#i have a sharper nose but i gave her a button nose because. well. its cute

[sir-dahlia]

also i think everyone should draw themselves as a puppet. puppetsona. very fun. just sayin

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Of Ice and Blood

Part 5

Look who's back with a 5k+ word count chapter?! Me!

I was planning on posting 1k+ at a time but stuff happened and I'm posting it all at once!

Enjoy and I'd appreciate it dearly if you reblog! Thank you!

Edit: Reached the 250 block limit so... The inevitable decision had to be made! Part 5 has a total of 3.42k words! The rest will be in a separate post <3

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, brief mentions of blood and injury.

Overall SFW (but 16+ for language)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 Part 6

*

The walk back to the school building was quiet.

Or so I thought.

Because it wasn't. At all.

Whispers, mutterings, echoed from the rooms as we passed by.

Are they doing it on purpose, or is my hearing sharper than usual?

"Hey look it's that girl."

"You mean the freak who sat beside the orc—"

"First day of school and someone already got killed. Should've expected him to be a savage."

"You think she wears a mask to hide her identity? Maybe she's a criminal-"

Probably the latter.

I shrugged. There stood a decent amount of distance between us anyway. So it's likely my hearing.

Students were watching us with weird suspecting eyes from a distance behind the windows. Sensing apprehension and outward hate when they saw Tai'chi next to me, his face in a neutral expression. But with my nose at this proximity, he smells pretty annoyed.

Just— why are there so many people,— humans–garnering these feelings towards someone they don't even know! And to even mock him like that! How dare —

"Pearl," Tai'chi called. His rich voice resonating, making the gossips of the students stop for a brief moment before they continued. Most likely slandering my name now. I didn't know I was standing still. Looking up, Tai'chi was a decent 9 meters away, with the staff members further ahead of him. He gave me a wondering look, worry along with his natural fragrance, drifted through me, carried by air.

I straightened up and took long strides, Tai'chi beside me, to catch up with them.

"Yeah, just thinking. I'm okay." Replying, not looking up to him. He didn't ask, but I felt like he would.

************short pov shift************

He was a bit bothered by the change in your scent and looked back when he noticed you weren't beside him anymore. There you were, standing in the middle of the wide hallway, brows scrunched up in aggravation.

He called out to you, probably a little louder than he meant to, but you looked up and hastily made your way beside him, both of you catching up to the rest towards the dean's office. He didn't ask, but you answered, only making him worry even more.

**********first person pov**************

As soon as we entered the main office of the center building, we were greeted with the sight of the dean and David, together with Miss Holson. He was a white fat man, though a bit taller than me, wearing a light grey suit with a few buttons open revealing a white undershirt, and a silly yellow, violet polka dot tie. I barely held back from snorting at the sight.

Mr. Silverstone was fussing over his son, his voice raised in slight panic was heard by everyone.

They went ahead of us then.

"My son! My dear, dear David! Who did this to you?!" he cried out. Once David, that son of a bitch, spotted me, he flashed me that blasted grin of his. He was acting, pretending to be hurt.

I hardly even left a scratch on him for fuck's sake. How I regret not punching him straight in the face.

Reverting to his fake, frightened, and miserable state, he pointed at me. "I-I-It's her father! She is the one who attacked me! Along with that thing with her."

Thing?! That sick bastard!

The dean whipped his head in my direction, eyes scanning me up and down before he diverted them to Tai'chi.

Well, it seems I'll ve packing up sooner than I thought.

My shoulders sagged.

Some professors were alarmed by this, frantically pushing forward to grab his attention.

"Mr. Silverstone, we still do not know what's for certain. We must interrogate them properly and listen to each of their sides before we make a decision." Mr. Dulrik asserted, his voice strained and close to animosity. He was not pleased with what the student had said.

The elder professor from earlier followed up.

"Listen to Mr. Dulrik, sir. We cannot take any risks and ju—"

"Silence!" the dean shouted. "I will not hear your reasoning. My son has told me everything I need to know. Miss Holson supported his claims and that's enough to decide what to do with these criminals."

Criminals?!

"The girl and that orc shall be expelled from this institution immediately. We do not need any murderers or barbarians here. I have always suspected why that Ernestine brat even allowed these monstrosities to be with us. To breathe the same air and walk the same land as we do, endangering our safety no less! A pathetic excuse of a founder she is! If it were me I would've—"

"You would've what?" Words came out before I stopped myself, my voice low, but it was heard still, drawing their attention to me.

"What did you just say?" He demanded, his anger slipping out more. The room was silent, except for the subtle ticking of the wall clock behind me, and the movement of air around us.

I lifted my head and looked at him dead in the eye. "You would've what?" This time, I replied, louder.

Before he could retort I went on, emotion fueling my words as I advanced with every question asked.

"Would've banned every single, non-human race from the university?

"Would've taught every human that they are greater beings and the ones that were different were meant to be stepped on?

"Would've ordered and tolerated bullying on anyone who was unnatural and weird looking?

"Would've put them in their place?

Isolate them? Degrade them? Despise them for being alive?" No-one stopped me as I approached him, the teachers separating and making way. Even Mr. Dulrik was regarding me curiously.

I scoffed. " 'If it were me' you said. You think I wouldn't notice how everyone else, that isn't human, was oppressed and treated like shit in this school? It seems to me that you already did what you would've done, didn't you? You are no dean, you are a clown, a pillock, a dumbass, and you call yourself human? You are more monster than any of us in this room."

I breathed heavily as I stood a couple of feet in front of him. His face grew to a crimson hue, my ears catching the sound of smoke seething out of him. At the back, David and Miss Holson were dumbfounded, shocked into place, shaken like ugly statues.

Finally, the dean spoke, his fists clenching hard as he faced me, almost drawing blood.

I am so gonna beat him up. Hell yeah, I will.

"Keep out of trouble if you can." Well, shit happened Mama, forgive me.

"How dare you speak to me like that! I, a pure-blood Silverstone, a line of royalty! If we were still at war I would've had you executed from where you stand—"

"How about you do it yourself then, oh mighty Silverstone jerk?" I mocked and gave a toothy smile, then I remembered he wouldn't see it. That was all it took to have him launching himself at me, the professors running to the sides to avoid his wrath.

His hands were balled tight, a fist aiming for my face, eyes filled with deadly intent.

Oh, he really wants to kill me.

Before it connected, I sidestepped, causing him to stumble forward. Even so, he immediately regained his balance and reached to grab my hoodie. I didn't dodge this time, but before he touched me, I used my right hand to slap it away. With my other hand, fitted with my crimson knuckle dusters, I met his fist with mine. Almost instantly, he stumbled back and crouched down, his left hand holding his bloodied one.

"You bitch!!!" he screamed in agony.

I think I broke his hand.

I glanced to my brass knuckles, some of the blood covering them, merely visible because of its color.

Shattered it perhaps.

"I will have you killed you insolent brat! I'll kill you!" he cursed.

"Now, now, Silverstone, you will do no such thing." A feminine voice cut through the large room. We all turned to the door to see a slim, tall, tanned woman who seemed to be in her 40s, her slightly wrinkled face showing it. She was wearing a black high-waist pencil skirt paired with a black one-button suit and a baby blue undershirt. The lady also wore classic white loafers and white hand gloves made of leather, with her ebony hair tied up in a bun.

Everything about her screams 'important'. I scented an intimidating yet reassuring aura around her.

I met her eyes and a sense of familiarity fell upon me. I know her and I've seen her before.

Wait. Could it be— she's—

"Madame Ernestine!" A professor exclaimed.

That means she's, "The founder," I said out loud.

She began sauntering in my direction, each step clicking on the floor, carrying herself with grace.

"M-Ma-Madame Ernestine!" The dean, shrieked as he stood up, shaking, his busted hand in his chest, his back facing me. "I didn't expect you to visit this year! We could've prepared for your arrival—"

"You shut your mouth now Welmir." She spoke out, her voice firm and borderline hostile. "I've had enough of your blabbering mug. I made it so that my arrival is unexpected. Leaving my outside duties rather early and rushed this year when news got to me that you, the dean, were neglecting your duties, or so, doing it wrong. Not to mention I had my assistant install extra cameras in... certain places last year and because of that, I saw what you did in the shadows. Maybe not all, but it confirmed my suspicions of you, and so," She clapped her together, "I decided to visit you today. And what a surprise it was to see you get beaten up by this lovely young lady behind you."

Me?! Lovely—

My face warmed from her comment.

"Listen here, brat." he regarded the founder. The founder. "I do not know what you are talking about. I have done my duties and more for this university. I made it so that everyone here is safe and this girl,"— he spat— "harmed me, my precious son, and his friends!"

"And all of you deserved it, severely," she responded flatly. "You put my dear students at risk and antagonized them with your schemes, tolerating the behavior of treating other races like animals, disrespecting even the professors who are different in kind," she glanced at Mr. Dulrik and the others. "You even forced a minotaur, an elf, and a dwarven student to act the part of being in a student council, hoping people wouldn't notice the crimes you did behind our backs. Did you expect me to turn blind eye to this?"

It was all pretend?!

The mere thought of what he did to threaten them to it makes me wanna puke.

"I am furious, Welmir Silverstone. To think I believed you'd change your ways after my father's death with the renovation of the institute. Trusted you to do your job as dean and make the students comfortable, welcomed. But, no. You chose to follow his footsteps, became selfish, blinded by greed and pointless hate. You are a disappointment to all of us."

I smelled her rage under that near non-expressive facade of hers. It was spicy, like fire having an odor of its own.

"You are but a child! You know nothing of this world! This world of ours needs to be purged off of those rats. You cannot tell me what to do!" He yelled as he brought up his uninjured hand to hit her. I was about to step in when Madame Ernestine grabbed his arm and threw a right uppercut, blood spilling out of his jaw. The punch sent him a few steps back, he would have landed on me if I didn't move out of the way before he collapsed on the floor groaning and holding his mouth.

Ooh she's strong! Nice! I grinned.

"You are hereby stripped off of your job as dean along with all of your titles, properties, and henceforth banished from these grounds, together with your son and Emma Holson, whom I found out laid with him, and the abusive acts they had engaged in." Her words laced with poison, disgust and anger as she gave the final judgement.

"Never show yourselves. Ever. Again," she spat. "Take them away."

Out of nowhere, men in black suits came in and apprehended the young instructor, who twisted her heel trying to escape. She yelled at them to let her go, saying she has done nothing wrong. David, the bastard, was held in place by one of them as he struggled in their grasp. The dean— or should I say, Mr. Silverstone, in pain and bleeding, was dragged up by two others and headed straight out of the door. He shouted ;

"Mark my words, brat! I will—"

And the door slammed close.

With my gaze following them, my eyes landed on Tai'chi. I took off my dusters and waved, tucking them back up my sleeve.

He is smiling! And oh wow he's damn gorgeous— wait what?

My attention was drawn away to the lady in front of me. I got distracted by Tai'chi that I almost forgot about her.

"Oh my God I uhm— hello Madame Ernestine." I took one step back before bowing. "It's an honor to meet you. I—"

"Oh dear, please raise your head. No need for such formal gestures. I am Valerie Ernestine, founder of the new Ernestine State University." She stated as she beamed at me.

"I uh- Yes ma'am I know of you. I'm quite a fan actually— I mean! My name is Pearl Blackbell, ma'am."

Oh God, that sounded so stupid.

Then she hugged me.

"Ma'am?!" I squeaked. My arms went stiff, nervous to even touch her. Before I could, she pulled back, a gentle expression on her face.

"Nice to meet you, Pearl Blackbell."

"I- nice to meet you too Ma'am Ernestine!" I stammered, praying my face and ears isn't as red as I feel them to be.

"Please, call me Valerie."

"Ma'am Valerie."

"Just Valerie, dear."

"I'm so sorry ma'am but I can't— my mother will hit me in the head with a frying pan if I forget my manners."

"Very well, then. It brings me joy that you were raised properly by your parents."

"Thank you ma'am, I really am happy to have them, and I only hope for them to be proud of me— oh wait. Uh, ma'am Valerie?"

"Yes?"

"Am I gonna get punished or expelled?" I shrunk, expecting the worst.

"Why ever did you think of that?"

"W-Well you see, I did harm uh, students and they're probably in the infirmary right now and—"

"Oh, Pearl, no." She let out a light chuckle. "You won't be punished or even expelled for that! In fact, I saw how you defended yourself and your friend from them. They did attack you first, sweetie. And what you did was impressive!" She clapped her hands. As I stood there in relief, I couldn't help but shot up when the words sank in.

"Oh, thank you. But how...?"

"Apparently, I had my assistant install some cameras in the forest area for particular reasons. I watched you from the monitor as I made my way here," she replied.

"Oh. Oh, wow. That's actually pretty awesome," I sighed.

"Indeed, it is," she smiled. "Excuse me for a bit."

******pov shift to 2nd person (two characters)*****

Madame Ernestine turned and walked towards the remaining teachers to talk about important matters at hand.

"Greetings, my friends." She beamed at the staff and looked at Professor Dulrik and the woman who supported him earlier. "Hello, Roldo and Amila. I have missed you dearly." She bent down to hug the two of them before she went on. "I apologize for not taking action immediately. To think he did this to all of you right under my nose! Why didn't you contact me Roldo?"

"My apologies, Madame Ernestine. I didn't have any proof to show his plot against you and the others. He was very elusive and kept us very busy in our own offices for the past year with you away. That was until today, with the young lady over there standing up against his son, he snapped."

"It really is a good thing she came here, didn't she?" she whispered.

"Indeed, Madame," Amila replied.

There was a brief silence, before Valerie spoke up again. Her gaze locked at the dwarven professor.

"Roldo, my old friend, I want you to take your place as the new dean of this university. I trust you to do your duty a hundred percent better than that impudent man ever did. Will you accept this responsibility?"

"I- Valerie this is-"

"Roldo, you are wise and have seen things most of us here have not. I will not force you on something you do not want, but I put my faith in you, to help me, along with the rest of the staff, to teach everyone here that all of us stand in equal ground, and that we must respect and acknowledge each individual, regardless of their kind. No one, no student, should ever feel uncomfortable in this haven of mine."

"I understand, Valerie." The dwarf took a deep breath and vowed;

"I, Roldo Dulrik, son of Grol II, son of Frerin, accept the responsibilities given to me as dean of Ernestine State University. I will do my duty to the best of my abilities, and remain loyal to you and to this institution." He responded as he thumped his right fist against his chest.

"I know you will, my friend." Valerie grinned at him, her eyes full of trust and hope.

While they were occupied with discussing certain issues, you tried to sneak away, only to be called back by Madame Ernestine.

"Pearl, my dear."

"Yes ma'am?"

"Thank you."

She had a soft smile, emotions clear on her face, directed at you. The founder, Valerie was thanking you for your bravery, kindness and overall honesty. You simply nodded and grinned from ear to ear behind your mask. You were, however, suddenly nervous when Valerie and the two professors approached you. No, actually, all of them were, but the others are heading out of the office, perhaps to go back to their respective classrooms and start working, they gave their thanks as they went out.

"Pearl Blackbell, a wonderful name!" Professor Dulrik remarked. "May the Gods bless you and shine upon you in all your days," he grinned. Before you could reply, Professor Amila hugged you and whispered. "Thank you, for beating up those idiots," —which made you giggle— "It was the right thing to do, and also I had to defend myself. and thank you, Professor Dulrik."

"Nonsense, call me Professor Roldo, lass." He patted your shoulder as he went past you and out of the office, but not before he slapped Tai'chi's forearm.

"You best protect her if you can, lad. Even so, it is obvious she won't need protecting!" He laughed, and went on, quietly, as if whispering. "...Be her friend, my boy. Her eyes...they show the pain she had gone through. You saw that in her, didn't you?"

Tai'chi simply nodded in response. He knew what he meant.

"Then do what you must. If word ever comes to me that you hurt her, I will hunt you down with me battle axe hidden in my office, you hear?"

This time, he chuckled. "I hear you, Professor. I won't. I swear on the the name of my clan, no harm will befall on her." He told him, his voice firm and true.

"That's what I'm talking about, lad!" He replied as he finally exited the room.

Tai'chi shifted his gaze to you. You and the dean were still talking so he stood there, patiently.

"We best be on our way. We still have a number of things to set straight. We will see you around, Miss Blackbell. Don't get into trouble now." The founder giggled.

"I will try my best, ma'am."

"Oh sure you will, sweetie. Goodluck. And oh, the two of you should start going back. It's past lunchbreak afterall." She said as the two ladies sauntered past you and went out.

"Thank you, we will." You said, mostly to yourself.

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

Part 6 will be posted shortly! Like, shortly shortly. Like, an hour or so shortly. Stay tuned! Thank you for reaching this point uwu✨

Tags: @crackinanutshell @kokokatsworld @mitchiesdungeon <3

[idea-garden]

oneshot #7 - dirty bathroom fuck - pt.2 | @minseoks-personal-trashcan

pt. 1 | pt. 2

Baekhyun/OC

Sequel to a request from @minseoks-personal-trashcan​

Written by @idea-garden​

This has been requested since I posted the first part, and we all know that was forever ago...

SMUT / 18+ / car sex / angry sex? / public sex / oral / orgasm denial / dirty talk / d/s / bdsm

3,800 words

SooRi left for a six-month internship. SooRi will never leave Baekhyun again...

If you like this like it, reblog it, and follow me!

This is trash.

ALL PROMPTS | SMUT PROMPTS | RULES | ASK | MY WRITING

SooRi stood outside her apartment door waiting for her rideshare to pick her up. The cool autumn breeze had picked up some and it made her shiver slightly in her nude bodycon dress. Finally, her ride came, the car’s lights cutting the dark sky. Collecting herself in the car, she gave the address, then sat back to observe the scenes outside the window. Everything she passed by looked so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Each place holding a different memory, giving her both nostalgia and nausea.

After a slow cruise, she reached her destination. It was her favorite restaurant. Ugh. She missed this place. She turned her eyes up at the bright place, took a breath, and slapped a few crumpled bills in her driver’s hand.

SooRi couldn’t believe it’d only been six months since she was last home. It felt good to be back. Of course, there was no place like home.

The fine dining establishment was set for dinner. Its floor-to-ceiling windows giving a beautiful view of the harbor. The decor was set in warm lighting. Cream carpet, cream chairs, off-white tablecloths, and various shades of gardenias were just a few aesthetic notes she observed.

This place was fancy. Too fancy. But, since she wasn’t buying, she had no issue eating there.

--

SooRi stood at the front of the restaurant, only waiting for a brief second before a hostess in a cute cocktail dress appeared before her. They exchanged brief smiles, as the hostess asked for a name. The restaurant was so exclusive that you could only eat there by reservation only. Apparently, according to her friend, you had to book at least six weeks in advance. SooRi appreciated the gesture. She was never one to want a big fuss to be made over her, but she had to admit it felt pretty great to be in the middle of the fanfare.

She stood for a second as the hostess scanned the seating chart, then guided her to a semi-private table set for six. Menus and neatly folded napkins were sitting on white plates that covered gold chargers. The hostess pulled out her chair and wished her a pleasant dining experience.

She was the first one to arrive to her own welcome back dinner. Typical--considering her immediate friend group. Jessi and Junmyeon were either doting on each other or having car sex in the parking lot. SooRi was convinced that Jongin and Chanyeol didn’t even know how to tell time. And Baekhyun… well he didn’t give a shit about anyone’s time except his own.

SooRi pulled out her phone, shooting a text to Jessi and noting the time. She was a little early, so she wasn't too irked. A response returned within two minutes. Her friend was on her way there--delayed traffic. SooRi told her it was no problem. She had the aching suspicion she and Junmyeon were definitely fucking in the car. However, SooRi knew her friend would never intentionally keep her waiting.

After about ten minutes, she saw Jessi and Junmyeon in lockstep carrying balloons and what looked like a neatly wrapped gift. Jessi passed her things to her boyfriend and enveloped SooRi in a tight hug.

"I missed you so much! I'm so glad you're back!" The pair teetered side to side as the hug continued.

SooRi had to chuckle, they talked every single day of her absence. There was a good chance Jessi knew more about her day than she did, but nonetheless it felt great to see familiar faces again.

"I'm glad to be back! It's good to be back with friends again."

Just as the words left her lips, Jongin walked up with Chanyeol in tow.

"There are my boys," SooRi pulled them in one after the other.

She noticed them dropping off little gift bags where Junmyeon had been previously.

"Have a seat guys! I guess we can get started," SooRi urged them to get comfortable.

She looked around the table with a smile, until her eyes rested on the empty seat.

SooRi knew she shouldn't have expected much from him, but she still wanted to see him.

"Where's Baek?"

"He just messaged me. He's on his way. He wanted us to start without him." Junmyeon reassured her.

He was probably still upset with her. She knew he had every right to be, but being on the receiving end of a cold shoulder was never pleasant.

--

The group eventually ordered their beverages and a palate cleanser. Meanwhile, Baekhyun sat in his car, deliberating whether or not he was ready to see her.

His thumbs twisted around the key fob as he was deep in thought.

She left him. She left him without a word. He didn't owe her anything, and she didn't owe him anything, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss her.

"Fuck it. I'm here now." Baekhyun slammed his car door on the way out, pissed he missed her as much as he did.

He spent no time waiting for the hostess to lead him to the table. He walked through with a confident stride. Dressed in fitted black jeans and a navy button down. The shirt, top two buttons open, gave a sinful hint of the body underneath.

In true Baekhyun fashion, he greeted the table with an off-handed comment before plopping down in the only empty seat.

Of course, it was the seat in front of her.

SooRi's mouth nearly went dry when she saw him. She hadn't seen him in six full months. Sure, she'd been stalking his Instagram, but nothing compared to the real thing.

Involuntarily, she clutched her dainty, gold necklace, rubbing it--most likely praying for the strength to make it through this dinner without crawling across the table to get on top of him.

He gave a smirk and reached across to her wine glass, taking a sip from it, daring her to react to him. He was truly a piece of work.

‘Lord, give me strength,' she mused as a strong breath filtered through her nose.

--

Drinks were scattered around the table and appetizers were spread and half-eaten.

“So, did you meet any cute guys during your internship?” Jessi snickered.

“Yeah, SooRi. Did you fuck them until they wanted to stick around, then hop on the next flight out of there?” Baekhyun grit his teeth under an annoyed stare in her direction.

“Baek, chill out!” Jongin rested a hand on his shoulder, while Baekhyun took a sip of his alcoholic beverage.

He was going to need to get drunk to make it through this damn thing.

“No, I didn’t have to do that. It turns out that most men are mature. They are upfront about what they want and don’t play games, then pout when they don’t get their way.”

“Now that I think about it, having you stay with a man is punishment enough. Perhaps, you’re doing us all a favor when you run away.” Baekhyun slammed his glass down to punctuate his malcontent.

“I think this is a good time for dessert.” Chanyeol piped up.

“God Chanyeol. We haven’t even had our entrees.” Junmyeon murmured under his breath.

“Well, it’s a better suggestion than watching a fucking cage match at our table!”

No one could argue with that.

“Let’s all cut Baekhyun a break. It’s difficult for us to see things from his perspective, because none of us can get our heads that far up our own asses.” SooRi winked at him and Baekhyun rolled his eyes damn near out of his skull.

“You just don’t know how much I’ve missed you, SooRi, “Jessi smirked at her boyfriend before the rest of the group had a hearty laugh at poor Baekhyun’s expense.

--

Before long, the main meals had come and gone. Now, the group sat around trading stories to catch each other up on the happenings of their life over dessert.

"I'm so glad to be back. I just want to settle into my old routine again."

Baekhyun scoffed, partly in disbelief.

"Which part of your routine? The part where you beg me to fuck you in every position known to man? Or the part where you act like you aren't interested in us being 'us'?"

Eyebrows shot up around the table. This was news.

SooRi cast her head down. This was one of the few times in her life she wasn't feeling too combative. Normally, she would've ripped Baekhyun a new asshole, or exsanguinated him with words sharper than knives, but not tonight.

"What's the matter, SooRi? You still haven't told them about us keeping up fuck buddy-status since Jongin's party?"

That cheeky bastard beamed at the chance to put her in her place in front of everyone.

"You know, just because your parents never gave you hugs as a kid, doesn't excuse you from being a complete ass." SooRi didn't want him to think she cared about anything he had to say, but enough was enough.

She took a deep breath, then sighed. "I'm sorry guys. I don't think I can stay here any longer." SooRi stood, reaching for her purse and phone.

"Don't leave your welcome back party! We'll kick Baekhyun's sorry ass out of here," Chanyeol snickered and stuck his tongue out.

"You're the best, Yeol. It's getting late anyway, and we've had such a nice time. I'd hate to ruin the night with an attempted murder charge."

--

SooRi hugged her friends one last time, before she departed. Her heels clicked with a soft echo in the concrete parking lot. She tapped her foot out front, waiting for her rideshare.

A strong hand gripped her waist without warning.

"You've got a lot nerve, walking out on me like that."

"I don't know if you were at the same dinner that I was, but you were the one acting all butt-hurt."

"When the going gets tough, SooRi gets going." Baekhyun shrugged, "If you want to get home you might as well let me take you. I canceled your ride. You're still on my account, remember?"

SooRi glared at him, fighting her instinct to curse him out.

"You'd have better luck asking Carmen Sandiego where in the world you lost your damn mind!"

"Get in the fucking car, SooRi. Let me take you home."

--

The tension was palpable as they rode in silence. Baekhyun cut his eyes over her frame. She looked amazing, as always. Since he'd had her, there was no one else he wanted.

"It killed me when you left." He spoke never looking in her direction.

"W-What?" SooRi tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"You just left me. I thought that we were, kind of, building something. Then, I find out through Instagram that you're on your way to New York for an internship."

"You always knew I had to go...," SooRi trailed off in a whisper.

Baekhyun's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white and fully-flexed.

"That is not the point, dammit! You can't make people fall for you, then just leave them high and dry!"

SooRi's eyes widened, mouth partly agape, a series of questions ready to flow from her brain to her lips.

"Baekhyun-- W-Where are you going?!" She watched as he peeled off the path to her home and down some dark street.

Both of their bodies lurched forward as he came to a stop in the desolate alleyway. Putting the car in park, he turned to SooRi with a dark glint in his eyes.

"I wish I could get you out of my mind. I wish I could hate you."

--

Baekhyun pressed his lips against SooRi's, gently at first, gradually his force increased. She weakly tried to push him off, but she missed the feeling. His tone arm pulled her closer to him, SooRi's side digging into the center console.

"Ouch! Not so rough!" SooRi shifted uncomfortably around the console and his unrelenting grip.

"I think that's the least of your problems tonight, SooRi-ah. Someone needs to teach you some manners. It's not polite to leave your boyfriend without so much as a word."

"Boyfriend? Really, Baek?"

His hands grabbed her hips as best they could. "Ah, ah, ah! Tonight, I think you should address me as 'Sir,' don't you think? I am teaching you a very important lesson. Now, crawl into my lap, baby girl."

Against her better judgement, she shifted over his lap, "I bet you've missed this, huh?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Baekhyun."

He took no time to swat her ass quickly a few times. "What did I tell you to address me as?"

"...Sir...," SooRi looked off to the side. She'd be damned if she was going to make eye contact. Besides, she already knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Good girl. Lift up your dress."

Baekhyun watched as she wriggled around to lift her dress around her waist. He eyed the microscopic piece of fabric that was her lacy, white thong. His tongue slithered out from between his lips, eager to have and taste her.

She gnawed on her bottom lip in anticipation. She could feel his fingers ghosting over her entrance, before a cool gust of air hit her skin. He clenched his teeth, snapping the panties at the waistband.

SooRi glowered down at him, but stifled a moan when he shoved the underwear in his pocket.

"Looks like someone missed me, too," he dipped two fingers inside SooRi, while his thumb massaged her clit. "How thoughtful of you to keep it nice and wet for me."

She released a hoarse, needy groan at his delicate touch. He always knew which button to press to keep her reeling.

"Feel good, sweet girl?"

She nodded erratically, bucking her hips up to meet his fingers. "Uh huh. Y-Yes, Sir."

His digits quickened as they curled to tease her g-spot. Baekhyun was quite amused watching her face contort in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. Her shallow moans broke up the silence between her delicious wet sounds and the leather squeaking against their active bodies.

Baekhyun slapped SooRi's inner thighs when her hip rolling became too eager. "There is so much more fun to have, baby."

"I'm close, Sir." Her nails dug into his shoulders, body twisting as her orgasm neared.

Her whimpers were the sweetest music to his ears. He could feel her warmth pulsing around his fingers.

As she found herself teetering dangerously on the edge, Baekhyun withdrew his fingers, opting to taste her.

She whined, watching him savor her unique flavor, "Put them back, please...Sir. I want to cum on your fingers."

"This wouldn't be much of a lesson, without some form of punishment."

Wiping his wet fingers on SooRi’s inner thighs, Baekhyun gripped her face in a deep kiss. Their tongues danced around in desperation for one another. Mouths still connected, he tugged at the thin straps of her dress, all too impatient for it to come off.

SooRi wriggled out of the top half of the dress, rolling it to the middle of her stomach where the rest of the dress was. Baekhyun’s tongue dragged a fiery trail down her neck to her uncovered breasts.

His tongue flicked at her nipples, before he alternated with a light suctioning pressure. He pulled the soft skin through his teeth, gently biting her and leaving her chest covered in maroon bruises.

SooRi tangled her fingers in his hair, head dropped back and body still tense with the desire to cum.

“Unzip my pants,” Baekhyun smirked at her attempts to grind against him for any kind of sensation.

She didn’t have to be told twice.

In a matter of seconds, Baekhyun’s dick was stiffening in SooRi’s manicured hand.

“Go ahead, princess. Ride me.”

She lined him up with her entrance and sank down with a satisfying sigh. He filled her up so nicely. She fit around him like a glove.

SooRi wrapped her arms around the driver’s headrest, slapping her hips up and down wildly. Baekhyun broke up the monotonous sound with a few sharp ass slaps.

Kneading the tender flesh, he grunted, “Damn, I’ve missed this ass.”

SooRi leaned back to roll her hips, narrowly missing the horn. Her knees dug into the soft leather around Baekhyun, frustrated by the lack of space. His hands ran up the sides of her waist and settled on her bruised tits.

Palming them roughly, she mewled as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She hissed watching him pinch and tweak the hard nubs.

He pulled on her nipples as if they were the reins of a horse--tugging them mercilessly enjoying her whinnies for release. When he felt he'd done enough, he closed a broad hand around her throat.

"I'm about to--," she was barely able to breath out.

They were both well aware of the fact that whenever his hands clasped around her throat, she would be drenched. It was like she was straddling Niagara Falls.

"Not yet," Baekhyun swiftly opened his door and scooped her off of his length.

--

She wobbled to find her footing as she stood right outside the car--totally exposed.

"Baekhyun, what the fuck?!" She tried to shield her nude form and scurry to the passenger's seat, only for Baekhyun to stop her in her tracks.

"That's 'Sir,' to you. But, since you want to be a mouthy little slut, I'll give you something productive to do with your mouth."

Baekhyun eyes gleamed darkly as he stared her down. He towered over her to drop his jeans more comfortably, before resuming his seated position.

"Let's see those pretty lips on my dick, hmm?" Baekhyun blew a kiss in her direction, meanwhile SooRi returned the evil eye.

If she felt that her knees were in an uncomfortable position in the car, the cold asphalt was certainly no improvement.

SooRi kneeled and looked up to him, teeth gritting as she gripped him at the base of his cock. Her hands glided up and down his glistening shaft, pumping him faster and faster.

She swiped his tip quickly, cleaning a clear drop of precum. Her tongue drug a sloppy trail up from his balls to the tip, before swirling around the head.

SooRi shivered at the cool, night air, smirking at the thought of being so naughty. The lonely, flickering street light cast a shadow over the pair. The sounds and faint lights of cars moving on the highway made them very aware of their daring deed.

Baekhyun sucked in a jagged breath as her warm mouth worked its magic. He stroked her curly hair with great care, easing her down on his needy, aching member.

His voice strained as she expertly handled his girth. She always knew exactly what he needed in exactly the right moment. It wasn't long before he had her lips motioning at the base of his member.

"Fuck, baby...," he eked out with a clenched jaw.

After a few muffled gags, SooRi bobbed up for much-needed air. She lapped at the new precum leaking from his head. She eyed him with sliver of rebellion, as her hands pumped him faster and faster. One hand massaged his balls, while she tongued his tip.

"Is it good, Sir?" She'd picked up his signature smirk with no practice.

Baekhyun lifted SooRi from his length by her chin, "Ah, ah, ah. I want to pump that pretty pussy full of cum."

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red as she stood in front of him, lips glistening in the brief flashes of light.

"You think if I put a baby in that tight little stomach, you'll have a reason to stay with me?" He whispered roughly in her ear.

She nearly lost her breath at the new side he was revealing.

He stood up, leading her to the hood of the car with one hand and holding his pants to help his waddle with the other.

When he found a comfortable spot, he cupped his hands under her ass, lifting her on the hood of his sedan.

She landed with a soft thud, tensing at the cold metal beneath her.

"Spread those legs, baby," he took a few seconds to kiss her inner thighs and pass his tongue over her slick opening.

Baekhyun lined his shaft up to her entrance, rubbing her clit with his thumb and parting her wetness with his tip.

"Mmmmm, don't tease," SooRi panted, hips moving at the slightest sensation.

Her body was on fire and no amount of air could cool her down. She needed release and wouldn't be denied. Not this time, anyway.

He pecked her lips, pulling her bottom lip through his teeth, just the way she liked it. Within a moment, he shoved hard and pushed his entire length into her in one thrust, holding her hips to pull her against him.

"You. Never. Fucking. Leave. Me. Again. Got it?!" He blew through his teeth, each thrust more powerful than the last.

It was her turn to grunt, grit, and moan, feeling his length tunnel into her. His thickness stretched her more than she remembered. She dug her hands into the hood of the car, frustrated that there was nothing to grab and hold onto for dear life. SooRi felt like she was losing her grip--not only on Baekhyun’s car, but reality--as he started moving, drawing back, and thrusting his length into her again and again.

"Oh, fuck! Keep fucking me like this, Sir! I'll never leave you again, Baekhyun!"

His mouth dried before a broad grin covered his features, "Learned your lesson so soon?"

SooRi could barely respond when her eyes shut tightly, riding the wave of pleasure flowing through her body. An onlooker would have described her as possessed, the way she writhed, convulsed, and shuddered. She rocked back and forth, still sliding on his dick, moaning unintelligible, incoherent strings of words.

The rocking BMW didn't have much of a chance to still as Baekhyun tipped over the edge. He felt his balls contract up towards his body, anticipating the muscle contractions start that would send him cumming inside her, and he grabbed her hips with both hands again to pull her back into him.

The spasms lasted for what seemed like forever in those moments of release. He bucked into her erratically as his ejaculation subsided, slowly coming down from the high.

--

Baekhyun rested inside her for a few minutes, before slipping out, gradually softening while SooRi adjusted her dress.

He pulled his pants up and hopped back in the driver's seat, waiting for SooRi.

When she closed the door behind her, they buckled up and peeled out of the alleyway.

"Maybe, I should leave more often?" SooRi winked as they headed to her place.

"Maybe, you need another lesson?" Baekhyun gripped her thigh, as he sped off into the distance.

Idea Garden is a writing prompts blog. We focus mainly on smut prompts, however, our prompts do span genres.

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[purelypeaky]

Then and Now

You didn’t know what to think when your childhood friend Henry Johnson disappeared. On a business trip to Birmingham with your father a few years later, you run into him again and reminisce about the past in more ways than one.

Michael Gray x reader

Warnings: lots of fluff, things get a little hot and heavy

Masterlist

(gif credit to the glorious @peakyblindersgifs)

You couldn’t believe it when he walked in.

Trying to pass time in the waiting area of Shelby Company Limited was boring you to death. Your father had stepped back into Tommy Shelby’s office, leaving you to watch the secretary tap away at her typewriter. You sighed and were letting your mind wander when the door pushed open and a young man strode over to the secretary’s desk.

You recognized him immediately. Henry was your closest childhood friend, your teenage partner in crime, and eventually your first kiss. Of everyone in your hometown, you were the most baffled when he left. But there he was, just a few feet away and already leaving you breathless.

“Henry?” you said hesitantly, standing up and smoothing out your dress.

He turned, his brows knitted with confusion that disappeared as soon as he saw you. “Y\N, is that you?”

Dropping his papers on the desk, he immediately crossed the room and crushed you into a hug. You loved having him in your arms again and how tightly he held on, as if trying to make up for the few years gone by. When you pulled back again his hands slid to your waist and you stayed there, gazing at each other a moment too long. His green eyes were as bright as you remembered. Finally you both snapped out of it and Henry cleared his throat, though the smile never left his lips.

“I can’t believe it’s you, Y\N. What are you doing here?”

“My father’s going into business with Tommy Shelby and he let me tag along. I’d never been to Birmingham before. It has...quite the scenery,” you said with a grimace, making both of you laugh. “But what are you doing here, Henry? Do you work for the company?”

“It’s actually Michael now,” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Michael?”

He took your hand like he’d done hundreds of times before, ready to lead you on another adventure. “C’mon, I’ll explain.”

Before you could make it to the door leading to the offices, the secretary piped up. “Michael, Tommy wanted you to --”

“It’s alright, Lizzie. Tell Tommy I’m in a meeting, too.” He gave a mischievous grin that you knew well and squeezed your hand for emphasis.

He pulled you down the hallway of offices and came to a stop in front of one that was right outside of Tommy Shelby’s. You barely heard your father’s muffled voice because you were more focused on the door that read Michael Gray, Chief Accountant.

“Michael...” you mulled, then raised an eyebrow at the man beside you. “Am I just supposed to call you Michael now?”

“I think so, yeah.”

You gave a sly grin. “I don’t hate it.”

Michael nodded proudly and led you into the office, where you were in awe of the lavish furnishings. But before you could explore the all of the knicknacks and picture frames, he made you sit down and let him explain everything that had happened. Tommy visiting, finding out about his real family, running away to Birmingham and becoming part of the family business, all of it.

You listened intently, trying to keep an open mind, but by the end your heart was as heavy as when he first left. You looked down at your lap and tried to find the right words but none came. Only when Michael took your hand in both of his did you meet his gaze again.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he murmured, swirling his thumb on your skin, “but I needed to be here. Doing this with my family.”

You nodded earnestly. “I know. I know you hated it there, Henr...Michael. You always dreamed of getting out. And here you are,” you added, waving a hand at the room.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, here I am. You want to look around now?”

You both stood up at the same time and found yourselves a little too close together. After nearly bumping noses, you laughed it off and stepped back. Michael walked around to sit at his desk and you finally noticed how his suits were sharper, he carried himself a little taller, and he looked like he belonged behind that desk. Your Henry that climbed trees and played muddy games of football with the other little boys was gone.

He was grown now.

You shook your head and turned to survey the rest of the room in all its glory. Stacks of papers and certificates were held down by paperweights, pens were discarded next to a teapot, and you ran your fingertips along the spines of all the old and new books on the shelves. A few framed photographs depicted his cousin’s wedding party and the woman he’d pointed out as his real mother. You took it all in with a gentle smile.

Then an intricate ceramic box on one of the shelves caught your eye and you looked at Michael for permission.

He was watching you amusedly. “Go on.”

It was heavier than you expected but you held it tightly, opening it to find tiny flowers painted on the inside. The flowers and leaves reminded you of gardens back home and you wondered if Michael kept it for that reason.

“It’s beautiful.”

He smiled and pulled out a cigarette. “A little old lady gave that to me because I convinced Tommy to not burn down her son’s pub. Bad for business, you know.”

After safely returning the box to its spot you set your sights back on Michael with a smirk. You crossed the room to his side of the desk and hoisted yourself up, just out of reach of his crossed legs.

“Listen to you, ‘bad for business’,” you giggled. Then you plucked the cigarette from his mouth and took a drag. “You smoke these now?”

“Sometimes. Do you?”

When stifling your cough didn’t work, you just put out the cig in the ashtray. “Sometimes.”

That had both of you laughing again and then you trailed off when you looked out of the office window into the foggy Birmingham sky. It was quiet for a moment too long while you worked up the courage for your next question.

“Do you ever miss home?”

Michael lifted his eyes to to find you still looking away. “I think about you sometimes.”

Your heart bottomed out and you wrung your hands in your lap but couldn’t meet his gaze. It would give you too much hope. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” He stood up and rounded in front of you, waiting with a gentle smile until you looked at him. “We had a lot of fun when we were kids. I didn’t know any other girl who could drive her mother as crazy as I did mine. And when we were older...”

He trailed off, unsure of breaching the subject. But you encouraged him by resting a hand on his chest and he leaned into your touch, stepping closer until he was between your legs. He glanced around your face as if trying to re-memorize every inch and let his fingers brush your cheek. Your breath caught at his close proximity and your gaze unconsciously dipped to his lips when he spoke again.

“Well, things weren’t so bad when we were older, either. That’s what I remember most.”

That was all the prompting either of you needed and you met in the middle for a tentative kiss. It was a gentle test of the waters and Michael rested his forehead to yours in the wake, but only for a moment. The water was just fine and both of you dove in.

His open mouth slid against yours passionately and your arms wrapped around to seal his body to you. All of the tension and uncertainty melted away at his touch and you let yourself get lost in the moment and in the feel of Michael’s hands smoothing down your sides. You flashed back to the few other times he’d kissed you but this was the best yet, proven by his strong mouth capturing yours again and again. He even chased your lips when you tried to break the kiss, stealing one more before he let you speak.

You played with the hair at the nape of his neck, still panting. “Can they see us through the glass?”

“Do you care?” Michael countered with a smirk. There was that reckless streak you missed.

Clasping your hands, he tugged you with him until he sat in his chair and you straddled his lap. Your chest flushed with heat at the precarious position but you loved having Michael under you again and could feel him already growing hard. His grip settled at your waist and he watched you hungrily, sending that heat from your chest rushing down to your core.

His mouth was on you again in a flash, kissing you like no time was lost between now and your younger days in the countryside. It was playful and eager and he toyed with your tongue to make you laugh and god you’d missed smiling into him. Your hands raked from his hair to his shoulders, anything to pull him impossibly closer.

You had just started fumbling with his waistcoat buttons when a door slammed down the hall. After leaping off of Michael’s lap, both of you stared at his office door with baited breath. But nobody came.

“That was close,” you whispered childishly.

“Couldn’t have your father finding us again, hm?”

The two of you shared a smile and started fixing your disheveled appearances. You tugged your dress back into place and watched as Michael straightened out his suit. He cocked his head at you when he caught you staring.

“Do you like it?” He made a show of fiddling with his cufflinks.

“I really do.”

He noticed your change in tone and nearly melted under your heavy-lidded gaze. You wanted to tell him exactly how you’d let him take off each layer of his clothes and yours, but voices from down the hall dragged you back to reality once again.

Michael sighed. “We should probably get back to them.”

You nodded and let him open the door before sauntering past, relishing in how he nearly groaned just watching your hips swing. Just like good old days. But you were only a few steps down the hall when he caught your hand and turned you toward him.

“How long are you in town?” he asked earnestly.

“Two days. Then it’s back home.” You smiled sadly, cupping his cheek. “But we’re staying in a hotel up the road. Maybe we could go out tonight? You could show me all of Birmingham.”

With a kiss and a squeeze to your hand, he promised just that. Then the two of you continued down the hall walking a few paces apart so that no one would suspect anything. You found your father and Tommy Shelby still talking out front.

“Ah, Y\N, the secretary told me you were acquainting yourself with Mr. Shelby’s accountant,” your father called, waving you over to him.

“You remember Henry?” you answered, linking your arm with Michael’s. “It’s a long story, but he’s working for Mr. Shelby now.”

Michael shook your father’s hand and they began chatting. You noticed Tommy Shelby watching you curiously and he pulled out a cigarette just like Michael had earlier. Apparently he really was related to the Shelbys.

Tommy stepped closer to speak to you, nonchalantly puffing smoke into the wind. “I hear from Lizzie that you reacquainted yourself with Michael rather well, Miss Y\L\N. She takes advantage of the thin office walls.”

Your eyes blew wide and you tried to stumble around an answer. “Mr. Shelby, sir, I don’t know --”

“Don’t worry, that’s no business of mine. What is my business is giving Michael the day off tomorrow.”

At that moment Michael glanced at you with a smile before turning back to the conversation with your father. Your heart swelled and you nodded resolutely.

“That would be lovely, Mr. Shelby. Thank you.”

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 11

Why are they like this?  Why?  What is even their issue?  

Ao3

Astrid is a believer in hard work.

There are very few obstacles in life that can’t be overcome with determination, willingness to get her hands dirty, and dedication to the cause. However, deciphering her feelings while sitting across a dingy bar table from Hiccup’s sharp jaw and green eyes, holding a beer she got from her best friend’s cousin who now only owes her forty-seven dollars while said best friend and Hiccup’s cousin hook up might be one of those outlying obstacles.

And that’s not even unpacking the fact that she only met Hiccup because he was giving serial killer tours to her apartment, the past tense being because a new set of twin murders interrupted his route with the promise of further interruptions. And then that gets even more complicated because not only did she and Hiccup kiss while she was at work, but later that same night she was with him when they discovered the second murder victim, seconds after she accidentally called him sexy.

Or not him specifically, but something he did, and that’s almost worse.

And she might be able to scrape together some plan of attack for all of that, but adding the fact that he also happened to discover the first body after a middle of the night private serial killer tour he gave her where they were caught trespassing and practically hugging on camera pushes it over the edge.

She’s lost.

And there’s the whole thing he’s been in custody twice in as many weeks but she still can’t stop thinking about how he looked at her, like he absolutely couldn’t handle not kissing her for another second. Even though she was being stubborn and loud and forcing her opinion on him. Maybe even because of those things.

Neither of them knew what to say while they finished their drinks and their interaction devolved into silence occasionally punctuated by people watching commentary. He offered to walk her home, but she took an Uber because as safe as Berk’s new condo developments brag about being, she doesn’t live in one of those.

She lives in yet another Grimborn murder site, likely on a list to be revisited.

Yet another complication.

“You’re thinking about that ship roster really hard,” Fishlegs sits down at his desk, flicking through his meticulously maintained planner.

She half wonders what Fishlegs would say about her current conundrums. He’s got the kind of analytical approach she can really admire, but his opinion of Hiccup is clear and deserved. It was Hiccup who pushed her against the bookcase and threatened his precious encyclopedias, after all.

“It’s complicated.”

“Want to talk about it?”  

She thinks a minute, “no.”

Astrid doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to do something about it, she just doesn’t know what to do.

Hiccup (4:23pm): hey are you at work?

She hates how the silent implication makes her cheeks burn.

Astrid (4:24pm): yeah

Hiccup (4:25pm): oh cool, would you mind if I dropped by and got a copy of that Al, I. Safe picture to laminate? The one you gave me is wearing out quick and it’s smeared not that you care I’m sure it smeared in your fervent quest to prove me wrong

Astrid hates how she can’t deny that her stomach flips. If Fishlegs repeated his concern right now, she’s not sure what she’d say, but he disappeared into the back room to organize new donations.

Astrid (4:27pm): sure

Hiccup (4:28pm): be there in like 5?

Her heart stutters and she tries not to care. She can’t help but hate how she left it at the bar, the weird backward walk towards the door, the insistence that she get a ride rather than walk. And now she has to deal with another random, instantaneous meeting? She needs time and planning and for it to occur away from Hiccup’s undeniable pull.

She tries to focus exclusively on her work but every time she hears the door open she jumps and has to reread at least a paragraph. The first is the mail, the second is someone lost and hoping for the library upstairs, but the third is Hiccup, determinedly faking casual as he trots down the stairs with uneven strides she still wants to ask about.

“Hey!” He says too brightly and Astrid purposefully takes a second too long to look up.

“Hi.”

He pauses a couple feet in front of her desk and swallows hard. He shaved recently, and he looks younger and sharper and somehow more likely to catch her off guard.

“Are you doing something super important for the future of Berk’s history’s maintenance or…”

She can’t quite stifle her smile, “not really.”

“Great,” he grins wider, all crooked teeth and genuine excitement and everything would be so much easier if Astrid’s heart didn’t skip like a turntable in a hurricane. “So, Al. I, safe message? If you don’t mind…”

“Right, sure,” she stands up too quickly, chair rolling back a few feet and smacking into a bookshelf.

“No rush,” Hiccup laughs, shoulders rigid and hands waving at her chair, “wouldn’t want you to break something in your excitement to help me copy something.”

“I haven’t put it away since last week, I still need to talk to Fishlegs about how we’d recategorize it as Grimborn-related,” she ignores his comment about breaking things and leaves her chair where it is, leading him down the familiar aisle between old yellowed papers to the table she set her findings out on.

“Does that mean there’s a special stack you send Grimborn-ologists to so that you don’t have to talk to us?”

“Well, that would be my solution,” she flips carefully through the paper to the picture, trying not to think about the vague wrinkles in the print from his hand clenching as he kissed her. “But currently Fishlegs’s solution is to just send them all my way.”

“Let me guess, it’s been busy?” He skirts around mentioning the recent murders, but it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it feels like all she talks about lately, as she leads curious, insensitive people to documents she then has to make sure they don’t take as a souvenir.  

She nods, “I hate to say you’re right, but you are pretty well adjusted, considering the crowd as a whole.”

“What makes you say that?” He cocks his head, reverently taking the paper from her and following towards the copier. The encyclopedias mock her when his hand brushes against her arm.

“You know, there was the guy who wanted his girlfriend to lay on the floor to pose like Elizabeth Smith,” she wrinkles her nose, “but I don’t know how even that compares to the guy who got angry at me because I didn’t magically produce modern crime scene photos to compare to vintage ones. He claimed this was a ‘decaying institution’ because I explained we obviously don’t have access to current police case documentation.”

“What an idiot,” Hiccup snorts, “this is a historical archive, there are obvious environmental controls to prevent decay.”

“That’s bad,” she doesn’t understand how he can melt more stiff tension than she can think through with a bad joke, it must go hand in hand with how he made her feel safe in dark alleys when logic and reality continually affirm she was anything but. “Come on, that was lame.”

“It got a smile,” he says, self-satisfied but not smug, and his eyes narrow when he sees the copier, “we meet again, old friend.”

“What?”

“The copier and I have history, remember? I tried to copy a comic book three years ago and jammed it up,” he sets the paper down picture up on the work table and pats the top of the copier with a careful hand, “the foundation of Fishlegs and my blood feud, as you put it.”

“Right,” she takes the paper and carefully folds it back to align the picture with the corner, “maybe I should press the buttons then, I wouldn’t want to involve myself in that drama.”

The copier is probably older than some of the archive’s collections and it takes a minute to turn on, its wheezing fan turning the silence awkward as Astrid’s worries whir back to life along with it. Hiccup is alternating between staring at his feet and the side of her face, brows furrowed.

“Thanks for letting me come by, by the way, and for the picture. And for finding the picture, in the first place, even though you were only doing it to prove me wrong, which you did, it clearly does have punctuation—but that’s not what I mean.” He doesn’t pause to breathe so much as to let the mental gears behind his eyes rotate fully so that he can pick back up where he got off track. “I uh…I guess I understand all the very real reasons you probably want nothing to do with me—”

“What?” She turns to face him, frowning.

“I’m just saying I get it, and I appreciate you being cool about it even as I’m…practically having a spasm over here trying to talk to you,” he laughs, high pitched and nasal, his arms flailing and smacking the copier. It coughs and she has to press the start button again. “And considering the size and scale of ass I made of myself at Gruff’s the other day, I get that other things that might have ummm…been said or occurred are likely voided, as it were—not that there was any kind of contract when you said and did them, I was just amazed someone as, you know, astounding as you seemed to be starting to like me, maybe—”

“Hiccup,” she reflexively puts her hand on his shoulder, sure that if she doesn’t hold him down he’ll vibrate into another dimension, “I let you give tours to my apartment, do you think I’d do that if I didn’t like you?”

“Oh,” he thinks on that for a second, eyes darting to her hand on his shoulder, and she carefully retracts it, flushing as he half smiles. She gets that bone deep feeling she’s going to regret what she just said as he opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and presses his lips together in a tight line.

The copier spits out a single, un-smeared picture and he reaches for it, already leaning away from her like he’s planning a great escape. That isn’t allowed and she grabs it before he can, setting it on the small table behind her and crossing her arms.

“What’s your problem, Hiccup?”

“Problem?” He blinks, long eyelashes adding to the innocent façade, “I wouldn’t say I have a problem, I think I just—the long and short of it is I met someone really…amazing, but I pissed her off before I even officially met her and for some reason she forgave me enough to go on a private tour with me and it felt—I don’t know, like we—but it doesn’t matter, probably, because then there was a murder. Except maybe it does matter because then we kissed and it was,” he’s so red he’s practically glowing but his frantic energy is dissipating with every word, like he’s exorcising himself of it, “and then we found another murder victim, together, which isn’t my ideal date or not date or…activity.”

“Mine either.”

“It’s not the association I really wanted, you know?” He winces but his chuckle is real, “but at the same time I don’t blame you if you look at me and see, you know, a modern times Grimborn murder re-enactment scene.”

“I don’t,” she looks at him a little too hard, taking in his open, nervous expression and the hope there that he’s trying and failing to put out. “You know, your problem sounds pretty similar to a problem I’m having right now.”

“Yeah?” He isn’t bad at pretending to relax, but his stiff upper body doesn’t fool her, “did me blurting it all out like an idiot help?”

“Maybe,” her small smile feels tired, “at least we’re on the same page.”

“That’s all I’ve been hoping for since you found this picture,” he points at his copy, “which is still amazing, by the way, I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”

“Just another thing wrapped up in Grimborn.” She shakes her head, “my apartment, my job, my…” She looks at him importantly, fumbling for a word that could encompass everything he just said and the way she feels when she looks at him. Excited and comfortable at all the wrong times.

“So we just don’t talk about Grimborn then,” Hiccup shrugs, shoulders forcefully easy as he leans back against the copier, knuckles white where his hands are gripping his upper arms.

“What else are we going to talk about?” Astrid pulls the original Enquirer out of the copier and folds it carefully on the table next to it, trying not to feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

She knows he doesn’t ignore advantages and this time it makes her hold her breath.

“We could talk about the fact that you like me,” his voice dips at the end, conspiratorial, and Astrid can’t shake the feeling that the papers are listening, adding information to their tightly stacked volumes and storing it for later. “I’m kind of still wondering how I managed that.”

“Who says it’s not your Grimborn knowledge?” She wishes he was wearing the hat. The hat makes him bold and winking and silly, an act she can act back at. He’s vulnerable in an unzipped jacket and band tee-shirt she wants to ask him about and it’s an invitation to be vulnerable too.

She usually clicks tentative yes on those, hoping people get it means no.

“I thought we weren’t talking about him.”

Astrid can imagine all of those stories in all of those papers, all the people largely forgotten and lost in their own environmentally controlled, ink preserving worlds, turning away out of a well-deserved kind of respect. She keeps their secrets legible after all, the least they can do is keep her secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a little intense,” she edges closer, finger messing with the copier buttons while she drags her eyes to his. Green even in the dingy corner of the room, soft and shy and locked on hers like he’s not going to let either of those things stop him.

“A little?” The corner of his mouth quirks into a quiet half smile, eyes squinting with that eternal curiosity that feels heavy and light and warm when directed at her. She could bring up Grimborn and re-direct it, but as convenient as that would be, she doesn’t want to.

“Most people want me to back off,” she tucks her hair behind her ear and watches him suppress a smile, “you don’t.”

“Back off? As in decrease the intensity?” He laughs, long arms flailing, hand brushing her arm and shrinking back, cautious and hopeful and jittery. “Never, why would—if anything increase it. More is better, right?”

She lets it hang long enough for him to get nervous, for the hope to condense into worry and indecision and the urge to open his mouth to keep convincing, “more intense then, is what you’re saying?”

“I umm,” he clears his throat, eyes scanning her face like he’s checking that she’s real and giving her reason to prove that she is, “wouldn’t mind. I welcome it, actually.”

Somehow, he still manages to be surprised when she grabs the back of his neck to pull him down to her, hands flailing and hitting the copier again when she kisses him.

Astrid will never admit to anyone, personalities trapped in hundred-year-old papers included, how many hours of sleep she lost not to thinking about murder, but to lamenting the fact that Hiccup kissed her before she kissed him. The cheek doesn’t count, that was impulsive and embarrassing and looking back with what she knows now, everything would be a lot less complicated if she’d acted on her full impulse then.

He wouldn’t have been stumbling on a body fifteen minutes later, for a start.

Kissing him first is better, she likes his shocked pause and sharp inhalation against her cheek before coming back to life with soft, careful lips.

It’s good for a lot of reasons that Hiccup recovers quickly from shock, but right now the only one that matters is his hands settling warm on her hips and pulling her closer. He kisses like he talks, meandering and endless, lips pressing trailing anecdotes along her jaw while she desperately wants him to get to the point.

The copier creaks and chimes when she leans harder against him, one hand in his hair and the other sliding under his jacket to feel the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. He feels stronger than he looks and his light grip on her hips feels teasing, half the story when she needs it all now. She nips at his lower lip to hurry him along and he manages to stumble while standing still, fingers digging into her sides for support at the sharp snap of breaking plastic behind him.

“Shit,” Astrid pulls back and Hiccup kisses down her neck, nose dragging along the collar of her shirt and making her shiver, “we’re breaking the copier.”

“I’ve fixed it before,” his breath is cool against the damp trail he left under her jaw and she closes her eyes, willing herself to pull back.

“Astrid is the one to talk about Grimborn with, it’s not really my specialty,” Fishlegs voice shatters the tension and she stands up too fast, straightening her shirt and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Hiccup is not as quick, staring at her with a dazed, open expression, lips kiss swollen and hair sticking up on one side. She grabs his hand and pulls him away from the copier, swearing when one of the plastic trim pieces clatters to the floor, the clips on one side snapped off.

“Fix it fast,” she shoves it into his limp hands, trying and failing to pat down his hair as another voice joins Fishlegs’s.

“Ah yes, Astrid, I’ve been waiting to meet her,” it’s accented and polite, but something about it sends a chill up Astrid’s spine that has nothing to do with Hiccup struggling to make the trim piece stay in place.

“Oh?” Fishlegs is defensive, again, and she’s really going to have to talk to him about that.

“For the investigation.”

“Do you have duct tape?” Hiccup whispers, but it’s too late as Fishlegs is coming around the corner with a tall man in a gray uniform that matches the sinister undertone in his voice. Hiccup thinks fast and leans back against the copier again, holding the trim piece in place and waving at the newcomers.

“Hey Fishlegs,” he says brightly, despite Fishlegs’s scowl, and then his voice drops flat and unimpressed, “Mr. Grisly.”

“I should have expected to find you two together again,” the man in gray holds out his hand and when Astrid shakes it, it’s icy, not even vital enough to be clammy. “Mr. Grisly, head of the Neighborhood Watch Force, I’ve been invited to help investigate the recent murders and I understand you were unlucky enough to encounter a victim.”

“Yes,” she resists the urge to wipe her hand on her pants when he lets go, “I gave my statement to the police.”

“Of course, I’ve read it.” His grin is as dead as his touch, everything animated about him condensed in his eyes. “You have an interesting perspective on all of these unfortunate happenings.”

Saying luck and fortune too many times too close together makes them sound like badly veiled intention.

“I wouldn’t say I have much of a perspective at all,” Astrid shrugs, tucking her hands in her pockets, “all of it is in that statement.”

“You were hear to ask about Grimborn,” Fishlegs cuts into the conversation and Astrid is surprised that she doesn’t mind his protective tone for once, “I can actually help you with that.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll be needing your help, not with the real Hiccup Haddock expert right here.” Mr. Grisly gestures at Hiccup with those waxy fingers and he raises his eyebrows, shifting against the copier with a scrape of plastic that would be funny and awkward in any other tense situation. Here though, it just sounds like a pin dropping during a stealth mission, a weakness on display to someone looking out for one.

“I wouldn’t call myself a Hiccup Haddock expert,” Hiccup laughs, deflecting, “I know myself maybe a five out of ten at best, you might want to talk to Officer Jorgenson about that one.”

“I was speaking of the Viggo Grimborn suspect Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” Grisly’s chuckle is gravel thrown through a window, all solid malice and sharp edges, “although it does inform the current case to hear how clueless you are about your own actions.”

“Not my actions so much as my intentions,” Hiccup blanches, shrugging like there’s some hope of pulling this situation back towards the casual. “And my reasoning. Basically my trajectory in life, but I’m pretty solid on my own actions. What do you want to know about Admiral Haddock?”

“I’m just curious about the connection.”

“There’s no connection, the original book is fiction,” he elbows Astrid for corroboration, “right? You’ve read it.”

“Bad fiction,” she agrees and Mr. Grisly smiles.

“My favorite. Can you recommend me a version?”

“Uh,” Hiccup looks at Astrid out of the corner of his eye, realizing he’ll have to move, and she tries to look casual putting her hand on the piece of loose trim. Her fingers brush a little low on his back when she does and she can’t hide her blush with a stoic expression so she just tries to avoid Fishlegs’s eyeline. “Sure, I know where they are in the library upstairs.”

“How helpful,” Grisly’s approximation of delight is more menacing for his dedication to it.

“Anything for the investigation,” Hiccup steps carefully away from the copier and looks at Astrid seriously for a second, “talk to you later?”

“I’m sure you will,” Grisly and Fishlegs say in unison with exact opposite intonation, Fishlegs’s arms crossed as he purposefully stands in the way and forces Hiccup to walk around him on the way to the stairs.

Hiccup and Mr. Grisly are barely out of sight when the other side of the copier trim pops free, waving in mid-air.

“And he broke the copier, again.”

Astrid sighs, taking the trim piece off and setting it on top of the machine, “to be fair, we both had a part in that.”

“He broke the copier,” Fishlegs raises an eyebrow, “and I told you to check out a study room.”

“Nothing happened, we were just…arguing about Grimborn.” She rubs the back of her neck, willing the heat to dissipate from under her hair.

“Right, that always gives me a hickey,” he looks pointedly at her neck and she pulls her hair forward to cover it.

“It won’t happen again,” she nods, “and he said he can fix it.” She doesn’t mention the duct tape comment, there’s no way that would go over well. They don’t even have scotch tape at their desks because glue and old documents is such a bad combination.

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” Fishlegs oversteps, yet again, but Astrid’s almost glad that someone finally asked. “You used to be so determined to get him away from you, what changed? And why does he have to be here so often?”

The last question dents her last clinging scrap of resolve and she lets it go.

“Has anyone ever thought you were a little too academic, Fish?” She tries out the nickname, letting this feel like friendship even though that risks more awkward questions.

He snorts, “there was a time in elementary school that I legitimately thought my middle name was ‘get your nose out of that book, young man’.”

“One second it was something to be proud of that I was the first Hofferson to go to college,” she shrugs, faking noncommittal even though that word has never applied to her, “but when I came back having learned things, suddenly I was uppity, disrespectful. Hiccup…he seems to like it when I’m right. He doesn’t even mind when I’m loud about it.”

“Here I thought we were bonding,” Fishlegs smiles, “I thought you were finally going to admit you’re just fascinated with the top hat.”

“You caught me,” she punches him in the arm and he winces, “come on, that did not hurt.”

“I barely know you Astrid, and I’m as sure that you are freakishly strong as I am that you aren’t uppity or disrespectful,” he rubs his arm and weighs that, “well, disrespectful to priceless collections of Brittanicas, maybe—“

“Shut up about the encyclopedias or I’ll hit you again,” the threat is empty and friendly and final, getting Fishlegs off of her mind and letting her wonder about Mr. Grisly with her full attention. She doesn’t hesitate as much as she would have thought before texting Snotlout, hoping for a little illumination, as he doesn’t seem very good at keeping his mouth shut.

Astrid (5:02pm): some guy calling himself Mr. Grisly just came by my work

He doesn’t answer right away and she tries to focus on work, but documentation isn’t really holding her attention after all that happened in the last hour. Especially knowing Hiccup is just upstairs with ostensibly the creepiest man she’s ever met while her lips are still tingling from that kiss.

“So this is the glamorous job that lets you afford your own place,” Ruffnut interrupts, strolling down the stairs and perching on the edge of Astrid’s desk, wrinkling the corner of an old shipping manifesto.

Seeing Ruffnut hasn’t brought on so much relief since that first night in her apartment when someone downstairs started yelling murder.

“My job is to keep stuff like this safe,” Astrid pokes her friend’s butt until she scoots off of the paper and then sets a heavy book on it to press the creases flat.  “And my apartment is cheap.  What’s up?”

“Tuff needed to drop off a check upstairs so I thought I’d come say hi, like the thoughtful and attentive friend that I am.”  Ruffnut’s smile says otherwise and Astrid sighs, still ultimately glad for the distraction. Her eyes were starting to glaze over trying to find a reason to name a stupid shipping manifesto for thirty bushels of apples as important in any way, especially when so many other things obviously are.

“You’re here to brag.” Astrid doesn’t expect the flash of frustration, bordering on jealousy, given that she and Hiccup have been on however many not dates by now and Ruffnut is the smug one.

“I was going to say gloat but brag works too,” she laughs, “also, I did forget to get his number so if you could help me out with that…”

“You’re telling me you never found a moment of pause to get his number?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, gloat is a better fit, I see that now.” Astrid’s phone rings, Officer Snotlout Jorgenson flashing on the screen, “speak of the devil.”

“Wait, why’s he calling you?” Ruffnut tries to snatch the phone but Astrid beats her to it, “he should be calling me.”

“Then you should have given him your number,” she picks up, too aware of Ruffnut leaning down on the other side of the phone to listen, “what’s up?”

“I’m not actually a weirdo who calls people, I just don’t want a written record of bitching about Grisly as long as I have to see his stupid face at work every day,” Snotlout starts, “what was he doing talking to you?”

“Just asking about the investigation,” Astrid glares at Ruffnut, turning her office chair away so to try and minimize the eavesdropping. It seems smart given she can’t trust Ruffnut not to run around threatening disembowelment. “The investigation that you’re calling about, the one with the current murders and I happened to find one of the bodies, so it pertains to me.” She drives in the point.

“Duh, Astrid, keep up,” Snotlout laughs and she grits her teeth.

“Not having a problem with that, thanks, but who is this Grisly guy?”

“Thought you were all caught up,” he teases but apparently thinks better of it and continues, “no but it’s probably good you know because Hiccup won’t remember not to antagonize those NWF fucks—“

“NWF?”

“Again, since you’re so caught up, I’ll pause and explain that Grisly douche is the leader of these pseudo-police assholes acting like they own the place because a few condo developers are paying him out the ass to keep the streets clean, because apparently public cops aren’t good enough for rich people.”

Astrid groans internally, remembering Hiccup mouthing off while trying not to remember his mouth.

“Well, I wish I’d known that a minute ago because he left with Hiccup—“

“Shit,” Snotlout sighs, “I love the guy but keeping him out of jail is a full time job.”

“Ugh, you guys bonding over your boyfriend being an idiot is boring,” Ruffnut groans, “give me the phone, I’ll ask for his number.”

“No,” Astrid shushes her, but it’s too late.

“Is that Ruffnut? Is she there with you?”

“No.”

“Give her your phone, I have to tell her something,” he pushes and Astrid rubs her temple.

“Is it your number? Because then I could stop being your go-between.”

“Nah, it’s about last weekend—“

“No, I’m hanging up now,” Astrid doesn’t wait for an answer before doing exactly that and turning back to Ruffnut. “Are you done gloating?”

“Since I can tell you’re done listening to it, sure,” she shrugs, “the gloating was mostly just a bonus anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted a ride home.”

That’s almost sweet enough to mute her annoyance and she starts to thank her for the offer and decline, but then she thinks of what Snotlout said and the hollow, manic look in Grisly’s eyes. The idea of him being in command of people doesn’t scare her, but it makes her nervous. She’s never been less sure that this whole situation is only going to get worse and she hates it.

“Sure, I’ll take a ride, I was just about to pack up anyway.” Astrid declines an immediate call back from Snotlout and texts Hiccup instead.

Astrid (5:21pm): how’d that go?

“Sweet, more time to get that number out of you,” Ruffnut grabs Astrid’s bag for her.

“Not a chance.”

[alexandriteobscuraarchive]

~Kala needs to meet Gray! (tower/bad end(?) verse)

((Ooooo~))

The elevator doors opened onto a floor that seemed to defy the structure of the building itself as green faded tiles and bloodstained concrete gave way to pristine marbled floors with brilliant stained glass windows stretching down the length of the walls. It had to be a different building surely—the place behind her (not to mention the person) had been nothing more than a fever dream and she’d somehow fallen asleep in this lovely church—

Ow.

Short, haggard nails dug into the skin of her arm briefly and the train of thought dissipated. This places was real—all of it was real—no matter how fantastical this building floor(?) seemed. And hadn’t she been summoned to this very place? Her strange routine had been interrupted by the doctor telling her she needed to briefly ascend in order to meet their his ‘benefactor’; a Reverend seemingly as mysterious and fantastical as the building itself.

The thought of the summons made the girl reluctantly start forward, the sound of her footfalls sounding like someone tapping on a teacup repeatedly despite her incredibly thin shoes. She marveled at the windows as she passed, wondering if the light streaming through them to color the floor was real or not. The further in she went the more attentive her senses became; especially her nose. An underlying smell was getting stronger—an almost sickly sweetness that reminded her of overripe fruit left out in the sun—and she couldn’t help but think about the Fae food she’d read about in books, the kind you didn’t eat or even touch lest you be trapped forever.

Eventually the hallway opened up onto a room dominated by a modest confessional. A waist level altar sat in between the two doors with lighted candles at either end and out of the two doors one stood open, the interior of the confessional lost in shadow. Was she supposed to go inside? A lump rose in her throat the more she stared into that disconcerting blackness.

And then that china tapping again as her feet propelled her forward, tap tap tap tap, one foot in front of the other, left right left right, helpless in the face of that holy void the girl first walked towards and then into it, the thickness of it like a shroud settling over her trembling soul. That smell was in here too, swirling around her ankles like a mist. She tried to mentally count her steps and found it impossible, tried to raise her hands and outstretch them to act as a safeguard from running into something and couldn’t. She tried to turn around and couldn’t, she tried to run and couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t—

And then the darkness parted onto a much larger room; not a confessional but a nave. There were more windows here and neat rows of pews on either side of her and in the center of it all stood a pulpit and beyond that a large seemingly archaic pipe organ. Almost as if on cue the instrument begins to play a melody, a thick and somber psalm that rattled the lovely windows and made the girl’s bones quiver underneath her flesh. She blinked and then squinted, silently willing her lackluster vision into focus. There was absolutely no way. There had to be a person there because there was no way the organ could be playing by itself, there had to be s o m e o n e—

Her concentration broke and she blinked, her eyelids suddenly unnaturally heavy and that smell from before coming back with an insistence. It clogged her nose and burned her throat as she forced herself to take a breath and fight to pry her eyes open.And standing there with his back to her and clad in velvet robes was a man. Had he always been there? He stood poised as he pressed the keys attached to the grand instrument and while a part of her wanted to call out to him and ask if he had been there just a second ago was the person whom had called her here—she felt it best to stay silent and did so.

Eventually the music stopped and the man turned with the lingering reverb of the music following him as he went—never mind that a key sharper than what he’d been playing rang out too, no never mind that—and spoke to her. His voice carried well, seeming to resound not only in her ears but in the center of her head.

“Come hither, child.”

She moved as if pushed, her feet carrying her forward until she stood directly in front of the other and while she had difficulty in raising her gaze to look at him properly he seemed to have no trouble.

“So you are Daniel’s new ‘project’. I can see that his obsession has yet to cloud his better judgement for thine eyes are still intact. A blessing, all told.” She wasn’t looking at him–couldn’t look at him, rather—but she could hear the smile in his dark, mellow voice just as sure as she could feel her eyes beginning to water as that smell from before revives itself with a vengeance and assails her. The smell was worse than the antiseptic that saturated the doctor’s floor; she could feel it absorbing into her skin, in her brain—-

A hand descending onto Kala’s shoulder—a cold and somehow impassive thing—made her jump and look up reflexively and now her breath caught in her throat for another reason. Perhaps she’d been under the doctor’s ‘care’ too long but the first thing her attention was drawn to was the man’s eyes and what she saw there made it feel like a mistake. What she saw was nothing—his eyes curiously blank and yet there was no doubt that this man could see. He was not blind—although that in and of itself would be poetic, for wasn’t the judgment of God both swift and blind?—and he certainly had no trouble seeing her for who she was. The sardonic smile on his lips told her so.

“Fear not my child. I am Father Gray and the church surrounding thee is mine refuge. I have summoned thee here to ascertain something—” He pauses as his hand falls away from her trembling shoulder only to point at her chest where her heart was busy slamming against her ribs. “—Daniel would not have brought thee here for no purpose, after all. Do you seek to ascend this holy tower, child?”

When no answer came—for her breath sat useless and paralyzed inside her chest—the man named ‘Gray’ didn’t seem to mind. His smile actually widened a little, the sharp angles of his cheeks perfectly accompanying the sharp teeth now bared at her pleasantly.

“Does the serpent’s tongue protrude from the maw of the lamb? Is thy innocent treachery the reason for thy silence? Does thy shoulders posses the untested, unbroken weight of angels wings or will thou crawl through darkness? Which heart shall be revealed to thee; the heart of a sacrifice or of an angel—ahh, no matter. All shall be clear when God wills it.” Now the Reverend gestures back the way she had come with a slender hand. “Run child, back to thine lab and thine jailer. Mayhap he’ll draw the wings from you yet and should thee need guidance this church is here…as am I.”

She didn’t need to be told twice and quicker than she could blink she was back in front of the elevator, its button locked in the ‘down’ position. She couldn’t stop trembling even as she stepped behind the latticework and drew it closed with numb fingers. The Reverend’s voice followed her, settling over her heart like a fog, a sickly sweet thing that would suffocate her as soon as she breathed just a little too deep.

[tremble-and-shake]

Unforgettable

A Bearded Jimmy Page one-shot (NSFW/NSFM)

November 1971

He called the day he returned from Japan, rather animated about the 8mm footage recorded during their stint in the Land of the Rising Sun.  I can’t wait to show you. You’ll come this weekend, won’t you? he had asked. Good, I’ll send a car.

“That’s about the lot of it,” Jimmy said as the muted footage came to an end. “What did you think?” She offered an embellished applause to quell his eager expression.

“You boys sure seemed to be enjoying yourselves, and Japan looks like such a lovely country.  But clearly no one has a steady hand for filming,” she put a hand to her stomach.

He frowned and touched a gentle finger to her cheek. “Are you really feeling a touch of travel sickness just from that?”  

“Oh, I’m exaggerating, but you don’t want to sit next to me on a plane, that’s for sure.”

He reached over to finger a switch and the machine’s loud whirring settled to a soft hum as the lightbulb cooled.  On the opposite wall the hazy glow from the projector dissipated, leaving a void on the bedsheet he hung as their makeshift movie screen.

“Having these cameras was good fun, really good fun.  Japan is a beautiful and fascinating culture, but it took some getting used to.”

“What do you mean?” She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat on her hands, legs kicking in curious anticipation.

“They are extremely respectful to what they’re listening to and think it might be disrespectful if they make a noise,” he said, lowering himself into a chair.  The video camera sat at the desk beside him. “It was sort of an eerie quiet, and so we started doing all these weird things, just goofing ourselves off, to fill the silence.”

She invited herself onto his lap. “That’s definitely different than the crowds here in the States.”

“Actually, you rowdy Americans could learn a thing or two.  Do you know how hard it is to play an acoustic set here?  It’s rather frustrating when-”

“Jimmy,” she said, cutting him off before he really got into it. “Your beard. It’s so much thicker than I remember.  Have you forgotten how to shave since I last saw you?”

“I admit I may have,” he laughed softly, thumbing his briary chin. Her nose wrinkled. “Oh, I see, you don’t approve?”  He pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck, his hand on the small of her back.  “You won’t be complaining when it’s down between your thighs shortly, my love, I’m quite certain of that.”

His beard bristled against her pale skin, his teeth nicking. At first it was gentle, just a tickle, but it quickly progressed to a sharper grate as he grew more hungry.  

“Remember the first night we met? You promised to dance for us before we left for the Rainbow,” he said between nips. “But then you and I, well, we got a little preoccupied didn’t we?”

A smile gingerly flirted across her lips as she pulled away and locked eyes, her fingers linked behind his neck. “I owe you, is that what you’re saying?”  

“I was just thinking how long it might be until I’ll see you again. I insisted on this detour, but Peter was right pissed about it. I don’t expect we’ll be back again for nearly a year.”  

Her expression grew plaintive. He had never promised fidelity, and she wasn’t naive enough to believe something so quixotic if he had.  But he did a damn good job of making her feel like the center of his affection: the international telegrams, the flowers.  He was so ardent like that.  And the time they spent holed up together in his darkened hotel room; day turned to night and back again before they even realized the absence of the sun in the first place.

“I know, darling, it’s a long while,” he soothed. “But you’ll help make tonight memorable, won’t you?”  His hands shifted to her bottom, spurring her to her feet.  He reached for the camera and she hesitated, but his steadfast gaze prompted her on. “Unforgettable, even.”

She cupped his face between her hands and thumbed his beard softly.  “Unforgettable, Jimmy,” she agreed. “Turn on the radio, would you?”

His cheekbones coaxed his eyes into crescents as a thin smile crept over his lips. He flipped the dial a moment, stilling when Paul Roger’s voice came pouring through, I said-ah, hey, what is this?  Now baby, maybe, maybe she's in need of a kiss…

“I think this will do, love, won’t it?”  She nodded through closed eyes, already letting the beat wash over her. All right now, baby it's all right now.

As the chorus picked up, so did her movements- slow and sensual- becoming more loose as she went on. She slipped her top over her head, tossing it to him with playful eyes.  But they still flicked timidly towards the camera now and again.

“You needn’t worry about the camera, darling. Just look at what you’re doing to me,”  he stroked his bulge through the trousers.  “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

She nodded and made a conscious effort to keep her eyes on him.  Her body kept its sway while her arms moved above and beside her to their own hypnotic rhythm.

Finally, Jimmy rose to his feet and took her face firmly between his hands. His gaze possessed her and his soft-shell lips fell open in awe.

“You are nothing,” he paused, then punctuated each word that followed, “short of remarkable.”  He kissed her like it was an act of worship, compromising her balance with his intensity.

With his lips still on hers, he guided her backwards and lowered her onto the bed, legs draping down over the side. He slipped her knickers past her knees then let gravity take them the rest of the way. Working her legs apart, he felt a slight resistance as he pressed the last few inches.  Only now did he break their kiss and step away.

He placed the video camera at the edge of the desk, carefully rearranging the angle multiple times. A pout furrowed through his bristled face, a disgruntled utterance followed. He adjusted the camera once more, his hands briefly framing it as if to compel it to hold its place.  Finally satisfied, a smile scampered across his lips.

When he turned around again, he found her legs nearly closed.  “Ah, ah, ah,” he chided. “I left you spread for a reason, love.”

“Is the camera still recording?” The slightest hint of reticence clung to her words.

“Well, of course. I’m not gonna stop the bloody tape now. We’re just getting to the good part, aren’t we?”  

“So, a pornographic film,” she propped herself up on her elbows. “Has that been your plan all along, Jimmy?”  He was relieved to find her tone uncertain, anticipatory even, but not cross.

“That’s beside the point, darling.  It’s really more of a- well,” he fingered his beard thoughtfully before a grin crept out from beneath the dark pelage.  “A personal memento. From you to me.”

She conveyed her agreement with a delicate brushing of her fingers against the back of his hand.  Then he knelt down between her legs, letting his fingertips graze along her inner thighs before finding the delicate hollows behind each knee.  

“You know how life on the road can be, love, don’t you? A thousand distractions one minute,” his lips hovered just inches from her already slick center.  The scratch of his beard against her thighs coupled with his heated breath only drew more wetness from her lips. “Unbearable loneliness the next. A travesty, really.”

She let out a sympathetic whimper, but her mind was focused solely on how to draw herself closer to his warmth. Longing to find a foothold, her fingers pawed at his shoulders, desperate for leverage he wouldn’t allow her to have.

Again she whimpered, no longer sympathetic but restive now.  “Jimmy, please, don’t tease me any longer.”

“Mmm, my darling,” his tongue drew across his lips, leaving them pink and glistening as the ones before him.  “You know why I need this film of you tonight?”

“No, Jimmy, why?” Frustration muddled her voice, growing wearing from lust.  

“Because I’m going to be bloody homesick for the taste of your sweet cunt,” he swept her legs over his shoulders and drowned himself in her sex.  

Her breath, which had been lying in wait, now billowed out in thick, heavy drawls as he kneaded her ass, fitting her body as tightly around him as he could.  In the viewfinder his dark curls sat at the center of the frame, with her ankles linked across his back and toes sharply curled.

“No, wait, I’ve a better idea, love.”

“Better than what?” Incredulousness echoed in her falsetto.  

“Mmm,” he sucked on her once more, reluctant to pull away. “You should sit on my face.”   Her brows pleated worriedly and he chuckled at her naivete.  “Well, not quite sit; straddle my face is more like it.  You’ll beg me never to shave again, darling, I promise.” He moved onto the bed and rested his head on the pillow, motioning for her to follow.  

Hesitant, she crawled up beside him. His nod was both a gentle encouragement and a demand.  As she kneeled over him, he shimmied down into position. “Use the headboard, love, you’ll need it.”

“The what?”  Before she could register his words, he began to lap at her with a wicked hunger.  “Oh fuck!” Her knees buckled and he gave a quick chortle as she fumbled to support herself.

A most delicious friction came when he wrapped his arms around her legs, goading her hips into a steady rhythm, one that she soon carried on without his insistence. It was impossible now to know where her wetness ended and his saliva began, but it didn’t matter.  His beard offered the perfect resistance as she kept sliding, forward and back, lingering where she needed the extra traction.  

Soon, he felt her thighs tighten beneath the spread of his palms.  As the heat swelled and pulsed within her she trembled, growing helpless against the gravity of the oncoming orgasm.  Her hips pitched forward but Jimmy carried her through to a breathless collapse.

“Oh my goodness,” she said, expelling an overdrawn breath.   

“Hmm, I’d say you thoroughly enjoyed that after all, darling, didn’t you?”  His lips angled into a grin as he lowered her down beside him, then worked the buttons on his shirt with deft fingers. There were damp circles beneath each arm, the fabric saturated, no longer the delicate gray of icy lilacs. “As did I.”  

His beard glistened now in the dim light- a obsidian glacé- and she blushed at the realization that her arousal had caused it. Keen to her embarrassment, he kissed her hard and purposefully.  He was steeped in her scent, but he wore it like a badge of honor.

“I love pleasuring you, darling,” he rubbed his nose on hers, an Eskimo kiss with extra whiskers. “But-”, as he spoke, her hands slid down to his pants, fingers tugging in each of his front pockets.

“It’s your turn now,” she finished his thought aloud, stroking him with one hand while the other worked the trio of buttons. “How do you want me, baby?”

Jimmy stood and removed the rest of his clothing, then laid back down.  He stroked himself slowly with one hand, the long fingers of the other beckoning her to come hither.  “On top.  I want you to ride me.” She cupped her breasts and straddled him, but he shook his head. “No, the other way. Ride me facing the camera.”

She paused for a second, then nodded as she registered the motive behind his preference and quickly righted herself.  She felt his length smooth and hard against her center and rubbed gently against it, moaning softly, while she waited for permission.  

“Go on, love,” his fingers skimmed the small of her back, then he gave her backside a sharp squeeze with both hands, before his hands settled on her hips like reins. “Don’t hold back now. Show me everything.”  

She sat up on her knees and guided him to her opening, sliding down gently, her mouth agape as he filled her.  He groaned, eyes lidding as she took all of him. She began slowly riding up until he nearly slipped out from her delicate pink embrace, then back down. Again. And again. Stretching her spine tall, her hands groped her chest like she was frantically searching for something in the darkness. Each time she felt his tip press against her inner wall, her head dipped back and she gasped for breath.

“Fuck, Jimmy, you feel so good.”  Her eyes had shut, relegating other senses to the forefront.

Her pleasure was mounting, as was the desire to feel him harder, deeper, faster.  A tight pressing on her hips revealed he had that same need, and was quickly growing impatient. When she picked up her speed he growled in delight, spreading her cheeks for a better view of her body plunging down to swallow him.  

“That’s it, love, keep riding me like that,”  his voice was gnarled with lust. “And rub that little clit for me.  Don’t stop until you come, alright?”

Her back bowed like a half moon, rising and falling to an internal rhythm that became more urgent with each frantic circle her fingers drew upon her body.  With her other hand, she clutched his thigh to steady herself against the rippling heat.

“Oh, baby, I’m so close,” she whimpered.

“Keep going, baby. I want to come with you,” he groaned, the pressure from her mounting orgasm bringing him closer to his own.  And then her spine curved and shoulders dropped forward.  Her feet, tucked against his side, were curled and shaking, moans dripping from her mouth in a deluge of breath.  

Just before her body stilled, she felt Jimmy fill her with his sticky warmth.  Fingers still cinched sharply at her sides, he let out a raspy sigh as if he still had moans caught in his throat.

His hands skid across her back, pulling her gently down and beside him again. “I love it so much more when we come together.”  

She wove her fingers into his beard as she kissed him, leaving them there even when their lips parted. “Me too, Jimmy.” For a few moments, they lingered like that: eyes locked and wordless.

“Just one second, love.”  He pulled away and his slight, pale frame padded to the desk.

“Jimmy, come on!” she bemoaned.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  Can’t we turn that thing off yet?”

“Almost, almost.  There’s one thing missing yet.”  Despite the abundance of facial hair, his smile was surprisingly guileless as he crawled back into bed, wielding the camera like a child prepared to taunt a sibling.

He held the camera at arm’s length above them, turning it round and round, alternating between goofy and grotesque faces.  When the lens closed in on her, she buried her face into his shoulder, shielding her profile with her palm.

“What’s the point of this, Jimmy?  Turn it off already. And don’t come in so close!” Her stifled giggles belied the protest in her voice.  And when he tugged her hand away from her smile, she let him.

“That was the point.  I needed your smile on there, too,” he switched off the camera and placed it on the bedside table. “Thank you. For this. I know the camera made you uneasy some.”

“You’re welcome, Jimmy.  It was a little awkward, but just at first.You’re the only who's going to see this though, right?”

“Of course, love. This is for my eyes only. Well, after the film editor puts it to reel.  He’s going to have to watch it through at least once,” he smiled cheekily, raising an eyebrow. “Unless, perhaps you’d like a copy as well?”

She scoffed, but when she realized he wasn’t quite kidding she paused.  He saw puzzlement wrinkle through her eyebrows- she was considering it-  but no words came off her waiting lips.

“Ah, you do, I knew you would.  Then you shall have one,” he slid his arm beneath her shoulders, pulling her in close. His beard tickled against her closed lids as he kissed her forehead. “And you are to watch it every day until I see you again. You're not to forget about me, darling, is that understood?”

*          *          *

Enormous thanks to @brownskinsugarplum76 for pitching the camera idea to me a long while ago, and to @firethatgrewsolow for the wonderful suggestions and helpful edits, for helping me feel that I’m not that crazy (or at least that I’m in good company when I am!) and for the overall guidance to make me to become a better writer! <3

And lastly a thank you to the talented writer who inspired this and helped me fall for this bearded fool in the first place.

*          *          *

You can find the rest of my stories here or search #writingbytremble. <3

[nautilusopus]

The Number I

Chapter 20: Vincent Damages Company Property

Sorry for holding this thing back for a couple weeks. We've finally reached a turning point and I had to make sure there were actually things happening in between the dramatic plot-twisty bits. Like plot to twist in the first place.

I had a bit of extra help in that regard -- apart from my usual crowd, I'd also like to thank @socialmimikyu and @terror-billie for helping me get my thoughts in order so the rest of the story past Chapter 21 won't be a disorganised mess. And thank you guys for commenting, because that does wonders for my motivation.

There are holes in the world, and spaces between numbers. Neither should exist. Cloud starts noticing them, and he isn’t the only one who has. And unfortunately for him, he’s both. (Contains graphic depictions of violence.)

The floor was immaculately clean these days.

There had been a time when it wasn't -- when it was covered in dust and dead insects from disuse. Stacks of paper from promising research projects that piled up in corners and on desks. Uniforms and equipment from new subjects. And, once upon a time, stones of all shapes and sizes and colours, and crumbs from home baked bread, and dirt tracked in by a boy that was small enough to squeeze into places he ought not to be.

All of it had been swept away long ago. The place had been cleaned and remodelled and sterilised, and not even rats would enter the mansion anymore, even long after it had been abandoned by the scientists. All that was left were the failed projects.

Something moved in the dark. There was a scraping, then a creaking of old, damp-riddled wood, and with a crash the lid of one of the coffins was knocked the floor and crashed against the Buster Sword lying on the ground next to it.

Vincent Valentine arose from the coffin. All this time he had listened. Heard the screams of defiance and anger, and then weeping, and the pleading to no one in the dark, and at long last the sound of resigned mantras, repeated one after another, and then of silence. He had listened, and he had done nothing. Until now.

Vincent had realised long ago that he could do nothing for them. It was yet another consequence of his failures. One by one, they were fed into the ravenous combine that was Shinra, and one by one they were used up and discarded. But the boy... the boy had been the first in years. The same child that had been so eager to feed himself into those whirring blades one day, and lo and behold, now he was here. Another testament to his cardinal sin.

And yet... there had been something strange about his eyes. He'd seen that look somewhere before. In fact, it had been one of the last things he'd seen before a bullet had ripped itself through his chest, tearing his old life away with it. The look those eyes had given him as he choked to death on his own blood had been full of many things, but one that they were utterly devoid of was regret. He had failed, and in the end, she had chosen this path. For better or for worse.

Lucrecia. The tissue grafts -- they were continuing her research posthumously.

This boy, the boy from the village that hadn't stopped bringing him rocks, that was now huddled in a dog crate and muttering nonsense to himself, that was half-mad already and twisted into a shell of whatever he used to be, was here because of him.

Vincent shut himself away after that, never to reemerge. There could be no atonement for this.

He would awake from time to time in response to noise -- always reminders of why he was here in the first place. Sobbing, rattling against the walls of the little metal box, incoherent rambling... he heard it less and less as time went on, until one day it ceased altogether, as did the visits to the storage room. Vincent hoped that by some miracle the boy had perhaps died in his sleep. He did not awaken for some time after that.

The sounds of a struggle dragged him back out of the deep slumber he had returned to. This was a larger group than he remembered.

"Hold its arms so I can get the legs in," said a voice. One of the lab assistants.

"I am holding. It can't move, I don't see what the big deal is."

"There's still the issue of involuntary muscle responses, and from this guy that could easily wind up taking your head off. So pay attention. I gotta get this all the way to the nerve."

A plaintive, muffled wail echoed through the room along with the voices of the lab assistants. He knew that voice. He doubt he'd be able to forget that voice. The boy was still alive?

"It's looking at me."

"No it's not, it just has its eyes open. Doesn't got any real brain function anymore. Just between you and me, this is why you don't stick a pressurised pump into someone's spinal column and fill it with mako, that's probably what did it. How can you be smart enough to grow a person in a vat and not know that?"

"The president gave him the grant money, man, I ain't gonna question it."

"Yeah, well, that's why we don't have grant money anymore, do we? Hurry up and finish the form so we can leave, it's freezing in here."

"Humanoid... purpose for archiving... organs?"

"Maybe education. It's not gonna make very interesting combat training exercise, and it's technically still alive. They'll probably want to keep it in one piece so they can figure out what not to do for the next time."

"Serial number... six seven dash two, Series three. Jenova Project."

"Project head?"

"Let's see... says here it's one of Crescent's, officially. Guess that explains why Hojo's so bummed out about the cancellation."

"Urgh. Freaks me the hell out. Her and the doc. Somethin' not right about her."

"Hey, you can't say it doesn't make sense though, right? Birds of a feather."

"Yeah, whatever." There was a loud click, followed by the sound of rushing fluid. "So... she's gotta sign off on it, right?"

"Yeah. She's in Midgar right now. The doc's planning on leaving too, so just give that form to him and he'll deliver it to her himself. Guess we're all out of a job now..."

"Yeah, guess so..."

Vincent barely heard the door close and lock behind him over the pounding of his own heart in his chest. Lucrecia was still alive. Head of the Science Department, from the sound of things. This boy -- Lucrecia had done this. To him. To both of them. And Hojo -- he was still involved in this as well? The first child, the one she'd had with Hojo, must not have made it to term. That must have been why the project was still running. The boy -- he was Series 3, it all made sense now. But Lucrecia couldn't have been his mother, could she? He had mentioned a mother quite frequently all those years ago. She did not seem like Lucrecia, and the boy looked nothing like her nor Hojo. This boy had simply been fallout.

It all made a sickening amount of sense. At least now he finally knew, so he could have some peace of mind.

But peace of mind did not return to Vincent. He waited days, and then what must have been weeks, and the men did not return for Series 3. They really were just leaving him here.

He was ill, it seemed. Severe mako poisoning, not to speak of whatever else had been done. If anyone would know how to treat this, surely it would be Lucrecia? She was in Midgar... still making choices like she had the first time he did nothing.

But Lucrecia was still alive. This boy was still alive. Surely something here could be salvaged out of this nightmare.

Vincent decided to leave his coffin.

His legs felt weak as he took his first step in what must have been at least ten years, but they held steadily enough, and he strode over to the wall and flipped the light switch.

The back of the room was lined with glass pods. Vincent did not want to think about what was in most of them, but resting in one of them, a light coat of dust covering the glass, was the boy.

It was a mistake to call him "the boy" now, he realised -- it was a much sharper face peering blankly back at him from inside the cylinder. But while his hair had grown out to his shoulders and solidified into a mat, he didn't seem to have much in the way of facial hair. Perhaps it was malnourishment? Every part of him looked chewed and diminished, and his skin was every bit as unhealthily pale as Vincent's.

He inspected the pod and found a small button in the side that seemed to open it. The fluid inside slowly drained, and Vincent watched impassively as the body inside slumped against the wall of the cylinder, being held up by the tubes coming from its mouth and nose. Vincent carefully disconnected them, and hesitated only briefly before removing the intravenous lines and the feed hooked into the back of his neck. If he had caused any damage removing them, it would be another thing that Lucrecia could fix.

The boy -- no, not a boy. And it wouldn't do to call him Series 3, either. He'd had a name that he said many years ago he would remember. Something to do with the sky. An old Nibeli one, translated into one succinct word for the sake of the Standard that everyone in Midgar spoke. Cloud. His name was Cloud.

Cloud's emaciated body fell to the floor. It appeared they had taken his clothes long ago, and he likely would not survive for long this far north, damp and naked. He pulled a couple of the Soldier First uniforms off one of the shelves and used one of them to pat him dry, then set about stuffing him into the second. It was far too big on him. Another pang went through Vincent at the thought, and he steeled himself against it. He must remain focused. It was unlikely he would have another opportunity for redemption.

The old wooden door had since been replaced with a steel one, requiring some sort of key combination to open. Vincent braced himself against the door and pushed, but it held firm. They had taken his gun from him long ago, and the two spells he had mastered during his time in the Turks worked strictly on people and not doors, and would be of no use here.

One of his sabatons clicked against something metal. The sword. His strength wasn't nearly that of a Soldier, but it was certainly much more than it should have been, and would do for his purposes.

He picked up the sword out from under the lid to his coffin and, with a loud grunt, rammed it into the door like a battering ram. It took another ten blows or so before the metal finally caved and the door opened outward, now crooked on its hinges. His arms ached, especially from disuse, but he held the sword steady and stood absolutely still, listening for the sound of boots on stone and cocking weapons. Someone must have heard that.

A minute passed, and no one came. Something stirred in one of the cylinders on the wall behind him. Vincent refused to look at it again, and dragged Cloud over to the door. Upon further reflection, he placed the sword on the magnetic harness Cloud was now sporting on the back of his uniform, then hefted them both onto his back. Until he could find a gun, it was better than nothing.

He had mastered some magic, but not much. He looked around the storage room for anything that might have been useful. Something was still shining in his coffin. The healing materia -- it was still there. Perhaps...? No, that wouldn't work. Mako poisoning, if that's what this was, was well beyond his capacity to heal with an unused materia. Still, he pocketed it anyway, just in case.

Starved as he was, Cloud was fairly light. It was just as well, since the sword weighed easily as much as he did, if not more. The mansion might be abandoned, but he was still stealing company property. Someone would notice eventually. He would have to move quickly.

Nibelheim was just as he remembered it. Perhaps his mother... no. If they had her child, Shinra would have tied up the loose ends involved. He himself had done as much during his employment. Besides, there was nothing she could have done for him. That's where Lucrecia would come in.

They both stood out rather badly, as he quickly found out. He gave Cloud an impromptu haircut with the Buster Sword's edge, and stuffed his own hair into the back of a coat he'd stolen from a guard station. Would anyone still recognise him? How long had it been since he had gone missing? Or the boy, for that matter? At least ten years, judging by how Cloud had matured. A lot could change in ten years.

The main problem was food. Cloud would not chew, and it took a fair amount of coaxing to get him to swallow. He'd managed to get him to swallow a bit of bread he'd already pre-chewed for him, but it came back up not long after: Cloud had apparently gone quite a while since eating any real food. He considered sneaking back into the mansion for a pack of glucose. He decided against it -- if they hadn't noticed Cloud was missing before, they certainly would now. He would have to figure something else out.

He wound up breaking into a clinic and stealing medical supplies when they reached the next town -- there was a military presence here too, if the massive remains of some sort of missile labelled Shinra Type 26 looming over the skyline was any indication. Vincent dimly recalled mention of a war with Wutai. Was it still ongoing? Was this meant to be used against them? He almost turned to ask Cloud before catching himself.

The expiration labels on the gelatin cups he'd purchased with the stolen money clued him in as to how long he'd been gone. Expires 09/58. Assuming these cups were new and would last about a year, he'd been gone nearly three decades.

The shock didn't really hit him. It didn't seem fully real. He supposed technically this was the "future". That explained how Lucrecia was in Midgar: it seemed they had finished building it. He wondered who was directing the Turks in his absence. Orwell, perhaps, or Avery. Assuming either one of them were still alive. It suddenly struck him that nearly everyone he knew could very well be dead. Thirty years was a lot of time for people to learn too much and become a liability, or for loyalties to waver too much for the company's comfort, or to simply catch a stray bullet at the wrong time. Nobody left the Turks except in a body bag. Or, in his case, a coffin. He was briefly amused by the mental picture of Avery covering up his death. She'd have addressed it to the wrong department, she always did...

He wondered if Cloud had any friends that were still alive. Had he actually joined the military, or had Shinra simply abducted him off the streets? He himself had taken part in such "scouting" expeditions at times, on the occasion when they couldn't simply find a poor, desperate family to volunteer. Eight to ten was the preferred age of most samples -- young enough to be impressionable, old enough to follow complicated orders. And small enough that no one cared when they went missing. The child mortality rate in the slums was quite high in his time. Nobody thought much of it if one or two children slipped through the cracks.

He never saw any of the samples again. Vincent had been a professional, though, and hadn't asked where they had gone. No Turk was stupid enough to want to know.

Next to him in the grass, Cloud made a noise of distress, his hands unconsciously groping for something. Vincent watched him for a few moments until he went limp again. He didn't seem to be responding to any stimulus that Vincent could see. His arm lay twisted at an uncomfortable-looking angle, displaying his serial number quite clearly.

Vincent carefully picked him up and moved Cloud's arm so he could more efficiently bandage it with some of the gauze he had taken from the clinic. One or two times, his hand would twitch, still grasping at nothing. Vincent ignored it. Cloud likely wasn't cognisant enough to feel pain or discomfort, let alone respond to stimuli. Any comforting he did would be lost on both of them.

He had grown quite a bit from the last time Vincent had seen him. It was difficult to tell what was him and what was Shinra's doing, though. He was still just as sickly-looking as he had been the first time they'd met. The strange bony physique he had was doubtless a product of whatever experiments they'd been running on him. His eyes were hollow now -- whatever had been there before, it was beyond Vincent's reach or help. Shinra had shaped his body, and the mako had claimed his mind, and Cloud himself seemed to have gotten lost somewhere in the middle of it all. He wondered who he could have been once, and how much of the boy he'd encountered in that crate steadily becoming more and more unhinged years ago was the person he was currently feeding gelatin and broth too. Not that it mattered much anymore.

Vincent wasn't sure if his own answers were any simpler. He was no longer a Turk -- Hojo had seen to that. Perhaps that just made him Vincent.

Who was Vincent? A dead man, he knew. A man that had failed Lucrecia. A man that wouldn’t fail a second time, though at what he wasn’t really sure. He could offer Lucrecia redemption, but only she could accept it and atone for them both.

Cloud had stopped swallowing, and Vincent didn’t have anymore success afterwards getting him to take more food. He couldn’t have possibly been full, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about that either. Another thing out of his hands.

He, Vincent, was still alive. And apparently Lucrecia had been as well. And so had Cloud. Perhaps it wasn’t so farfetched to assume someone else had returned from the grave.

A week later, and Cloud was still not taking solids. Vincent could not afford to break into a second clinic. It would give him away, if it hadn't already. He would need supplies. And money. He'd need employment on a very temporary basis, with someone that wouldn't ask too many questions -- it was highly unlikely that Shinra was looking for him specifically or expected his involvement in the first place, but he also couldn't risk leaving Cloud alone for too long. His pulse was weak and irregular, and his skin was clammy. His hands no longer twitched, reaching for something that wasn't there. He was practically dead already.

He would not have been the first, or second, or even third person Vincent had watched die. He likely would not survive long enough for Vincent to take him to Lucrecia, if she agreed to fix him at all. In the end, he'd be delivering him right back into Shinra's hands anyway. His eyes landed on the sword on Cloud's back.

It would be kinder, he knew. Whether or not Cloud was aware of it, he was still suffering. It was the principle of the thing. And it wasn't as though he would have much of a life to return to, should he recover. He would spend the rest of his days running. That was no way to live.

Vincent removed the sword from Cloud's back and levelled it at his neck. One cut. He wouldn't even feel the pain. No one recovered from mako poisoning this deep, and it was much better than letting him slowly starve to death or die of exposure. He would be free from Hojo, from Lucrecia, from Vincent's mistakes. Truly free, not out in the wild being hunted like an animal, a marked man for the rest of his life, even if they were to one day stop pursuing him. Vincent had often heard it said that one's face looked peaceful in death, but all anyone had looked like to him was a corpse. Cloud, with his eyes glazed and his face gaunt, was no exception. He sighed and adjusted the blade.

"Why can't I just pretend? Why do you care so much if I just pretend?"

The words came to him unbidden, and he frowned.

"Because it has never done anyone an ounce of good," said Vincent sharply. He realised he was talking aloud to no one. Another thing that wouldn't actually help. Cloud could not hear him.

"Why can't I just pretend?"

He still didn't know how old Cloud was. He could have been fourteen, or forty. His body was too warped, by chemicals and fear and time, for him to tell. Vincent knew he himself was fifty-seven or fifty-eight. He might not look it, after all these years, but he felt the age somewhere very deep. It had settled into him and wrapped itself around his bones, sinking into the fingers that held the sword above Cloud's neck.

Vincent put the sword back down. He was perfectly capable of pretending. He was going to pretend Cloud was awake right now.

"It gains us nothing. You being alive does not serve you any. Neither does my insistence upon talking to you. It's purely for my benefit, in order to come to terms with my thoughts."

Cloud said nothing, as expected.

He had skills he could use. A few mastered spells, though it was likely only fire would be useful to him here. He couldn’t take any jobs that wouldn’t be extremely temporary, both for Cloud’s sake and his own; the longer he was tied to an area, the sooner people would notice he was there. People were not yet asking questions about Vincent Valentine. He did not want them to start.

So, what sort of work was available for former Turks that had avoided the usual method of retirement? Most of them wound up as assassins, most likely. Or mercenaries. Once a Turk, always a Turk, he supposed.

He began picking up small jobs -- a day or two as a porter on the Corel river. That had been one of the first shocks of many -- Corel was gone. He’d expected an economic decline, of course. Coal couldn’t begin to compete with mako in price or efficiency. But Corel was gone. Turks gone. Wiped off the map by Soldier from the looks of things. The bustling little coal town he’d seen pictures of was forgotten and unspoken of.

Phones were portable now, he’d learned as well. He didn’t see much point -- any time one would be away from home long enough to necessitate a portable phone would be long enough for the battery inside it to die anyway.

President Shinra was still alive and still in power. That one was a bit of a surprise, if only because he’d expected the man to have a coronary long before now. Perhaps the science department had perfected biosynthetic organs by now. He drummed the metal fingers of his false hand against the floor of the boat he’d stowed away on -- perhaps they’d be able to grow him a new hand. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d lost it in the first place. He wasn’t sure if it would help if he did.

That was how he made ends meet from week to week: small jobs. He had to be in and out and gone in no longer than a week. Cloud began to put on a bit of weight, but he showed no signs of waking. Little by little, they made their way across the wilderness, and little by little Vincent saw things that were familiar, and things that were different, and things that perhaps had always been that way, but he had simply never bothered to look before.

Not for the first time, he wished he could ask Cloud. Perhaps he should have asked more questions when he had the chance. But then, he hadn’t wanted to know back then.

“If you felt like saying something, now would be an excellent opportunity to start,” said Vincent one day. He had propped Cloud up against a bundle of hay in the barn he’d snuck into. The birds -- chocobos, mostly, with a few aggressive swallows -- were watching them both warily.

“You must admit, there is a certain irony in risking one’s life for someone unable to appreciate the act nor the selfishness of the motivations behind it,” he added.

Cloud said nothing, as usual. Vincent sighed and sat down by the hay next to him.

“I did not care for your visits,” Vincent continued. “I do not felt they accomplished much.” He set about the task of removing his metal hand. Now that he intended to sleep -- truly sleep, not enter a state of prolonged hibernation, he’d found it was rather uncomfortable to have it on during the night.

He stared at the stump that remained of his forearm. He could dimly recall pain. That didn’t really surprise him. And a lot of yelling. And a piercing agony through his arm that seemed to be spreading, and then blissful oblivion.

“Although,” he added, “perhaps I am not without blame myself. If I had been more interest in dissuading you, we would not be here now.” He leaned back against the hay, feeling that strange heaviness building up in his bones again. “It seems my lacking skills as a conversationalist have caused more than a fair bit of misery.”

He looked at Cloud again. It was strange to see him so quiet now. Orwell had always been rather chatty in the beginning. After they'd had to dispose of Yang to prevent a security leak he went quiet. Everyone went quiet in the end.

“Of course,” said Vincent, “you cannot hear me now. This conversation between us is as pointless as the first thirty. You might not have listened then either, even when you could.”

One of the chocobos squawked at him, raising its head crest in warning. Vincent gave it a look.

“And so, here I am, a man that should be well into retirement, peddling my skills as a mercenary,” he said. “That is the hand fate has dealt me.”

He put Cloud to sleep with a quick spell. It was difficult to tell if he was actually resting. This was easier. Vincent wondered if he still dreamt.

He kicked a bit of dirt over their fire and watched it sputter out.

“We are simply what the world makes us, Cloud. No more, no less.”

Vincent limped his way up the staircase, the body draped over his shoulder unwieldy and making each step grind further into his knee. One of the MPs had managed to get the drop on him with a baton, and while it wasn’t broken, he could feel something grinding against something else that had no business grinding against anything in the first place. The gun he’d stolen was clutched tightly in his other hand. An assault rifle. Inelegant, but better than nothing.

There were more than a few bullets lodged in his abdomen by now. Vincent may have been a former Turk, but that was before thirty years of inactivity and the body he'd been carrying over his shoulders had dulled his skills and slowed his movements. He could heal, he knew, but he wasn't sure if there was a limit to it. He may have died before, but he was certainly alive now. Alive and mortal.

He heard the sound of a pistol firing, and Cloud let out a sharp gasp. He'd been hit. Vincent quickly ducked down a hallway by the staircase leading to the sixty-eighth floor.

It was just a graze, luckily. A gash on his leg that was already closing up right before his eyes. He tore off a bit of his cloak and quickly wrapped it anyway. There were already voices approaching them from down the hall, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted this close.

If he had been a bit less focused, perhaps he would have paid more mind to the fact that Cloud had made a noise at all.

Still, he paused outside the door of the stairwell, the ID card in his hand hovering by the reader uncertainly. There was a very good chance he wouldn't come back out of this door. Cloud might not either. Of course, that wasn't really much of a tragedy. Cloud was practically dead anyway. He would either recover or he wouldn't. And he himself... he was a relic. There were still Turks around, most likely, but the world did not need Turks. The world did not need him. He and Cloud were both relics, forgotten in a basement for too long to have any place besides the one carved out for them there. An old man lingering around older sentiments. A boy who had long since missed his chance to ever pursue newer ones. It wouldn't really be such a terrible loss for either of them.

Still, he supposed he must try. Lucrecia still had a place.

Vincent swiped the card and watched the door retract with a quiet humming noise. He adjusted his grip on Cloud and forced his knee to carry him up the stairs.

There were about twenty guns trained on him all at once the minute he set foot in the lab. He took out two right away as he turned the corner, scrambling for cover behind a desk. A third was close enough to knock out with a quick sleeping spell. That left twenty... at least until backup arrived, at which point his death warrant was signed anyway. He shoved Cloud further under the desk and risked a quick peek at the room around him.

Seventeen guards, with likely some higher ranking military personnel among their number. Five scientists that appeared to be scrambling for cover. Vincent recognised two of them.

He forced his breathing to slow. His ears were already buzzing from the sound of unshielded gunfire.

He heard something behind him and quickly flattened out on his stomach in time to shoot the man that had been sneaking around on his blind side with the rest of the cubicle. Sixteen left.

He couldn't carry Cloud with him, but couldn't leave him alone either. He doubted they'd target him given he was still drooling onto the floor, but he wasn't willing to risk the possibility that he could be wrong. Unless -- he could have sworn his eyes moved to follow him as he crept away along the wall to peek around the corner. No time to check for sure.

He encountered another two trying to flank from the front now that they knew he was headed around the other way. They were only MPs. Vincent was a former Turk. It wasn't really fair. Fourteen.

Controlled, deliberate, methodical. Two in the torso, and one in the head. Thirteen, then ten, change magazines, then eight, then seven...

There were noises. Things moving beyond the loudest silence. Something stopped to listen to the Other that were noises that were not the loudest silence. Not him. He was him. He was I. I am.

A loud crack sounded in Cloud's ear, making him wince in pain. It was too loud here. It was quiet before. He wanted to go back to the quiet. The noises around him began to drown it out. His eyes focused on something blurry.

White. Blurry white. And grey, and something red and black and brown that danced around him. He feebly reached for it.

The dancing stopped. He realised something had been at his back only when it was pulled away. The blurriness in his vision receded with the fog and the silence, and he could hear voices.

"...did you get here?"

"What have you done? What have you done, Lucrecia?"

The second voice... he knew that voice. Everything was a blur, not just his vision -- he couldn't seem to focus on anything but the floor beneath him, and the voices above him, which kept getting louder and louder.

"What reason could you possibly have to come back here?" A third voice. An icy, sticky voice, sharp and intent and unforgiving. Cloud hated it, and loved it, and a powerful hurt flared up in his chest. "You were a clever man. I'm sure you know how this will end."

Hojo. He hadn't been good enough for him. He could never be good enough. They'd hurt him because he wasn't good enough. He shivered.

"Behind me," said the second voice. "I brought him for you."

"The Series 3 prototype was discontinued six months ago," said the first voice. Soothing, twisting, indescribably beautiful, profoundly hungry, reaching into parts of himself that called for something he had no name for. Part of him.

Director Crescent. He'd dreamed of her touching him, the way Ma once had.

Ma... the village... Sephiroth... it was all gone now... everything was gone...

"Listen to yourself," said the second voice. "I implore you -- was this the world you wanted to create? You both set out for the betterment of mankind -- he's led you down a path much like your own in feature but unlike yours in virtue. He may have chosen, but you --"

"I thought I made my choice clear, Vincent. I thought you knew that as well."

"Your son, Sephiroth, surely --"

"Vincent... Sephiroth is dead," said the Director.

"And you would condemn another to that fate?"

He knew that voice. Cold and rough, like stone under stone under dirt and snow and frost. Magic rocks. A companion in the dark.

The Pale Man.

Cloud's eyes fixed on the shape above him -- the Pale Man was here. The Pale Man was with him. And the others -- he was real? He was real. The Pale Man was real.

"I set out for the betterment mankind, and Series 3 was a stepping stone towards that goal." Director Crescent was looking at him coldly now. He wanted to go to her and the Professor, but he couldn't move. The Pale Man was still standing between them.

"You were always a hopeless romantic, Vincent. We both know why you came here," said the Director.

"Is it is such a crime, that I believe you are worth saving?" said Vincent.

"There is nothing to save us from," said the Professor sharply. "And certainly nothing you could provide deliverance from in the first place. You should have remained in storage. Goodbye."

The sound of weapons cocking echoed around them. He couldn't move. He was trapped in his own body, and he was useless, and he couldn't move, and the Pale Man -- Vincent, after all these years, he'd been there for him, and he, Cloud, was still as useless as ever --

The world bent. The people around them seemed to refract and waver like a passing reflection. The loudest silence howled around him, impossibly loud, and the ground beneath him felt as though it were about to break at any moment and let it all in. Cloud's hand spasmed, desperately reaching for Vincent, who seemed to be a million miles away and right in front of him.

Vincent was consumed in a wall of flames. It happened almost instantly -- one minute he was standing there, convulsing, and the next he was crumpled on the floor, spasming intermittently, ragged screams quickly trailing off as what was undoubtedly spellfire rapidly charred his flesh. A moment later he stopped moving entirely.

The Pale Man was gone. Everything was gone. The Pale Man -- he saved him. He saved him, and he was gone, because Cloud hadn't done anything, and he was gone and he was real and he wasn't alone in the dark and he was gone and the pale man was gone and ma was gone and he was alone and he had never once been held or wanted by the pale man the director the professor all gone it was all empty empty empty empty empty --

There were many things Cloud remembered about that day. He remembered the hands, shoving him and Vincent's charred corpse into a disposal chute in the lab. He remembered it all being too much. He remembered falling, further and further, his already limp body impacting against metal and concrete, and still there was so much further to fall, and knowing there was nothing in the world that had ever wanted him, Series 3, a failure, alone, broken, who ruined everything he touched. He remembered the other things that had been thrown out all around him in Sector 2, about not knowing where the Pale Man's -- Vincent's body was, so that maybe once he might hold it, and know that something real had wanted him, Cloud, that the something was alive. He remembered the rain leaking down from the plate below, splashing onto his face, creating mud that he felt himself sinking into. He remembered screaming and screaming and screaming, and not knowing how to stop. He remembered understanding that no one could ever want Cloud or even Series 3, that no one would miss them, that the world moved further and further away the more he realised it, and that soon enough it didn't seem real, and then soon enough he wasn't real either. He remembered lying there, the water pooling up around him even as he drifted off into unconsciousness. Some time later, perhaps days, perhaps a week, he remembered a pair of rough, work-worn hands holding him, pulling him close, and moving him out of the mud garbage piled up around him, and carrying him to a little run down dive bar in the slums.

The one thing he didn't remember was the look of confusion on everyone's face in the tower, from the guards to Hojo to Lucrecia herself, because none of them had actually fired yet.