the gate is already closing again, so they don’t get the chance. For the first time in their lives, they enter the inhuman enclave.

They don’t really know what they expected, but the first sight is rather disappointing. The space behind the gate looks like a standard upper-middle-class housing estate. There are both family houses and high-rise blocks of flats towering above them. In the distance, something that looks like a shopping and entertainment district can be seen. Greenery grows everywhere, especially in a nearby park.

Parker scowls. “And… that’s it?”

“What did you expect?” Wiccan chuckles. “Did you expect them to live in some lousy ghetto? Or gothic mansions? I said they’re not humans, not that they’re not modern. Besides, when they get used to some high standards, they’re less likely to cause trouble.”

Whisper notices a faint fishy smell. She turns around… then screams and steps back. She sees a figure which appears humanoid, with two legs, two arms and a head, but the visible skin of the being is covered by shiny scales. The girl also notices webbed fingers. The head resembles a mix of a human and a frog, with wide mouth and bulging eyes. Two slits between them serve as a nose, but the creature also has gills on its neck.

And, the most bizarre of all, the being is wearing casual clothes - a T-shirt which seems made of some kind of neoprene and pants from the same material. She even notices a phone in one of the pockets.

The being eyeballs her for a moment, then points its finger at her. “Racist bitch,” it says with a croaky voice.

“Uhm… excuse me! I’m sorry!” Whisper apologizes. “Actually, I’m here for the first time, so I’m not used to seeing… fellows like you. It was a spontaneous reaction.”

The fishman glares at her for a little longer, then he is approached by a child version of himself. “Come on, dad, don’t waste time with these Pinks!”

“Sure, I’m going,” the adult fishman smiles at his son, then takes him by the hand and walks away.

“I’m sorry!” Whisper yells after him for the last time.

“Gillscaly,” Wiccan explains, trying to hold back laughter. “Usually harmless, they often run business. Let’s be honest, they’re quite into money. Some of the sub-races are venomous, but those are rare cases.”

“Gotta admit, that was fucking weird,” Parker mutters.

“And keep in mind we just entered,” Ophelia reminds him with a smile.

They walk deeper into the enclave, towards the commercial district. There they see much more inhumans. To their surprise, a lot of them look like humans to the point they couldn’t be told apart. Some of them have only minor oddities, such as differently shaped ears or claws on their fingers - this is usually accompanied by excessive body hair.

Then, there are… other beings. Whisper remembers the Mos Eisley cantina from Star Wars, a place where aliens of all possible shapes and sizes meet. Well, the enclave isn’t as extreme, but still, all four newcomers have a hard time getting used to all these different beings.

They meet several large goliaths whose skin seems to be made of stone and large tusks are protruding from their mouths. However, they seem surprisingly meek. One of them, wearing a suit, even greets Wiccan politely. The man returns the greeting.

Sienna gets creeped out by a pair of strange, ghost-like figures with thin limbs hovering above the ground. Their skin is ghastly white and they have no face, just an empty sphere on a thin neck. They’re wearing ethereal white dresses. After they pass the group, they fly away without saying a word.

Introducing all the inhumans would take too long - Whisper tries to count them and she finds out that before they arrived at the shopping district, they met about twenty different inhuman races. Also, she doesn’t know how many races are among those who look like humans.

None of them, even the most vicious-looking inhumans, does act hostile towards the group. They all seem to be civilized. Of course they are, Whisper thinks, otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed to live in such a nice neighborhood. But still, some of them are scary.

“And here we have the heart of the enclave,” Wiccan announces.

The commercial district is made to appear like a scientific complex from afar, to help the enclave maintain its cover. In fact, it’s a large shopping mall not different from the standard ones, except for several stores with goods which serve mysterious reasons.

The place isn’t crowded. The enclave’s population density is rather low - right, Wiccan said the inhumans are close to extinction. But there can still be seen families on a weekend shopping streak, inhumans of different races chatting with one another, often using strange languages.

“It’s kind of sad when you think about it,” Whisper says when they pass a Gillscaly laughing at something one of the tusked goliaths said. “Look at them. They have no trouble talking to each other even though one looks like a boar and the other one is basically a talking fish.”

“That’s not weird at all,” Wiccan says. “Ettins and Gillscalys cooperate rather often. It’s because…”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Whisper interrupts him. “If you just look around, there are dozens of different crea… uhm… beings of all shapes and sizes, and they can stand each other with ease. On the other hand, humans… they are able to hate each other to death because of different skin color.”

Parker rolls his eyes. “Great. Hippie girl giving a speech about racism. How insightful.”

“She is right, though,” Sienna supports the younger girl. “Imagine what would the alt-rights do with this guy,” she points at a human-like inhuman whose skin changes color to bright pink when he starts to laugh. Then she takes a nonchalant look at Parker. “And guess what? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were some kind of racist.”

The man shrugs. “When I was younger, I spent a few months with a skinhead gang until I realized how pointless it was. Now I can say I’m not racist since all races equally can kiss my ass.”

Wiccan chuckles at this statement and Ophelia scolds him with a look.

“That’s just the human nature,” Kirlian says. “They will never learn. Ideans have it easy - we don’t have a physical form, so we can’t be shallow even if we wanted. We always look for a mind, because mind is basically all we are. While you, narrow-minded humans, still fight over skin color.”

Whisper smirks. “Look, an Idean condemns racism while acting racist towards humans.”

Kirlian’s Transformer vessel squirms in the girl’s pocket. “That’s not racism, I’m just stating the facts. I support the theory Ideans are, in fact, the descendants of humans who transcended beyond their physical forms. That would mean Ideans are superior to humans.”

“Yep, that sounds like an Idean supremacist,” Gary remarks.

“Oh, shut up, all of you,” Kirlian sighs.

They continue further to the northwest. As they pass the luxurious heart of the enclave, the surroundings start to change. The clean, friendly neighborhoods give in to gray, dismal housing estates and sketchy buildings that apparently serve for questionable purposes. The streets also start to get less clean. In fact, there are several garbage cans overthrown on the street and several reptilian creatures about as big as a large dog with scrawny, bony limbs are feasting on its content.

“Is this how you imagined the enclave?” Wiccan says.

“It… doesn’t look nice,” Whisper peeps.

“Ya bet it’s not nice,” the man gives her a grim smile. “This part of the enclave is dubbed ‘the Pit’. The inhumans who are… less adaptable live there. And, most importantly, the Pit’s inhumans don’t have a healthy relationship with humans, the less with The Society’s Enforcers.”

“So something like inhuman Bronx?” Parker remarks.

Both Ophelia and Sienna give him a scolding look.

“I know you’d rather spend your days outside the Pit, but it’s kinda clear that the Enforcers have the most work there. Inhuman gangs, crime, violence, rebellious groups who want to escape the enclave and overthrow the humans. Just normal things, you’ll get used to it.”

“When this man starts using this casual tone, it’s never anything good,” Gary tells Whisper.

His predictions are proven to be right when Wiccan continues: “I guess a little field trip can never hurt. Don’t be scared, nothing can happen to you. It’s perfectly safe.”

“The famous last words,” Parker utters.

Outside the Pit, the new team members felt rather comfortable despite all the surreal creatures around them. The Pit itself is more or less empty, but the atmosphere is oppressive and the new Enforcers jump at the slightest sound like paranoiacs. Even though it’s full daylight, it doesn’t make the district any more welcoming.

Leaning against the wall, an inhuman in raggy clothes is sitting on the street with a bottle of liquor in his hands. He looks human, except for his veins which colored into venomous purple, creating a spiderweb-like pattern on his skin.

“Careful,” Wiccan says and walks as far away from the man as possible. “Drunk Volatiles are like a bomb with a short fuse… literally. He could explode if we touched him.”

Ophelia explains: “Volatiles got their name from the volatile substances that are in their bodies instead of standard body fluids. They change composition according to their mood, health and substances they used. It can turn into powerful acids and even explosive fluids.”

“Remind me to never shake hands with a Volatile,” Sienna utters.

“They usually wear thick gloves,” Wiccan replies. “But this one apparently doesn’t.”

All the inhumans they encounter look rather miserable. Most of them eyeball the team with unconcealed spite in their eyes. The four new recruits would love to turn around and leave this God-forsaken place, but they are aware they will have to get used to it if they want to work for The Society.

They approach a tumbledown building labeled as HERRING’S inhuman pub. The writings on the wooden door give away humans aren’t welcome there at all.

“This is where the trouble began,” Ophelia turns to Wiccan. “Poor Vlade. I miss him.”

“We all do,” Kirlian sighs. “I should have been sent to spy on these Fext thugs - Vlade infiltrating their ranks was a plan way too risky. If we realized it sooner…”

“Regrets are now useless,” Wiccan says. “They won’t bring Vlade back.”

Gary raises a question: “Who was Vlade?”

Before anyone of the former Team Menhir can answer, several dark shadows approach the team and surround them. “Shriekers - just what we needed,” Wiccan grumbles.

When the light shines at the crooked figures, it reveals they are basically tall, humanoid birds, each of them about as tall as Parker. Their bodies are covered by feathers in various colors and patterns, usually black, gray, brown or dark red. Their wings seem to be transformed into human-like arms ending with three bony talons and a thumb set against them, allowing the creatures to grasp things.

“Look what we have here, the Enforcers,” one of them croaks, circling the group. Their head resembles some kind of mix between a human and an owl, with short, yet menacing beak on their mouth instead of lips. The speaker eyeballs the new recruits with yellow bulging eyes of a bird of prey.

Whisper remembers a picture of a bird called potoo she found utterly creepy. These inhumans are similar, except that they look much more menacing. They are wearing leather clothing with punk-style accessories including chains around their necks and spiked bracelets.

“Good to see you, Ach-khran,” Wiccan replies, making a peculiar throaty sound when pronouncing the name. It seems that unlike Ideans, these bird creatures don’t adapt human names.

Ach-khran has a distinctive crest on his head made of black-and-red feathers. That probably makes him a leader of this gang. He strides towards Wiccan on thin bird legs. “I su-khh-ose those are new recruits you hired after the unfortunate de-khh-ise of you Fext friend,” the inhuman speaks.

The birdman talks with a strange accent because his beak limits his ability to speak. He’s not able to pronounce “b”, “p” and “m” at all since he has no lips and his “f” also sounds more like a hiss. He replaces missing phonemes with a throaty sound similar to the one in his name.

“Yes. This is their first time in the enclave,” Wiccan chats casually.

At that moment, Ach-khran pulls out a gun from a holster on his thigh. Several members of the gang follow his example. “In that case, khh-aybe it would khh-e khh-etter if we eli-khh-inated them khh-efore they turn into a khh-roblem,” he cackles. “What do you think?”

The team expected many things when they entered the Pit, but a gang of bird creatures dressed in punk clothing aiming guns at their heads was something beyond their imagination. Whisper shivers in fear, Parker keeps uttering curses. Sienna and Gary look dazed.

“I think that’s not necessary,” Wiccan tries to calm the situation down. “It wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Keep in mind you and your gang are already in our spotlight.”

“It will khh-e worth it,” Ach-khran cackles and points the gun’s muzzle at Whisper’s forehead. The girl squeals, tears appear in her eyes. The rest of the gang lets out a laugh. “The life here is much khh-etter without The Society poking their noses into our khh-usiness.”

“You know you can’t live without The Society’s protection,” Wiccan objects.

“Khh-ullshit!” the birdman shrieks, the crest on his head fluttering.

“Just gun the-khh down and get the fuck out of here,” one of the gang members said - judging from the voice and clothing, it’s a female. “We can bla-khh-e it on so-khh-eone else.”

The situation seems hopeless - Whisper is reconciling with the fact her first visit of the enclave will also be her last. But at least she managed to see something only a few chosen ones saw. The humankind’s biggest secret. It gives her cold comfort.

Suddenly, she hears a buzzing sound which grows on intensity with time. The flies which feasted on the nearby piles of garbage formed a large hive which attacks Ach-krhan. The birdman shrieks as the hive obscures his vision. He fires his weapon several times, but Whisper is already down on the ground.

The rest of the conflict happens way too fast.

Whisper hears a slight hiss giving away Kirlian has left his current vessel. A second later, they hear choking coming from the female Shrieker. Her scarf is tightened around her neck like a noose, cutting out the air supply. Kirlian must have vesseled into it.

Parker tackles a nearby Shrieker, then delivers a few crushing direct punches on his feathery face. The inhuman staggers backward and drops his gun.

This is Sienna’s chance. She quickly grabs the weapon and aims it at the fray, holding it with her both hands. “In the name of The Society, drop your weapons and give up, else I will shoot!” she shouts with a firm voice full of authority. One of the Shriekers tries to disobey - Sienna pulls the trigger and the bullet ends up in the inhuman’s shoulder. The injured birdman collapses on the ground and groans in pain.

Sienna pans the gun across the whole scene, causing some of the Shriekers to drop the guns and put their hands in the air. Some of them, including Ach-khran, show the remains of defiance, but Sienna’s tenacious glare combined with the gun aimed at their heads causes them to finally surrender.

“Okay, now take your friend to the hospital and get out of here,” Wiccan says. “You’re lucky that I don’t feel like arresting anyone today. But maybe if Sienna decides to…”

One of the bird creatures carries his injured, groaning comrade towards the heart of the enclave where a hospital is located. The rest quickly disperses.

The situation calms down. The sounds of gunfire attracted several rubberneckers, but they quickly leave again once they realize there is The Society involved.

Sienna’s voice sounded firm and powerful when she was intimidating the Shriekers, but now, her trembling hands give away she was more afraid than the inhumans. She takes several deep breaths and has to lean against a wall to keep standing, not minding her designer jacket getting dirty.

Wiccan encourages her by putting his hand on her shoulder. “That was something exceptional,” he claims. “It’s your first day in the service and you’re already playing it badass.”

“I was… I was so scared,” she moans. “I thought they’re gonna shoot me.”

“Now tell me, girl,” Wiccan looks her in the eyes. “Show me one person who wouldn’t be scared when facing a gang of weird creatures they’ve never seen before armed with guns? It’s important that you concealed your fear and managed to save the day.”

He takes a look at the rest of the team. Parker is examining a small, bleeding gash on his knuckles which probably hit the edge of the Shrieker’s beak. And Gary is trying to console Whisper who is kneeling on the ground completely petrified. Tears are streaming down her face and she seems to be hyperventilating.

“Whisper? Are you alright?” Ophelia asks her and offers her a hand which the girl accepts. She stands up, but she can barely stand on her wobbly knees.

“Y...yeah,” Whisper peeps. “I will be.”

Wiccan makes sure Kirlian is once again vesseled in the Transformer toy, then he grabs his niece around the shoulders and starts to walk towards the enclave’s heart. The rest of the team follows him - the new recruits got to know the situation in the Pit and they need some time to let it sink in.

Author’s Note

I wholeheartedly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please leave a comment, send me a message or share and let more people know about this story! You can also consider a small donation at www.paypal.me/lukassladky. Have a great day and stay tuned for the next chapter!

#writeblr #my writing #writers #urban fantasy #original fiction #TeamDreamcatcher

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