#i have to hold shift until i press the key i want the accent mark on.. like this oné works nomrally but im gonna have to see if thers

[tears-of-boredom]

i think the way subtitles should be done, is when the dialogue is supposed to be understood by the viewer, it's translated into the language of the subtitles. but when the dialogue isnt supposed to be understood, or is intended to just be considered general "foreign language", they should write it out in the language that they are speaking in.

like, okay, im writing english subtitles for a finnish movie, i dont think meaningless small talk between some random french background characters who are not the focus of the scene should be translated. but it should still be subtitled. so instead of the captions reading like "Where is he?", id write "Il est oú?". because i consider dialogue like that to just be a fun addition if you happen to know the language. like that one finnish girlie in black widow who was not meant to be understood beyond "she's not from around here".

[karomate]

High Ground - Olli Matela FF Part 7

Remember how I told y'all yesterday I wouldn't post a chapter today? Guess I tricked myself there a bit. Today is Switzerlands national holiday. Which means firework and my cat will be scared. So I will stay home, write probably some more and take care of my cat. lol.

And now enjoy and lemme know if you liked it.

P.S. once again the chapter is a bit longer.

_______________________________________________

After Olli came back out the shower, Sara thought he looked very handsome. Like he always did. He was wearing a black button down and simple black jeans. “Looking good there handsome”, she said and walked over to him, to give him a short kiss. “I only tried to not look like a himbo next to you”, he admitted and pulled her closer to him to start pepper her face with kisses. She laughed and pushed him softly away from her. He was just so unbelievably cute she almost couldn’t handle him. “So. What do you think. Should we go and buy some liquor so the party will be more up to our taste?”, he asked her smirking. She also started to smirk and nodded her head. So out they went to the next corner store, to buy some harder stuff than beer, which Tommi probably already had at his house.

They decided to get themselves some good old cheap whiskey and because Sara was a big fan of it some Aperol. After they bought their stuff it was already time to go to Tommis place.

After they arrived no one questioned why they came together. Sara actually expected one or two side remarks, why they arrived together and already made sure she had an excuse. Gladly she did not have to use a single excuse. She would have hated to lie to the guys. “Hi guys!”, Sara greeted them with the most genuine smile she had in a long time and even pulled them all into a hug, which surprised not only her but them as well. “I brought Aperol!”, she claimed and held the bottle up high. They cheered for her and Tommi took the bottle to the fridge. “So who allowed you to look this good, madame?”, asked a beer holding Joonas and smirked at her. She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the cute man in front of her. “You’re one to talk. Looking all hot and fluffy here”, she answered him and motioned for him to a little twirl for here. He obliged and turned around in a circle for her and even threw a pose in there, which resulted in all the people laughing. “Dork”, she laughed at him, and asked Tommi where his fridge was. He pointed to the kitchen and she and Olli made their way inside, to grab drinks for themselves. “How am I supposed to resist you?”, he mumbeled low enough for only her ears and smirked when he noticed her blush. “Don’t then”, she winked, after she gained her confidence back, and left a dumbfounded Olli back in the kitchen. Two could play this game, she thought and sat down next to Tommi, who was sitting on a bench. They were right, when they said he looked like a teddy bear. Like there was probably no one softer in this garden than he was.

Olli also came back out and had to his disappointment noticed that there was no free space next to his angel. A little bit pissed he sat down next to Niko, who to his surprise noticed the shift in Ollis face. “Don’t be pissed, just because she gets along with Tommi”, Niko whispered so only Olli could hear. Olli was surprised. Was he this obvious? “I am not pissed”, he tried to defend himself, which resulted in Niko letting out a snorting like laugh. “Sure buddy and I am the queen of England”, he joked and hit Olli on his shoulder. There was no one who could fool Niko. He always noticed everything. “Oh! I am sorry your highness! Can I bring you something to drink? Would you like to have your corgis in the same garden as you!”, Olli mocked in a british accent and even intended to do a bow. The others in the garden were surprised but couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you doing Olli?”, Aleksi asked while Joel was holding his stomach from laughing so hard. “Niko said he was the queen of England. I only wanted to be a good servant”, Olli said and tried to subtly wink at Sara. But of course Niko had to notice. Once again! Olli decided that keeping him and Sara a secret would maybe not be hard in front of the other boys, but Niko could turn into a problem.

They were all laughing and enjoying themselves. Alcohol was there and they all started to feel a bit light headed. Sara made her way to the kitchen, to go grab her and Niko another beer. She only did it because Niko tried to act cute when he asked to also bring him one. She couldn’t say no to the long haired man. She didn’t notice that Olli followed her into the kitchen. He also drank a few beers and was feeling tipsy. “Angel. When are we leaving?”, he asked her and trapped her between the counter and his body. “Why would we leave? And why would we leave together?”, she teased him and tried to get away from him. She didn’t really want to get out from this position, but it was fun playing with him, as he was getting impatient. “We will leave together. You’re going to sleep at my place today”, he decided for her and put his head on her shoulder. It seemed like she didn’t have any other choice but to stay at his place. “Gladly”, she admitted and pulled him into a short kiss, which fast turned into a full make out session in the middle of Tommis kitchen. The thought hit Sara like a brick, and she pulled away from him. Olli didn’t really feel that and started to kiss her neck roughly, which probably will turn into a mark. “Babe”, she whimpered and he stiffened. “If you say that again, I will have to take you home this instant”, he growled into her ear and pulled away from her, to look her in her eyes. Sara noticed that his eyes darkened quite a bit. “Just one more hour and then we’ll leave”, she whispered and gave him a short kiss, grabbed her and Nikos beer and went back outside to the other men.

Olli had to collect his thoughts and calm his racing heart down in the kitchen. He didn’t know he would react so strongly to a single word this woman said. But he clearly did. He could feel his heart in his throat and his hand were shaking a bit. He went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face to calm himself even more down. After he calmed down a bit and his heart wasn’t beating like a metronome at 189 he went back to the boys. Of course, Niko looked at him weirdly and even smirked a bit. “Were you the one who bruised the princess a bit?”, Niko whispered in Ollis ear. He looked closely at Saras neck, and he saw it too. There were really small bruises starting to form. Olli looked down, so Niko wouldn’t see his grin. “A gentleman never tells”, he winked at his friend and took a sip from his beer. Only 50 more minutes until he and Sara would leave.

After the most painful 60 minutes Sara slowly got up from her place. She was a bit wobbly. Maybe she shouldn’t have drank that Aperol. But man was she feeling amazing. “Boys. Tomorrow is a long day. I will head back to the hotel now”, she said. “Don’t be late to rehearsal tomorrow, and do not be hungover. There were never any good songs made hungover”, she lectured them professionally and gathered her belongings. “We probably all should head home”, Joel said and got up as well. Everyone expect Tommi, cause it was his garden, followed his lead and they also gathered their belongings.

After everyone said their goodbyes, they started to head in the right directions home. Olli made sure that no one looked at him an Sara and pulled her to a wall and pressed her softly against it. “That was longer than an hour”, he whispered between kisses and tried to get even closer to her, which was physically impossible, as they were already really close together. “But now you got me”, she whispered back and put her arms around his neck. After two more minutes of them just kissing, Olli pulled away from her, took her hand and started to drag her at a fast pace to the direction of his apartment. He was getting impatient, Sara noticed that.

Olli never arrived at his apartment faster, and he couldn’t even be bothered to wait for the elevator. He pulled her straight to the stairs and dragged her up there as well. He needed three tries to get the key in the hole, but when he managed he pulled Sara straight to his bedroom. “I know a few hours ago I said I wanted to wait a bit longer, but by god. You drove me crazy today”, he admitted an pushed her to lay down on his bed. It was actually Saras first time seeing his bedroom. “Did I?”, she smirked at him and watched as he unbuttoned his shirt. He just nodded at her, unable to say a word.

He finally managed to get out of his button down and crawled on top of her. He started to kiss her passionately. Slowly he put his hand on her ribs. Suddenly too shy to make the next move. She pulled him closer to her, which encouraged him to slip his tongue in her mouth. They were so engaged in each other, that they almost didn’t hear Ollis phone ring, which was still in Ollis back pocket. “Ignore it”, he whispered as he noticed her moving away. “It could be important”, she argued. She was drilled to always answer her phone. At all times. “That’s Nikos ringtone. It will probably be about a song he found online”, he tried to persuade her, but Sara was stubborn and looked at him wit a -pick it up- look. He let out a deep sigh, pulled his phone out and lie down next to Sara who was trying to fix her dress. “I am really sorry man. But could you tell me your Netflix password?”, Niko did sound guilty on the other end of the phone. Olli almost couldn’t believe his ears. Was Niko for real? He had the most beautiful girl in his bed and right now his friend had to call him and ask for his fucking Netflix password? The mood was ruined. “It’s Fuckyou1234 with a capital F”, he said and hung up the phone.

[northcarolinanative]

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗  /  𝙲𝚑 𝟷𝟷

Chapter 11: Surprise 

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I posted a chapter. My bad. I also am trying to figure out my take on the season’s loose ends, which is hard because I have a lot of ideas, but have no idea how to execute them haha. Thank you all for the large amount of support, it means the world <3. As always Requests/ asks/ and DMs are open:) 

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. Her and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up?  Full Collision Masterlist // (I just made it so please let me know if there are Issues:))

Pope quickly hurried JJ outside and down to the dock to cool off. I heard a small part of their conversation as they left. Pope told JJ that Rafe couldn't “Rot in a jail cell if he was dead.” That’s what I wanted. Rafe looked bad, and it served him right. He was a terrible person. He ran off my brother, and even his own sister to get away with his crimes. 

“So you were going to the Country Club to look for a job?” Kie questioned. She began to pack up the first aid kit. Still standing beside me, but she didn’t look up in my direction. 

“Yea” I swallowed, “Umm, I mean I’m gonna need money to keep things running over at the Chateau. I’d rather be here than back on the mainland. Mom has trips planned all summer, so it’s either on my own there or on my own here.” I finished with a sarcastic laugh. 

I saw Kie’s expression soften. She walked around the desk that I was still sitting on. When she opened the drawer it screeched so loud that I felt my eyebrows scrunch together. “Sorry,” Kie said. She walked over and leaned against the wall in front of me facing the desk. “One of the Waitresses, Vannessa, quit this morning, so there’s an opening.” She paused and looked at me for a reaction. “And If you can handle those jerks at the Country Club summer after summer I’m pretty sure you can handle a few tourons.” She joked, causing both of us to laugh. “I know it doesn’t begin to make up for what I said the other day at the Chateau, but I am really sorry.” 

I smiled in her direction, opening my arms. She made the short stride to the desk and we wrapped each other in our arms. We pulled away shortly after. “So what do you say? Wanna work at the infamous Wreck?” She smiled and winked in my direction. 

“Yes, I’d love to.” I smiled. I knew her father wasn’t too fond of her friends, so I was hoping that he would be just as on board with this as Kie was. 

“Okay, so I hate to do this to you but you’ll have to start pretty soon, the business has picked up since the ferry started running again. Follow me.” She said, leading us into a back room. “Here are two shirts, if you need more just let me know, and an apron and a book, you can leave those in the back room if you need to though.” We walked out into the dining room where Pope and JJ were standing by the door. “Got it?” Kie said with a smile.

“I think so,” I said looking at JJ who was poking at Pope, annoying him. I was glad Pope was able to calm JJ down from his short temper. I saw Kie look between JJ, who was now smiling like an idiot at me, and me, but she didn’t say anything. “So you’ll call when I get my first shift?” I questioned. 

“Yes ma’am.” She faked a professional tone, causing both of us to laugh. “Should be in the next few days.” 

“Alright. I’m gonna head home, today has been long enough, and its barley even the afternoon” I said rolling my eyes. “I just wanna relax now.” I gave Kie a sheepish smile and waved, walking over to the boys.

Pope seemed to get the memo as he waved to me. “Hope that cheek gets better, fighter.” He laughed before going to join Kie. 

“JJ make sure she ices that” Kie yelled to the two if you. JJ just held up two fingers and jokingly saluted her as we walked out the door. 

The short walk through the parking lot to my car was silent. Heavy, like everything, seemed to be these days. I tried to put my key in the door, but it was proving difficult. I had not realized how bad I was shaking until now. JJ noticed my hesitation before walking over to my side. I held my hand out in front of me, extending my fingers to see just how bad my hands were shaking. JJ reached up and grabbed my shaking hand in his. I looked up at him, scrunching my eyebrows together. 

“Why don’t you let me drive? You’re still quite shaken up Y/N.” I just nodded and placed the keys in his open hand. A smile formed on his face as he handed me the white paper bag in his hand. 

“What is this?” I asked. I didn’t see him holding it earlier. 

“I may have snuck some food when Mr.C wasn’t looking.” He smiled, sending me a wink before nodding at the car. I walked around to the side and got in. I sat the warm food on my lap. The engine sputtered as it finally turned over and started up. JJ and I both laughed a little, relieved that it started. 

Soft Reggae music filled the car, playing off the local radio station. The windows were rolled down, letting the salty air blow through the air. I looked over at JJ and the sun was hitting his face in a way that, not to be dramatic, looked angelic. At this moment things felt almost normal. It felt as if Rafe and Ward Cameron didn’t exist like John B would be waiting for us at the Chateau like Dad would be there with him. JJ pulled me from my quickly spiraling daydream, “I got you chicken tenders because I know you have the taste of a five year old.” He laughed. 

“I prefer the term ‘sophisticated palette,’” I spoke in a fake posh accent, instantly regretting it. “I’m never doing that again,” I said as we both laughed. JJ and I crossed the bridge taking us back over to the cut. “Kie gave me a job at The Wreck,” I said. 

JJ looked my way quickly before turning his eyes back toward the road. “So y’all made up or?” JJ trailed off. His limited knowledge of girls and their arguments showing. 

I laughed softly before continuing. “Yes,” I paused. “Don’t get me wrong I am still upset that she wasn’t supportive from the beginning, but she did apologize.”

“I’m glad she did. Honestly, you bring out a soft side in her. I think I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve heard of Kie apologize to anyone” JJ laughed. 

“Did you tell Pope about last night?” I asked. 

“Oh, I didn’t think that they would take it well.” He said a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. 

“Okay good. I was talking with Pope about how he was feeling, and I just don't want to give them a false sense of hope, ya know?” I looked out the window at the trees that lined the road. 

“Give them a false sense of hope?” JJ questioned, but quickly laughed. “Right, you were talking about the map and John B.” His face turned bright red. 

“Yes JJ,” I said smiling, realizing that he thought I was talking about the new dynamic forming between the two of us. . “I hope that you aren't running around kissing and telling JJ,” I said playfully pushing his shoulder. 

“Oh don’t you worry princess. Your secret’s safe with me.” He said, causing us both to laugh again. His hand reached over to grab mine, which had managed to stop shaking significantly and giving it a reassuring squeeze. JJ had managed to help relax my mind by being his usual joking self. The rest of the short ride back to the Chateau returned to the soft music playing from the radio. JJ’s hand at some point had left mine and was now resting on my leg just above my knee, not that I was complaining. 

When we arrived at the house JJ helped me carry in the food as we sat on the couch on the back porch, overlooking the water, while we ate. On the table in front of us sat our meals and the map from the night before. JJ and I were looking over it just to see if we could find any other potentials as promising as the cargo ship. We didn’t. 

JJ finished his meal by pushing the last fry into his already full mouth. He chewed while tapping the line repeatedly. “This ship” He paused to swallow, “is it.” 

I followed the line down the ship onto the edge of the page where it stopped, just as it moved across to the South Carolina Border. I grabbed the ship log. “It says here that the ship was making one stop in Nassau.” I looked over at JJ, who had leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the table.  “So what’s next?” I questioned, leaning back into the worn couch. 

“Me?” JJ pointed to his face, a shocked look on his face. “This is all on you Nancy Drew, I’m like scooby doo, here for comedic relief and treats.” His voice coated with sarcasm as he sent a wink in my direction. 

“Well Scooby, you need to do something to earn your treats, don’t you? You don’t get rewarded for sitting there and being pretty.” I rolled my eyes. 

JJ shifted closer to me on the couch. “So you think I’m pretty?” He laughed. 

My face turned bright red. “Maybe? Don’t push it.” 

“You look tired,” JJ said softly. He laid into me, resting against my chest, looking up at my face. 

“Wow, I call you pretty and you call me tired. I don’t know if this is going to work buddy.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. 

“You know what I mean Y/N.” He reached up with his hand, running the back of his fingers across the bruise and cut on my face, his eyes intense on the mark. He then moved to trace the now darkened bruise on my neck. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he did. His eyes moved quickly to meet mine. We seemed locked in that position, looking into each other’s eyes. I felt like I was searching for something. I was always seeming to be searching for something. I saw his eye flick down to my mouth, where I subconsciously, licked my lips. 

JJ took that as a cue to move forward. He pressed his lips against mine. The kiss was gentle at first, but quickly became more heated. He moved from his position. He used his legs to crawl on top of me, situating himself between my legs. One of his arms holding himself up, the other found its way to my waist. The intimacy of the moment only making things hotter. The kiss was becoming sloppier, as my hands found my way into JJ’s hair, messing it up. JJ’s mouth started to move. He started my chin and up my jaw towards my ear, opposite of the bruises. His other hand came up to cradle my face. His fingers hit right at the cut on my cheek. I pulled away with a faint ‘ouch’. 

That was enough of JJ to stop completely and pull away. He moved to sit up, pulling me with him. “That was”

“Hot.” I finished for him, with a smile. I could feel that my face was hot and probably the color of a tomato. 

He smiled at me, biting his now red and swollen lips. “You know, I’m really liking getting used to this.” He chuckled pointing between the two of us. “I’ll be right back.” He stated, before standing up and walking back into the chateau. I looked out over the water. The wind was a bit heavier today, causing the sound to be rougher than usual. The small waves were lapping against the shore, mixed with the soft rustle of the leaves, making a rather calming noise. I laid back down, feeling a wave of exhaustion run over me. I closed my eyes and let the feeling of relaxation take over. 

I heard the porch door swing open, signaling that JJ had returned, but I kept my eyes closed. My eyes shot open, causing me to sit up when something cold landed on my face. I reach to grab it, finding JJ smiling and holding a bag of frozen peas. I gave him a questioning look. 

“What Kie said that you need to ice your face?” He said, shrugging. JJ crawled back to my side. His head resting on my chest once again. He put the peas over my injured eye. “I also didn’t want to bother you too much. You should sleep” He said with a faint smile. 

I nodded, letting my eyes close, one hand holding the peas to my eyes, the other mindlessly in JJ’s hair. I focused back on the sound of the waves, and the rustling leaves, or the way that JJ had pulled his arm around me bringing me closer, or the way that his hand was drawing small patterns on my back through my shirt. I felt myself beginning to drift off into sleep. 

I was woken up to a loud banging noise. I jumped but felt JJ’s weight still on top of me. “JJ, Wha–.” My words quickly interrupted as JJ quickly put his hand over my mouth. I saw his eyes wide as he sunk further into the couch. 

“We need to get out of here,” He said, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper. “Follow me.” He slid off the couch, grabbing the keys off the table, staying low. He grabbed my hand, pulling me with him. I followed his actions. 

A loud booming voice made me jump once again. “Surprise Maybank.” I heard a crash of something breaking inside. ”Payback time you little Bitch.” 

I looked at JJ, with wide eyes and he cursed, trying to pull us off the porch. I heard doors opening and closing doors loudly in the house while banging on the wall. JJ was slowly pushing open the screen door so that it wouldn’t screech. He held it so it wouldn’t slam as we continued down the steps. 

The loud male voice boomed again. “Went to see your old man Maybank.” I looked at JJ as his head snapped up to look at the house. JJ pushed me up against the house as the male figure exited through the back porch door. I looked at JJ, I could feel how wide my eyes were, but what scared me the most was the fear in JJ’s eyes. “Said you hadn’t been around in a few days. Thought you’d be here, I’d hate to go rough up your girl Kiara, or your boy Pope who tried to choke out Country Club.” I saw the man standing on the steps of the porch. I shot JJ a questioning glance at what the man had just said. He was short, but fairly muscular. He wore a bandana covering his lower half of his face, black curly hair falling around it. In his hand was a short barrel shotgun, one he obviously wasn’t afraid to use. JJ quickly pulled us around the corner of the house before the man could see us. 

“JJ what the hell is going on?” I whisper. JJ just holds up a hand to silence me. He’s still standing in front of me, my back to the outside wall of the house. He moved to look over around the corner. I heard the door to the house shut again and I was being pulled toward the trees surrounding the house. I looked to the driveway catching a glimpse of the blue charger parked there before I was pulled by my hand to the woods by JJ. 

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[dokoni-mo]

Patches || Boba Fett x Reader

(A/N: hi yes I made this because I want boba to step on me. That is all.)

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of injury, some angst, otherwise none

Key: (F/N) = first name

Word Count: ~2200

~~~

Today was the third time that week that he came back to the Slave I beaten and bruised. 

When you had initially accepted this agreement, this wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned. Yes, while you were a certified nurse, and agreed to be as such for him, you weren’t ready for any of this. 

You weren’t ready at all for the sheer amount of times that you would have to patch him up after he had completed his work each week. It started off mundane and normal, with him coming to you to fix him up just about once every week or so. However, over time, you could tell that he was getting more and more cocky by the day and with each of his successful bounties. He had started to accept more and more dangerous jobs, as evidenced by his injuries and the longer and longer stretches of time he would be gone. He would never tell you about them (except for the odd detail you had to know to make the plan go through smoothly), but you could tell that he was pushing his limits. Although he never said any of this explicably out loud to you, the blemishes on his skin told you all you needed to know. The amount of the marks had subtly increased over time, but you were trained enough to notice the small increments of increase. 

Nothing could slip past you, you felt like. 

You also weren’t ready for the headache that was your relationship with him. 

Quickly, you realized that Boba wasn’t the type to start up conversation, or just about anything for that matter, if it wasn’t necessary. You also realized that Boba wasn’t the type to express himself all that much. Yes, it was noticeable in his speech patterns and demeanor… 

But it was even more noticeable in that you simply couldn’t read his expressions. 

Boba never took his helmet off around you. 

At first, this had puzzled you greatly. You had tried to ask him about it after about two weeks of knowing him, but this was only met by one of his seemingly trademark none of your business-es. 

You swore, if he had some sort of cheesy bounty-hunter catchphrase, it would be that. 

After getting absolutely nowhere with asking him (not much of a shocker, granted), you decided to do some digging on your own. You had eventually found out that he was Mandalorian. 

You hadn’t heard that name since the republic was still around. 

Those were the days… 

You never pressed the subject after that. You knew what happened to the Mandalorians.

You were sure that it was a touchy subject, and it wasn’t like Boba enjoyed talking to you in the first place.

He never really said much to you, and you figured it was because he either didn’t like you, and/or just tolerated your existence. He did this because you were useful to him. Who else would patch him up after a fight? 

No one. 

So he had better at least tolerate you being on his ship. 

Often, you wondered if there were others before you. You wondered if he had made other nurses or doctors tag along with him on his escapades. If he had, they were long since gone. 

You didn’t blame them, however. You figured that it must have been frustrating for them too, having to deal with the type of person Boba was. 

But, that was another thing you weren’t ready for. Tolerating and accepting notorious bounty hunter Boba Fett. 

Yes, he was cold to you. Yes, he was a bit cocky as of late. Yes, it frustrated you to no end that he would barely tell you anything about his jobs, not to even mention about himself. But, deep down inside of you, in a place you weren’t quite sure even existed…

You tolerated it. 

You enjoyed it even. 

Before Boba had picked you up off of your nowhere home planet, life was very dim and dull. That’s the majority of the reason why you wanted to be a nurse in the first place. You would hear stories of nurses and doctors having to scatter themselves across time and space to save a patient’s life that had unannouncedly plopped itself upon their laps, and you were intrigued. You saw that life as a way to get some entertainment out of life, and a way to get some good karma so that hopefully your maker would have some mercy upon you once you died. But, even that life eventually grew old for you. You became numb to it even.

So, when you met a certain green bucket-head at a cantina you frequented at the end of your shifts and he offered you a job, you simply couldn’t refuse.

You would never admit it, but you were thankful for Boba. Even if he made you want to rip all your hair out and light it on fire. 

But, you would often forget about your thanks when you were frustrated. 

Like now. 

“Tell me if it hurts.” you told him as you wrapped a bandage around his bloodied forearm, holding the muscular limb in your soft grasp. 

Of course, he said nothing in response. Didn’t find it necessary, you figured. 

Currently, you were knelt next to a half-naked Boba Fett with an array of various medical supplies scattered about the floor around you, your hair pushed back to keep out of your sight. Boba was sitting upon a crate with his toned back against the wall of the Slave I, making him elevated above you. You had helped him remove the upper portions of his armor upon his stumbling into your room, and they were now rested upon the trunk next to the bounty hunter. Of course, he hadn’t removed his helmet upon his entrance, making him look now rather silly in just his helmet, boots, pants, belt, and leg armor. Tending to your girlish fantasies, you would have admired Boba’s muscular, firm chest for a moment, if he weren’t so scratched up, bloodied, and scarred. 

Maker, he was an idiot. 

You weren’t quite sure of where his gaze was as the T of his helmet looked down at you. Normally, this wouldn’t have pestered you in the slightest. However, today was… off. You felt off. Was it the stale air? Was it what you ate? You didn’t know. 

All you knew is that you noticed this feeling as soon as you saw just how beat up Boba was. It made your chest ache and your stomach churn. But wny? 

Whatever the reason was, it was making you more on-edge and short-fused than usual. 

Once you had gotten the bandage about halfway on him, Boba jerked his arm towards him, ripping it out of your gentle grasp with a hiss. Your brow furrowed slightly and your lips pursed. 

How dare he. 

You were just trying to help. Why did he always have to be so rude? 

“It hurts.” he said to you, his accented voice distorted by his helmet. 

Sighing, you pulled his arm back to you, resuming your actions as you responded. 

“I see that.” you said flatly, a tone lacing your voice. You had no idea what was coming over you, but unconsciously decided to remove your filter. 

Let it come, you thought, see if I care. 

“Clearly you don’t.” he said, giving you attitude right back. Maker, why was he so difficult? 

“Well, how can I? You never tell me things until the last minute.” you huffed out, taping the bandage down with some medical tape, “If you even decide to tell me anything.” 

“I tell you what you need to know.” 

You let out a quick, sarcastic laugh at this, refusing to look up at him as you readied a swab with alcohol to clean up his cuts. Every semblance of your filter was now gone. 

“Sure you do, Boba. You tell me everything I need to know. My apologies.” 

“Name one time I left you in the dark, (F/N).” he responded to you, his voice becoming quicker and more accented as his frustration grew. 

This only fueled your own. 

“One time?!” you snapped, shooting your gaze up to the T of his helmet, “How about every time?! You never tell me where you’re going next, you never tell me who you’re working for, and you never tell me just how dangerous these jobs are! Boba, I know you’re getting in over your head. You-” 

“I’m not-”

“DON’T cut me off.”’ you spat back, “Boba, I know you’ve been going beyond your limits. I can tell in your injuries. I can tell in your mood. Yes, you’re moody all the time, but it’s only getting worse. I didn’t sign up for this, Boba, I didn’t…” 

You were cut off by a lump in your throat starting to form, tears welling themselves up in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, so you bit your lip and took a deep breath in through your nose before you continued, your voice shaky and strained. 

“I-I didn’t sign up… To watch you die.” 

A silence hung in the air as you sniffled. Wiping your eyes, you hung your head, refusing to keep your gaze on the bounty hunter any longer. You waited a moment for him to respond, but got nothing. Figured, anyway.

He probably didn’t care. 

He probably didn’t give one single shit about what you were saying. 

...

So be it. 

At least you got it off your chest. 

Sighing and reaching to your medical equipment, your rustled through the items as you spoke again. 

“Whatever. It’s not important anymore. Forget I said anything…” 

As you continued to rustle through your equipment to find an excuse not to look at the bounty hunter, your ears had perked up. Feeling a shift from him, you soon heard the familiar sound of metal hitting the surface of a trunk. Your eyes following the sound, you initially thought you were dreaming. 

Upon the trunk next to the crate Boba was seated upon, an addition had been made to his pile of discarded armor. 

There, amongst all the rest of the protective metal, sat his helmet. 

Your lips parted slightly, you shifted your gaze up to Boba. 

Your eyes had not deceived you. 

There, looking down at you, was Boba Fett, whose face was now in clear view to you. He had a few small scars upon his tanned face, but none took away from his good looks. His hair was short, but brilliantly dark, and matched his complexion phenomenally. His eyes were dark and hardened from years of killing, and his lips looked soft, a stark contrast from the firmness of his jaw and cheekbones. A blush rising to your cheeks, a realization hit you. 

Boba was a clone. 

You didn’t expect that at all. 

But yet… 

He was one of the most handsome men, let alone clones, you had ever laid eyes upon. 

After a long moment of you staring up at him, he finally spoke, his voice somewhat foreign to you without the distortion from his helmet. 

“You’re staring.” 

Your eyes widening a bit as a jolt of nerves ran through you, you shot your gaze back down to the equipment, the butterflies in your stomach making a hurricane inside of you. 

“I-I was just surprised.” you said in response. 

Another long pause from him. You could feel his eyes on you. 

After a moment, you felt a pointer finger and thumb upon your chin, pulling your gaze up to the bounty hunter sitting in front of you. Your blush darkening, you gazed upon his freshly bare face as he studied your features, almost as if he were committing it to memory. A moment of this later, before you could even process what was happening, Boba Fett leaned down closer to you, catching your parted lips in a kiss. 

His lips were just as surprisingly soft as they looked, and tasted vaguely of smoke, but not unpleasantly so. Your breath being taken away, you fluttered your eyes closed as you reciprocated, your soft lips melding oh so perfectly with his. 

He was too damn good. 

You wanted-

Before you could finish your thoughts, Boba pulled away from you. The absence of his warmth made your eyes flutter open, and you were greeted with the sight of his eyes boring into your own, as if he were looking into your very soul. 

Maker above have mercy. He was wayyy to damn good at this. 

His face lingering next to yours a moment longer, he decided that enough was enough and leaned back, the muscles in his chest and abdomen rippling as his back made contact with the walls of the Slave I again. 

While you were staring up at him absolutely dumbfounded, he spoke. 

“No more overly dangerous jobs. I promise.” 

Swallowing, all you could do was nod in response. 

You could still feel the phantoms of his lips upon your own as you continued to fix him up. Hell, you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. 

You would never admit it, but you fucking loved it. 

You hoped that Boba would be like this from now on. 

Little did you know, however, he planned to be. 

Even more so than you could ever imagine. 

~~~ 

TAGS: @captainrexstan , @spaghetti-666​ , @breakfastpizzagalaxy 

[medievalfangirl]

To Fight Gravity - Part I

Notes: Written for @waiting4inspiration 2000 follower challenge. Congratulations again, you wonderfully talented and kind soul !! You deserve every follower and many more 💖 I’m definitely going to do a second part, and possibly a little more. If you’d like to be tagged/not tagged in anything, let me know! The word count got out of hand, things got all angsty and I don’t know what to say. Enjoy?

Prompt: ‘I don’t want to be alone right now’

Summary:  The dust has settled after Sokovia, leaving Steve and Nat to train the new Avengers. Their most recent recruit may be able to manipulate gravity, but falling for Pietro Maximoff was entirely out of her control. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, fear of storms and some angsty reminiscing 

Words: 1891

Pairing:  Pietro Maximoff (MCU) x OC

Lightning split the night. For a moment, the sky was a stunning array of lilacs and violets against a pitch black backdrop. The sharp light faded as soon as it appeared, and blessed silence followed. Seven seconds followed before the booming clap of thunder. The storm was a little over a mile from the Avengers compound. 

Curled up in the corner of one enormous, communal sofa, Danielle watched the skies with a fierce intensity. Her hands sat in her lap, twisting the hem of her baggy sleep shirt, bothering the fabric until threads came loose. Wide eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Her appearance did nothing to keep her secret: she was terrified. 

The sound of thunder permeated her senses and shook her bones; it reached into her chest, took hold of her heart, and took her right back to that awful day. How similar they sounded. 

Even now, years later, the acoustics of a storm sent her mind spiralling to a place of dark memories and paralysing fear. Solace came through seeing the foul weather, a visual assurance that she was here and not back there. But this storm had rolled in from the east, and her north-facing windows hadn’t provided her that comfort. So she’d sought the floor-to-ceiling glass of the recreation area. The nagging voice warning her that someone could find her was drowned out by the torrential rain. 

Footsteps against the carpet broke the tense silence between lightning strikes, and panic shot through her. 

Even after a year at the compound Dani was still the newest recruit - the last thing she wanted was for one of the others to see her this vulnerable. Whoever was approaching would find her in seconds - why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she stand and walk away? It was as if she was shackled to that spot on the sofa. How ironic, for a mutant who could manipulate gravity to feel so betrayed by her own power. 

Tearing wide eyes from the sky, the young woman watched Pietro Maximoff pad around into the compound’s open-plan living space, yawning widely. His unique silver hair was tousled and wayward; a shaggy, endearing mess. Eyes that were usually alert were hooded. 

Of course. 

The universe likes to play games, and Danielle knew for sure it was toying with her now. Pietro was both the best, and the worst, person who could’ve rounded that corner. His presence would be a balm to her spirit she knew, but she hated the thought of him seeing her like this. 

After a rocky start (the Maximoff Twins were not naturally trusting) a friendship blossomed between the trio. She’d certainly made a good friend in Wanda. The redhead’s brother however, had stolen Dani’s heart the same way he stole Clint’s arrows: out of nowhere and in a flurry of sparks. They were just friends... who happened to find any excuse for mundane touches, and couldn’t hold a conversation without teasing flirtation creeping in somewhere. She knew others read their friendship as something more - from an outsider’s perspective, the way they lit up around one another was unmistakable. She hoped there was more there, too; she was hopelessly devoted to the speeding idiot. But the risk of rejection was horrifying enough to keep her quiet. 

“Danielle?” 

The young woman’s head shot up, his voice startling her out of her reminiscing. Pietro was unusually still, watching her from the entrance to the room. He looked off-balance, like he couldn’t quite make sense of what he was seeing. 

How did she make her mouth move? Her tongue was a dead weight, stuck in place just like she was. The frown lines maring Pietro’s forehead deepened. 

A shock of lightning illuminated the sky, bright light framing his silhouette. Dani flinched sharply, pressing her body backwards, as if she could disappear into the cushions if she just tried hard enough. She felt sick, the anticipation twisting her stomach into knots. 

The Sokovian vanished in a burst of electric blue and silver. Not a heartbeat later he was crouched in front of her, worry plastered across his handsome face. One hand rested against the cushions for balance, the other curled around her knee, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the exposed skin. 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me, what can I do?” 

She had to say something. Anything was better than sitting mute, scared out of her mind, in the face of one of the strongest people she knew.

As it tends to, thunder followed the lightning. The terror was under her skin now, racing through her veins. Shirt abandoned, her hands flew to her mouth. It was a futile attempt to push the sobs back in. 

Bright blue flashes lit the dark room, and the cushions beside her dipped. Strong arms wrapped around her back, tugging her towards him. She followed with no protest, pressing herself close. Pietro traced her spine with one hand, running his fingers along the notches. 

“Som tu. If someone’s hurt you, then I’ll deal with them.” His other hand tightened at her waist, fisting the material of her shirt. “Bude to v poriadku. I promise.”

Sleep tinged his voice, adding gravel to it. His accent pulled at each word, both English and Sokovian. Neither of these things detracted from his obvious concern. 

Even though Dani understood few of the words the Sokovian murmured into her hair, she heard their meaning, and felt a little of their calming intent. His voice washed over her skin like a wave against the shore. The affection this man was bestowing upon her, the way he held her so tightly but carefully, like she was something precious he couldn’t bare to drop… it resonated with her. Something warm pushed its way into her heart, forcing her fear to share its lodgings. 

Thunder echoed directly over the compound. The storm was here. 

Danielle flinched again, ripping her arms from the non-existent space between them and throwing them around her companion’s neck. A feather-light kiss to the top of her head, softly delivered between soothing words, was the key to the floodgates. Whatever tight little thing had wound its way around her voice relaxed and words came tumbling forth. 

“Pietro please, don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone right now. I can’t be alone right now.”

The words were mumbled into the curve of his neck, shaky and unsure. Her lips were pressed so closely to his skin she wondered if he’d even heard her. 

The world was in motion, too fast, before settling again. Disoriented, the young mutant raised her head to find Pietro had pulled her into his lap. Dizziness pushed at her temples and the skin at her side felt cool, shifting fabric tickling the tiny hairs. Her shirt had a small rip, a casualty of super speed. 

It hardly mattered. 

What mattered was the man holding her, anchoring her down when she felt the fierce winds outside could just blow her away. Thick brows were knitted, the crease of skin in between almost pulling them to touch. Crystalline blue eyes were restless across her face, taking in her every detail before settling on hers. 

“I would never leave you.” 

Pietro’s voice was a whisper in the night, but she heard steel there too. Sincerity tinged with a fierce protectiveness made his words sound like a promise. Dani believed him. 

For something that caused so much trouble, the storm was short lived. They were graced with just four more rumbles of thunder, each taking longer than the last to arrive. The quiet was filled instead with soothing touches and murmured comforts. Eventually, when the last thunder-clap was a fading memory, Dani began to speak. After sitting and waiting out her greatest fear with her, her companion at least deserved to know why it scared her so much. Eyes stormy in their own right, she watched the skyline. 

“When I was young, before I went to Xavier’s school... I didn’t have the best control over my mutation. It’s silly, because I can’t even remember what set me off now. My hands started to glow and then the whole room started quaking. The walls were shaking, the roof was caving in and I had no idea what to do. The teacher took the other kids and ran. I was so scared and confused and that just made it worse.”

The young mutant paused to focus on the grounding feel of Pietro’s hands. He was rarely motionless, and now was no exception as his hands ghosted across her skin. All that energy, channeled into the careful offering of reassurance. 

“I collapsed the building, pushing the gravity up so high the whole thing just came crashing down. No one else was inside. I only survived because most of the debris fell around me, instead of on top of me. Charles always thought I was subconsciously protecting myself. I was still crushed, though - you can see the scars.” 

With an unreadable expression, Pietro raised the hand from her hip to skim her jaw, before slowly turning her head. Fingers mapped the puckered white lines marking the skin connecting her jaw and neck. 

“Here?” 

Dani nodded mutely. His touch was silver fire, burning hotter than the sun as he traced a path to her collar bone. 

“And here?”

Capturing his hand, she slid it along the bone until it rested on the bumpy skin just above her sternum. She was close enough to see galaxies swirling in his eyes, an entire cosmos of emotion and mystery to unravel. How badly she wanted to know him. Her grip on his hand tightened. 

“Thunder sounds an awful lot like a collapsing building.”

“The compound won’t collapse. And if it did, I’d have you outside before a speck of dust could touch you.” 

Like a dove in her hand, peace settled in her chest and set about the task of chasing away the shadows. 

“You’re too good to me,” she murmured, a little overwhelmed by how much that had sounded like another promise.   

“Probably,” Pietro agreed, poking her side, and a small smile broke across Dani’s face. 

Yawning widely, her sleepless night began to make itself known.  

“You’re tired.”

The young woman stiffened, before shaking her head rapidly against his shoulder. “I’m staying here.” 

“We’re staying here.” 

We. 

It had been a promise. 

But as much as she was thankful he was here, god was she thankful, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. The storm was over but still she couldn’t bring herself to move. He was sacrificing a good night’s sleep to deal with her. 

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with all of this, I-”

“Last week you moved the fridge a few inches, knowing I’d run into it,” he remarked dryly, interrupting her before she could work herself up. “This is fine.” 

Dani laughed softly. It was immediately followed by a yawn that proved contagious, reminding them both of how tired they were. 

The air crackled as Pietro blurred across the room. He dragged the other sofa over to push them together, giving them more space to sleep. Through bleary eyes the mutant watched, head propped on her arm, tendrils of sleep wrapping around her. She was hardly aware of herself drifting off. From somewhere far away, she felt gentle pressure moving loose hair from her face.

@tephi101   @geekandbooknerd     @absolute-geek-3000    @siren-meets    @joyofbebbanburg      @emocinamonroll     @eternally-infinitely    @xxxvalaryaxxx   @bandofmarvels    @rebloggerblogging

[sculptorofbeginningslibrary]

His

My Masterlist

Summary: The best pets, have the best owners.

Characters: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Warnings: D/s Dynamics. Smut. Collaring.

Word Count: 1380

A/N: 

TO MY FOREVERS: As always, if you don’t read Ketch, that’s totally fine! 

I wrote this a while ago for my lovely wife @justcallmeasmodeus and never got around to publishing it. But here you go :) 

There is a GIF that goes with this one and it is beautiful. Message me for it and I’ll share it with you.

@spnkinkbingo Square: Collars

If you find mistakes that irk you bad enough feel free to message me :)

Enjoy!

__~*~__

You had waited patiently most of the day, but as the hours dragged closer to ten pm you were getting antsy. When the clock finally struck ten you rushed to the bedroom to get ready, quickly changing out of the day’s clothes and into the black bra and panties he’d picked out for you the day before.

The tiny, heart-shaped, tags on your collar jingled quietly as you moved, a soothing tinkle that helped you transition into your favorite headspace. It was a light, thin, little black leather thing any normal person would think was a cute choker. For you and Arthur, however, it weighed a ton. It represented everything your relationship had become over the years, and you wore it with pride.

As you slipped on the four inch heels he had chosen a soft smile stole over your lips. Strutting to your spot beside the doorway you stood at attention: shoulders squared, hands clasped behind your back, and feet shoulder width apart. Your head bowed and your eyes closed as you concentrated on your breathing, just as he’d taught you so long ago.

The world fell away in minutes as you focused on what he needed from you.

Strength. Stillness. Compliance.

Your heart didn’t change pace when you heard the keys twisting into the lock, your eyes staying shut and head remaining bowed.

He entered silently, shutting the door with a grace you couldn’t see but knew was there. It was always there. The familiar sound of him removing his jacket and emptying his pockets soothed your aching mind, blanketing you further with the comforting feeling of consistency.

“Eyes up.” You obeyed his lilting accent without question, a little surprised to see him removing his shoes and socks in the tile entryway directly before you. You hadn’t heard him move back in your direction. His eyes were hard as they assessed you, perfectly positioned and waiting for him just as you should be. Stepping into your space he inhaled deeply, ruminating in the smell of his favorite perfume. He then circled around behind you, tutting his approval as he went.

“Perfect form, my love.”

You couldn’t hide the smile as your eyes cast back to the floor, pleased and feeling slightly bashful. It had been a rough day, but hearing his praise sent warmth spreading from your chest to your fingertips and toes. You felt the flush steal over your cheeks and tried to bite back the smile, worried he would be disappointed you weren’t staying as stoic as he liked.

“Ah, ah…” His hand fisted into your hair from behind and pulled your head up. Your eyes darted to his, silently questioning what he wanted. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, sir.”

His dazzling smile was almost predatory as he nodded. “Good girl.” Arthur shifted to your side and relaxed against the wall, cocking your body at a bit of an angle until he was pressing on your shoulders and you were squatting beside his body. “At ease, pet.”

You groaned, thick and needy as you released your hands from their hold and reached for him. “Not yet,” he admonished gently. He saw the pain of disobedience in your eyes and grinned. “Don’t worry love, you’ll have what you want in a minute. But first…”

You teetered a bit on the heels as he snatched your throat with his left hand, pulling your head firmly against his chest. You grabbed his arm with one hand and steadied against his bare foot with the other as his fingers dug in, bringing that delicious sense of being purely his. His to command. His to care for.

His.

The collar pressed into your throat perfectly under Arthur’s left hand as the fingers of his right started their teasing journey down your body. He brought the right strap of your bra down and flipped the cup, exposing your beaded nipple to the cool air. He pinched and rolled it with agonizing slowness before growing impatient. He pinched the other over your bra for good measure, nodding encouragingly as you whimpered in delight.  He aligned your head so he could look you in the eyes when he finally finished the journey and slipped his hand into your panties.

Your gasp was music to his ears as his fingers found you soaked, your pussy swollen, heated, and ready, for everything he wanted to give you. You’d wanted to take care of him the second he walked through the door, but from the hungry gaze searing over every nuance of your face it seemed this was how he wanted to be taken care of today.

He wanted to watch you come undone. He needed to take the stress of his day and release it into the universe via your screaming orgasm...who were you to say no to that?

You bucked your hips against his hand as he gathered your slick and brought the warm moisture to your clit. You felt the satisfied hum from his chest as he pulled you closer--tighter--against him and played three fingers in a quick tempo across your clit.

His hand felt like magic as you stared up into his unyielding eyes, eyes that ate you up and healed your soul at the same time.

“Work with me, darling. I want to feel you cum on my fingers.”

Arthur’s smooth voice wrapped you into a cocoon of lust as your hips began to roll erratically against him, chasing the orgasm that had started to build the moment he’d touched you. “Please…” you whined breathily, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach.

“Yes, pet, that’s it…” His fingers slipped down into your pussy, curling into the spongy spot you loved and making you cry out.

Being filled with his thick digits had your eyes rolling back and your fingers digging into the strong bicep holding you up.

You were riding the edge of bliss when his fingers left you, earning your shocked gasp of displeasure.

The gasp was cut short when his warm, wet, fingers found their way back to your clit and pressed long, firm circles over it, sending you careening over the edge and wiggling wildly in his hold. You tried to twist away, distance your pulsing bud from his overwhelming fingers, but his grip tightened on your throat, pressing the collar into your trachea to cut off just a bit more air until you remembered there was nowhere to go. The only place to look was his eyes, the only thing to feel was his flesh on yours, and the only sound was his steady breathing over your frantically beating heart.

It was all consuming as his fingers conducted the orchestra that was your orgasm and he dragged it out, the musical quality of your moans rising into a crescendo that ripped from your throat and released into the world until there were nothing but gritty whimpers left in your chest.

His fingers slowed, dragging down and sinking into the still-fluttering walls of your pussy. Arthur’s palm was huge as it cupped against the sensitive flesh hiding your clit, and you bucked against him, finally relaxing completely into his hold. A thin sheen of sweat coated every inch of your body as he held you up with one arm, safe and secure.

With care he laid you flat on the cool tile, his thumb brushing the red marks your collar and fingers had left. “We’ll get some cream for those in a minute, hmm?” His voice was gentle as his sturdy hands went to work; straightening out your weak limbs, removing your shoes, and kneading the soreness from your elbows and knees.

You purred contentedly as he tended to you like a wounded animal before gathering you into his arms and settling into the recliner. Arthur grinned as you gazed happily up at him, still in a daze. “Was that good, love?”

“Yes sir,” you managed to whisper as he curled you into his lap, gently moving your hair so he could start rubbing lotion from the side table onto the slightly sore skin of your neck.

Within minutes you were asleep and he held you close, rocking gently and whispering the sweet words he could never speak while you were awake to ensure your sweet dreams.

__~*~__

Scream at me over at @sculptorofbeginnings :)

4ever&ever Tags:

@ain-t-bovvered @bamby0304 @dean-winchesters-bacon @justcallmeasmodeus @ldyhawkeye @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @mogaruke @mrs-meghan-winchester @stormy-skies-1997 @waywardbaby

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Misfits (part 3 & 4)

Title: Misfits Author: clem-chan Rating: T Word Count: 27 388 Summary: Marrying a CEO in the midst of a romantic scandal to pay for med school is not the happy ending Sakura imagined for herself. The arrangement that started as constant bickering soon becomes so much more... If only her husband was hers to fall in love with. GaaSaku. Modern!AU Warnings: There is a light make-out session hence the T rating. There's also mention of child abuse and childhood trauma. Minor ships: light KankuKiba, very light ShikaTema, mention of NejiTen.

Author's Note(s): Two little things to mention: First, I wanted to keep this accessible to all, so I have cut out more raunchy scenes which will be posted in the AO3 version of this fic soon. Second, I have this headcannon where Gaara and Sakura are just two misfits. :P So, that's what this story is about: two misfits forced together. XD Hope you enjoy it! ^_^

Trope: Arranged Marriage

. [warnings are for overall fanfic, not individual parts.]

PART 3

Her apartment door was ajar.

Sakura stumbled in the hallway, her heart beating at the back of her throat. She gripped her keys in a fist, her body terse. With her foot, she nudged open the door.

She almost dropped her keys.

The apartment was entirely empty, her steps' echo following her, deafening. She barged into each room, her heart sinking, her body bending down. Each room was a punch that knocked the air, the lief out of her.

Everything was gone.

She touched the walls repainted in white, all traces of her erased, ready for the next occupant.  

"What's going on?" Sakura asked to herself.

"Oh, Sakura-san!" the handy man's voice boomed from behind her, and she spun on her heels, startled. "Why are you back? Did you forget something?"

"Back?" Sakura asked thickly, blinking rapidly.

"Yes, the movers already dropped by. I'm sorry, where are my manners? Congratulations on your wedding!"

Stunned, Sakura felt herself nod at the jolly man. She played with the unfamiliar ring. It was him. Her husband had done this. Hot poignant anger flared inside her.

"Yes, I'm married now," she repeated slowly and she wished she could rip off her wedding ring and hurl it away.

She wished she wasn't married, moved like a doll to another house.

"So, did you forget something? Can I help?" The handyman asked eagerly

"No," she smiled, her face aching, her heart wrenched out of her. Did she even belong to herself anymore? "I just wanted to look at the place one last time," she added lamely.

Married people lived together. She should have known, but they had organized the visit to the notary around Gaara and her schedule. They had barely talked about the future.

"Of course," he glanced around. "Good evening, and congratulations again!"

They bowed, and he disappeared in the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

With shaking fingers, she called Gaara.

"Sabaku Gaara," he answered with a bored voice, the sound of paper rustling in the background.

"What's my address?" she whispered.

If she yelled, she would shatter. She would cry. She was hanging by a thread. His doll. Her wedding, her shift at the hospital had drained her.

"Who's this?"

"Your wife," she snapped. "Don't you have my number saved up?"

"Hn. I'll text it to you."

Gaara hung up without another word, and she lowered her phone from her ear in disbelief.

She cracked.

She burst into tears, dry-heaving, her hands moving across her body to hold up the pieces of her. She leaked and leaked, slipping through her fingers, through her defence. She couldn't square her shoulders, straighten her back or chin-up.

Her hand shook over her mouth, her other arm digging into her side. They moved to the back her neck, they wiped the tears that wouldn't stop.

She examined her body the way she would for patients at the hospital.

'Where does it hurt?' she would ask.

'Everywhere,' patients would infallibly answer.

-X-

Her new house didn't feel like home.

It was hidden behind austere high gates and higher dense hedges. Its architecture was modern, sharp simple lines, sun tinted windows revealing nothing of its interior.

Sakura chewed on her bottom lip, looking over her shoulders at the calm private neighbourhood. She felt out-of-place with her scrub stuffed in her messenger back, her disheveled hair, and her puffing reddened eyes. Shakily, while holding her phone, she punched the code he had given her.

The gate buzzed and opened for her.

She breathed in sharply. Squared shoulders, straight back, and chin up, she recited dully to herself.

At the front door, she pressed another combination of numbers, and it unlocked with a grave tone.

A set of slippers waited for her by the door, next to his. New. Nothing like the old ones she had back at her apartment.

With wobbly knees, she removed her shoes. She hesitated, spinning on herself. She opened a grey unit. His work shoes were lined up, their leather shining. There were a few sportswear. She gulped, at the bottom, there were her the two pairs she owned: flats she wore when she went out, and more comfortable shoes for everyday wear.

Sakura gently placed her shoes there.

She knew this was expected of her. He had left just enough room for her, splitting his home, so she would fit perfectly into her place.

She shook her head, pushing back at the thoughts swirling inside her. Wasn't he swallowing her whole, like his family?

She didn't pick her slippers. He threw away hers.

She didn't pick her home. He emptied hers, repainted it. A shift at the hospital later, and she was a new woman with a new beginning.

She untied her hair, shaking it loose, massaging her scalp.

There was no turning back.

She stepped into her house.

She dropped her messenger bag to the floor.

The light softly illuminated the pale furniture in a wide open space. The kitchen's domestic appliances gleamed sharply, metallic, while the rest was rough naked wood. She ran her hands across a bookcase, her books mixed with his in alphabetical order.

She explored the kitchen, the dining room and the living room, her hands hesitating before reaching forward and touching her things among his.

He had pinned his schedule on the fridge, and fanned out documents for her on the counter, a post-it on each pile detailing procedures and listing phone numbers. Forms to change her address. Forms to apply for citizenship. A business card for a designer. An appointment at the bank.

And a check. The only thing she cared about.

Her fingers hovered above the check he had made to her school.

She tore herself from the black granite counter, looking around her. A gilded cage.

The house was impersonal; there were no accent or decoration, no picture frame, no warmth to the house. The furniture was to its bare minimum.

Sakura climbed up the stairs.

The master's bedroom was painted in light grey and white like the rest of the house.

She found her way on the balcony, then in the walk-in closet.

Her side was almost empty, her few things fitting into only a fraction of the space. She imagined filling it, shopping, careless about money for once. Her stomach twisted. Again, it felt like this was expected of her; fill the space and mirror his side full of designer clothes in various shades.

Her eyes drifted across the bed, her head pounding with her quickening heartbeat.

The finality of her wedding damned on her: they would share a bed. They would build a family together. Until death do them part.

But wasn't this a dream come true?

A beautiful home, her tuition already paid off, her future secured. Shouldn't she be grateful?

The news outlet had already marked her fate as a fairytale: From nothing to the wife of Gaara Sabaku, one of the richest man in the Land of the Wind. A Modern Cinderella tale, some have called their wedding during the TV news. Wasn't it this a tale of hope? Shouldn't they all be envious?

Sakura turned right on the hallway nothing the two bathrooms, before pushing open the door to his study. Unlike the rest of the house, his study was shrouded in shadows, painted in dark red, the desk old, pile of paper perfectly arranged.

She had her own study, and she saw it more clearly now, how he had selected some of her things, and disregarded the rest. She balled her fists, her anger, her sadness battling inside her. Her desk was brand-new, her old beat-up second-hand furniture gone. He had picked a desk of cherry wood.

A part of her flinched, craving this sense of belonging.

The other part of her demanded violent retaliation.

She was grateful.

She was going to kill him.

-X-

"Where's my stuff?" Sakura asked icily at him when Gaara stepped into the kitchen.

Her hair still damp from her shower dripped down her neck, as she bent over her textbook. Impatiently, she tapped on the book, sensing him approach her.

"You have a study. Why are you working in the kitchen?" Gaara asked, ignoring her.

He took a water bottle out of the refrigerator. He leaned against the counter watching her with curiosity, his bow tie untied around his neck. He took a sip.

"Where's my stuff," she repeated through clenched teeth, and roughly highlight a chunk of a sentence about the importance of eye movement examination during neurological assessment. "My study isn't my study. It's a page in some stupid catalogue."

"You're welcome."

Sakura pushed back the chair from the kitchen island and it grated against the floor. She glared at him.

"Are you unintentionally dense, or just very rude?"

Gaara raised an eyebrow in surprise at her, his mouth pressed to the bottle, but he didn't drink. He lowered back his arm, his head cocked to the side as if he was seeing her for the first time.  

"Your 'stuff' as you call it was falling apart," Gaara said quietly, and a shadow she couldn't understand lurked in his pale eyes. "I got you better things."

'Your image is unflattering to us,' Temari's voice filled her head alongside his. Was this the price of belonging, she wondered taking a step back from him, her insides gripped into a frozen, unbreakable fist.

She would be reinvented to fit in someone else's story, was that her future? Was that how ruthless women lived?

Sakura looked around her, at the pristine kitchen, the dining room opening on the living room, beige, fitting with each other.

A fairytale, Sakura had thought before considering her house. Now, she knew, she wasn't Cinderella. Cinderella had loved her prince, she hadn't taken her vows to escape her circumstances. No, she was the last of a Russian doll set. And they would make her fit inside, swallowed, adjusted to their world.

She balled her fists.

"I didn't ask for upgrades," Sakura said through clenched teeth.

Gaara shrugged, noncommittal, and put back the water bottle in the refrigerator.

"They are just things," he said as he brushed by her.

Gaara settled his bow tie on the couch and unbuttoned his collar.

"It's our house, honey," Sakura sneered after him now on her feet, and he looked back at her with an eyebrow raised. "Our. As in your stuff and mine."

"Hn. Fine, buy whatever pleases you," Gaara took out his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and took out his credit card.

He handed it to her.

Sakura looked at the card, feeling dismissed, small, belonging in the cracks of his life. He sighed and pressed it to her hands when she didn't react.

"Are we done here?" Gaara pointed at the credit card she was still holding, and the back of her throat hurt from the tears she refused to let fall. "I need to go back to the office."

She followed him mechanically. He looked up at her as he was putting on his shoes, frowning.

"Just use the no contact pay option," he added slowly, as she didn't move.

"Do we really need to share the bedroom?" she asked as he stood up again, and reached for the door.

Her face crumpled, but his eyes were on his watch, his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm an insomniac. I rarely sleep. I won't disturb you."

"Fine."

"So, we're-"

"Yes, yes, we're done," Sakura snapped.

She spun on her heels, his card still in her grip. What had she expected? She chastised herself. She threw the card on the counter, tears of frustration brimming her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth. It hurt. The back of her throat. The back of her eyes.

The thought of his disdainful eyes flickering across her face.

Temari had been right. She had been picked for their image. Her story would only be a fairytale in appearance.

'What have I done?'

-X-

Late at night, Gaara paced in the living room, the acidic way she had called him 'honey' haunting him.

She wasn't happy.

He had thought it would be easy, companionship in exchange for his fortune and social status. But she was dissatisfied. She didn't use his credit card. She had sulked and glared at him when he returned home. She had snapped good night before making her way upstairs, her steps heavy and angry, booming, then slammed the door of their bedroom.

In the business world, in his world, humans were simple. They were needy. They didn't love things; they simply needed, craved things they didn't have. Things their neighbours had. Things perfect strangers had flaunted on the internet. There was always a need to fill with this or that product. Otherwise, money fixed everything.

Why hadn't it fixed them?

Gaara paced more quickly, his hands deep in his pockets.

He couldn't understand what she wanted from him.

Gaara abruptly turned toward the couch and reached for his cellphone. He quickly dialled Kankuro's number.

"Wut?" Kankuro said groggily into the phone.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitatedly, and he glanced at the staircase plunged in darkness.

He heard Kankuro growl and shift into a sitting position. Kankuro muttered something to Kiba. Then, a door closed.  

"Remember when you were a small annoying kid, and I would tell you I can exchange you for a decent little bro at the nearest supermarket whenever I want?" Kankuro hissed into the phone.

Gaara opened his mouth, and glanced at his watch. 3:40 am.

"It's late."

"Yeah," his brother growled. "But what the hell do you mean I didn't choose right?"

"She's upset about the things you picked out."

"She insulted my taste?" Kankuro sucked in a breath, and laughed with an irony that escaped Gaara. "Tell her I can exchange her at the nearest supermarket."

"No," Gaara frowned. "She just seems to think her old stuff was better."

"Oh fuck, she had stuff? And you threw it away?"

"I just said that, yes," Gaara replied coldly.

"I can't explain this to you right now."

"I can call you back between meetings... At 10h15?"

"Gaara..."

"Don't say my name like that."

'Like I'm not human,' Gaara added silently. He clenched his jaw. He tried. He tried working around his work, and understand her. He checked up on her, but she unsettled him when she asked him about her things.

Temari had Shikamaru.

Kankuro had Kiba.

He had simply wanted to feel needed too.

Gaara closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the tattoo on his forehead. Why wasn't love simple?

"Just apologize, and get her stuff back. And next time, for Pete's sakes, don't just tell me: 'she needs new stuff.' Share the whole story, like that she already has stuff. Hold on." Gaara waited as his brother's muffled voice said something and Kiba answered him. "Kiba wants to have supper with you two. Pick a day. Now, I'm going back to sleep before my boyfriend exchanges me. Night, little bro."

He hung up.

Gaara didn't sleep, he thought of her gleaming green flashing with anger, a different woman from the one who had meekly bowed to him at the coffeeshop.

Were people really like that, Gaara wondered, full of contradictions and conflicting emotions?

He lied down on the couch, a book open on his chest. He rubbed at his temples, entrapped in the difference sides of her.

His mind drifted, roamed, but he didn't sleep.

-X-

Sakura turned restlessly in the bed. It smells inhabited, of floral detergent, the dark grey bed sheets still crisp and unused.

She sat up huffing, muttering to herself: "What a jerk!" Turning her head toward the door, she bit her lip. Instinctively, she held up the bed sheets to her chest. She wore a simple pyjamas, but somehow she felt exposed. In a stranger's home. In a stranger's bed.

'What if he came up?' she thought and shuddered.

She turned her head toward the rest of the room, wondering if she should put one of the chairs from the walk-in closet against the knob.

Shaking her head, Sakura fumbled with the sheets and got off the bed. Skin flushed, she advanced slowly toward the door, listening intensely. She could hear him moving downstairs.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitatedly.

Sakura froze, her hand on the knob. She couldn't listen in. She shouldn't. Curiosity gripped her. Slowly, silently, she turned the knob. She blushed.

With the door ajar, his voice reached her more easily, despite it being low and grave.

"No, she just seems to think her old stuff was better."

Sakura faltered, her eyes shifting involuntarily to her wedding ring. He sounded like a child. Then, an insidious thought whispered at her; what if he was talking to the woman in the picture?  

She closed the door, her face stiffening with conflicting emotions, her heart heavy, sinking quickly in her chest.

She climbed back into bed.

His.

His bed.

She was his, but her husband belonged to another woman.

***

PART 4

The next morning, Sakura ate her breakfast in silence, her lips pursued, barely chewing the steamy rice pudding.

Gaara had served her in silence, his green eyes searching hers. Sakura refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing clearly her puffy eyes, her pale face, and how everything about him ravaged her. Ever since she had his ring, he had torn pieces of her, a roaming scavenger that mercilessly picked at the bones.

"Do you have class or are you at the hospital today?" Gaara asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still watching her.

The back of her neck prickled. She was certain he wasn't used to waiting.

She munched slowly, and his eyebrow twitched.  

"Hospital," Sakura answered icily.

"Hn."

Gaara glanced out of the window, his muscled forearms jerking, still crossed over him.

"What time do you finish?"

Annoyed, Sakura glared up at him, but his face was expressionless, unfocused, still turned toward the bay windows. She pinched her lips and bent over her bowl again.

"I don't know, maybe around 7," she shrugged.

"What about tomorrow?"

"What's this about?" Sakura grumbled.

"My brother and his partner," Gaara narrowed his eyes at the garden. "They want to have supper with us."

Sakura pushed her bowl away from her, and reached for her napkin. She wiped her mouth, and he furrowed his eyebrows.  

"Wednesday is fine."

Sakura stood up.

"Thanks for making breakfast," she said flatly.

His head turned back toward her, his pale eyes following her as she left the kitchen.

"Put the bowl away," he growled.

"I'm going to be late, but sure, you should clean up," Sakura shrugged. "It's your stuff afterward."

Gaara stood up too, swiftly, and she walked faster toward the entrance. Maybe she went too far? He followed her, a glowering presence. She bent down to put on her shoes, avoiding the sharp edges of his face.

Gaara leaned over the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, solid, his eyes on his watch.

"What about my sister and her partner?"

Sakura grimaced, occupying her hands with her messenger back.

"Saturday... Maybe brunch?" Sakura shrugged.

'Or never,' she added silently.

"Good," Gaara answered and he turned away from her.

He reached in his pocket for his phone.

Silently, she panted looking at the space he had occupied, her insides twisted, sore. What had she expect?

She heard the sound of clicking dishes as he cleaned up the kitchen table.

"Bye, honey!" Sakura shouted, and she slammed the door after her.

-X-

His office was crowded, the directors sitting around the coffee table in front of Gaara's desk in a tight rectangle of bobbing heads. Their assistants took hurried notes behind them, shifting their weight from one feet to the other, to keep awake, to keep from their legs going numb.

Gaara detached his chin from his laced fingers, glancing down at his watch.

Soon, he would be able to dismiss them. In fifteen minutes, he would go down to the twelfth floor and meet with the executives from the main factory.

Gaara glanced down at the leather file folder in front of him.  

"If we get a new product-"

"Gaara-sama," one of the director said and coughed. An intentional disturbance. The other directors turned their stares to him, fingers pushing back the business plan. An orchestrated plan.

Gaara looked up at them. They squirmed under his stare. He hated when they changed the order of the meeting, shifting his schedule around like it belonged to them.

The director coughed again, his hand in a shaky fist pressed against his mouth.

"Maybe, you should bring your wife to the next fundraiser. Investors from the Fire country will be there. It'll be good for future relations... She was born there, yes?"

"Hn. Can we talk about the new product now?" Gaara said icily.

He lowered his hands to the table, tapping the rhythm of time with one index. 13 more minutes, and he would get up.

"You should dismantle the new company you acquired," Director Orochimaru hissed. "It's a deadweight."

Gaara felt a familiar anger boiled and lashed out inside him. He straightened his back, leaning back on his leather chair. The directors pressed their lips together, a joined front.

"My wife won't come to the fundraiser if you keep pretending we can't save this company."

"Gaara-sama!" one of the directors exclaimed, and the others blinked rapidly staring at each other, nudging at each other.

"She'll be too busy with being newly poor," Gaara said flatly, and he knocked on the table sharply. "Are we going to talk about this deal now?"

"There're times you do business like your father, Gaara-sama," Director Orochimaru said with a smirk, and an elongated feminine hand pushed back his lustrous hair.

A ferocious amusement glinted in his narrowed eyes.

He was a snake.

Gaara knew Director Orochimaru coveted his seat. He was patient. He was deceitful. He had briefly occupied the CEO's chair after Gaara's father had died. He had let the siblings play in his office, musing out loud about their father's disgrace until none of them could smile.

They glared at each other.

They would always fight for the chair, the title, and the power that would make one and defeat the other.

"There are times I wish I was my father," Gaara said coldly, "so I could throw you out of my office."

"The fundraiser is in two weeks," the other director squeaked, his hand on his tie.

Elegantly, Director Orochimaru shrugged, still smiling.

"A new product may save the company if we have deals to sell it in big department stores. Arrange it," Gaara snapped the leather file folder shut, and stood up.

Reluctantly, the other directors stood up too, buttoning back their suit jacket with stiff hands, and displeased frown. They shook their heads, avoiding looking at each other. They would plot, Gaara knew. Director Orochimaru was still sitting, his assistant fervently staring at him.

"It may also not work," Director Orochimaru said softly.

"It's a long way down my office," Gaara said dully, and he pointed at the exit. "That way is slower, but safer."

"Gaara-sama..." The directors bowed their heads, and exited the room.

Gradually, Director Orochimaru got to his feet. His assistant hurried to give him his cane, his arm draped over his shoulder protectively. He barely seemed to notice, stepping toward Gaara.

"It'd be a long way down your office for you too, Gaara-sama," he sing-sang as he brushed by him. "Enjoy married life."

Gaara pressed the button of the intercom. He loosened his tie around his neck, still glaring at the door.

"Matsuri, get the movers I ordered yesterday on the line," Gaara said at the intercom.

"Yes, Gaara-sama. A moment, please, I'm connecting you."

The line rang sharply before a feminine voice answered. Gaara quietly enquired about what happened to things he had chosen to disregard. He listened to her answer, massaging his forehead. Lines creased it, his insides twisted.

Sakura whispered 'honey' in his ear.

She yelled it.

He frowned, disturbed by her intrusion in his thoughts.

He cleared his throat. He cleared his head.

"So, the things are completely gone?"

"Yes, sir. That's our policy!" The woman answered cheerfully.

"Hn. Goodbye."

Gaara hung up. He readjusted his suit jacket, turning his cufflinks back in place, perfectly symmetrical.

He opened the door of his office. Matsuri, his executive assistant, jumped to her feet, her mouth agape, her phone flipped faced down on the desk. She bowed stiffly, her face red.

"Move the executive meeting to this afternoon."

Matsuri stared after him in panic.

She dropped back on her seat once he was gone. Shakily, she reached for the phone.

Her boss never changed his schedule.

-X-

Gaara only remembered she had a hot pink broken stapler that weighed a ton.

He scowled at the stationary section for a minute before a clerk approached him smiling politely. He bowed formally.

"How can I help you, o-san?"

"I need a pink stapler with ridiculous ornaments and stars."

Caught by surprise, the clerk gaped, then walked stiffly toward an alley. He seemed to be fighting a smile.

"Is this what you're looking for, o-san?"

Gaara's eyebrow twitched at the sight of the stapler. It seemed brighter somehow. He nodded stiffly, and the clerk took a box for him. He led him to the checkout area.

"Is it a gift, o-san?"

"I don't know if she'd want it wrapped... Hn. Wrap it without the ribbons. Just a box, is that possible?"

The clerk bowed his head and pinched his lips in a disapproving look Gaara immediately recognized.

"Or one or two ribbons. Pink," Gaara growled and glared at the clerk.

"Would that also be all?"

Gaara narrowed his eyes at the clerk. There it was again; a disapproving look, lips curled up in an icy polite smile. Gaara dropped his wallet on the counter, swearing inwardly. Jewellery. In movies, dutiful husbands always bought jewellery.

"Do you also sell watches?" Gaara asked.

"Yes, sir. This way..." His smile easing, the clerk bowed.

He placed the wrapped gift under the counter and put on some gloves as he led him to another section of the store.

With disinterest, Gaara gazed at the watches on display.

"Hn. Find me something with numbers and without much... accessories." He tapped his finger on the glass, his eyes narrowed to slit at a golden watch with fake diamonds surrounding its frame. "Nothing like that."

Gaara turned away from him and got his phone out of his pocket.

"Tell Baki I'll be late," Gaara said to his secretary when she answered at the first ring. "About five minutes. I need to run by the hospital."

"Oh, is everything alright, Gaara-sama?" Matsuri stammered.

"Yes."

He hung up and approached the counter again. The clerk had picked five watches, all silver and simple.

Gaara pinched his lips. He didn't know which one to pick. Uncomfortable in his silence, the clerk pointed at one.

"It looks like your watch o-san."

"And?" Gaara asked dully.

"Well, if it's a gift to a special someone..." the clerk smiled at him encouragingly.

Gaara raised an eyebrow inspecting the watch. It was lighter, and smaller than his, but the bracelets were formed the same way.

"Do married people do that? Match their watch?" Gaara asked, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the absurdity of it, but his voice was soft, curious.

The clerk bowed.

"I'm sure your wife would be touched."

"Hn. Wrap it up like the stapler."

The clerk bowed and reached for a gift box under the counter.

"What about a gift bag, o-san?"

Gaara narrowed his eyes at his watch.

-X-

Gaara drove to the hospital, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. He resisted the urge to call Kankuro. Didn't he do marry because it was time to stop relying on his siblings? He moved his neck back, uncomfortable, trying to relieve the tension he felt building there.

Husbands bought things to apologize, Gaara knew from movies and books. Even when they didn't understand what they were apologizing for. Husbands' cluelessness was a recurring theme in most media.

It would be fine, he muttered to himself.

The truth was she terrified him like all strangers did. They needed all the little things he could never give them, and they were always insistent. And he couldn't sleep.

He glanced sideways at the gift bag, almost nauseous. He wanted to stir the wheel and drive back to his office. Then, Kankuro had said to get her stuff back, and his older brother was never wrong.

On the highway, the cars queued more intensely behind in, marking the beginning of rush hour.

He took the next exit, his lips set in the beginning of a snarl.

Why wasn't it easy like he had hoped?

Gaara parked the car in the administrative section using one of his grandmother's vignette. He got out of the car and bent down to retrieve the bag from the under the passenger's seat. He scowled. Why did he let the the clerk convince him he needed a gift bag? It looked ridiculous.

He slammed the door shut.

His back rigid, Gaara walked up to the hospital ground.

The hospital swarmed with hurrying personnel, yawning ones, and they buzzed; blurred bodies, extremely still bodies, and bloodied bodies.

The crowd anonymized him.

Gaara headed toward the cafeteria, expecting her to eat lunch there. Calmly, his gaze shifted across the tables knowing the interns wore a white scrub. He froze. Her hair was tied back, and she was talking animatedly with a group of interns. She laughed and spoke loudly. He knew her meek. He knew her sullen and angry.

Gaara cocked his head to the side watching her.

Her gaze briefly met his. Her pink mouth was agape, her flow of speech interrupted. She stood up shakily, staring at him with widened eyes.

Her knee bumped against the able and her food tray jolted upward.

"Gaara-sama!" Sakura startled.

His eyes stopped on her left hand, and hers went to the gift bag he was holding. The other interns watched them with curiosity, chewing silently. Sakura opened her mouth, looked at her friends, then approached him shyly. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her cheeks turning pink.

"Are you here to see obaasan?"

"Yes," Gaara answered. "Bye now."

He whirled around, and exited the cafeteria. He was no longer anonymous, hushed whispers now accompanied every step he took: "Wasn't that Chiyo-sama's grandson?".

"Gaara-sama!" she ran after him.

He pressed the button of the elevator again, glancing at his watch without seeing the numbers. He kept seeing her empty left ring. And her laughter. And the way she had called him 'honey' once. He pressed the button of the elevator harder.

Anger swelled up inside him, and it was untameable as always.

He glanced at his watch, his heart, an explosion in his ears.  

"Gaara-sama!" Sakura repeated louder and touched his arm. Gaara whipped his arm from her. She pretended she didn't notice the way he flinched away from her. "You're pale. Are you alright?"

"Hn."

Sakura shifted in front of the elevator, then she stepped in the elevator with him, her fingers laced together, her head bowed. He normally tolerated uneasy silence, but he found it suffocating now with her enclosed in a small space. Her and anger. He gripped the handrail behind him putting as much distance between them.

"Where's your ring?" he muttered darkly, haunted by the thought of becoming like his father.

"My ring?" Sakura glanced back at him, guarded.

"Your wedding ring."

"I'm operating all day... I can't have a ring on. It's in my locker."

"Do your friends know you're married?" he spoke above her.

"You mean, if they know you own me?" Sakura scoffed, her eyebrows twitching, and crossed her arms, her face darkening. "Maybe you should have tried peeing around me, so they would know. What's with men, god?"

Gaara wished he could yell this wasn't what he meant, but anger was unpredictable. His eyes shifted uneasily around the elevator avoiding her. He wished he could let the beast loose, but he was terrified he would hurt her. He hadn't thought of this side of him in too long.

But, he wasn't alone anymore.

Gaara turned toward her stonily even if the doors of the elevator slid open. He stared at her, his mouth working. His face contorted as if he were fighting with himself and the words pained him. She took a step back.  

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"What?" she stammered.

He considered the distance between them, the laughter in the cafeteria pounding against his skull. Fear or anger, had he ever learned the difference between the two?

"I must be quite disappointing, I suppose," he said as he took a step back out of the elevator.

The gift bag thudded on the floor.

"No matter what they say in the papers... I'm not prince charming, am I?" Gaara muttered to himself and he walked out of the elevator without a glance back.

-X-

Sakura opened his present after her shift in the locker room.

She smiled, feeling the familiar weight of her stapler. She closed it a couple of times, giggling quietly to herself, her eyes brimmed with tears. Ino had bought her old one on one of her shopping spree and gave it to her when she left. As it was broken, she had recommended using it as a "means to crack skull open of nasty boys".

Sakura reached for her cellphone in her purse and her thumb hesitated over his number. Instead, she took a picture of it and sent it to Ino and Tenten, with the caption: "Cracking skulls of nasty boys with a new one!!"

Ino answered with a series of emojis varying from hearts to pandas.

'Why stop at the skull,' Tenten replied after a moment. 'Aim lowweerrrr'.

Sakura set it to the side and reached for the second smaller box. She pulled off the ribbons. Wincing, she opened the jewelry box. A delicate silver watch circled a cushion of black velvet. She flushed, her mouth dropping open.

Someone whistled behind her.

"Damn, you got yourself a boyfriend there, Sakura?"

Wickedly, Maki winked and sat down next to her to admire the watch.

"Ano, Maki-senpai..." Sakura shifted uneasily, blushing.

"Don't you watch the news, Maki?" Yuri snorted and slammed shut her locker. "Missy Pinky is now Gaara-sama's wife." she smirked coldly. "She's technically our boss, I guess."

Yuri strode out of the locker room, waving at them over her shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, girls. Sakura-sama," she added icily.

Sakura lowered her gaze to the watch. Maki returned it quietly and stood up. She bowed her head. She changed out of her scrub, without a glance back at her.

Sakura returned the gifts to the bag, her teeth clenched painfully over rising tears of anger. Squared-shoulders. Straight back. Chin up.

Her body trembled.

She was the brittle leaf from Konoha.

She was exhausted.

[atarahderek]

Typing special characters with Windows 11 - USA specific

If you've upgraded to Windows 11, you may have noticed that you can't type special characters using the ALT-Num codes you're used to. This can be extremely frustrating at first, but Microsoft has a little secret that the internet discovered: With the right keyboard, it's actually easier to type special characters. Here's what you do:

Change your keyboard to English-International. On your taskbar, click the language button down by your wifi symbol. Go to "More language settings" and locate the "English (United States)" option on your list of preferred languages. Click the ellipses button to the left and select "Language options." Scroll down to "keyboards" and click "add a keyboard." Scroll down until you find "United States-International," and click it. Once that's done, close out of your settings, then go back down to your taskbar and click on your language. Switch from "English (United States) sub US" to "English (United States) sub United States-International."

Memorize your new keyboard shortcuts. You can now type special characters using your punctuation on your regular keyboard. To accent a vowel normally (or to put a tail on the letter C, as in açai), hit your apostrophe and then the vowel (or C) of your choosing. Using the reverse accent (under the tilde) and then a vowel gives you an accented grave (used in languages such as Scottish Gàidhlig). Typing a quotation mark and then a vowel puts two dots over the top of it, like so: ï. And to get the proper N in words such as niño, type the tilde (~) and then your letter.

Practice. This new method requires adjusting how you type. Your keyboard is smart enough to determine when and where an apostrophe is needed rather than an accent, allowing you to type words like "you're" or "weren't" without pausing. But it gets tripped up when dealing with the characters that can be modified. To cancel an accent mark so it can't modify an eligible character, simply hit your spacebar after the apostrophe, tilde or quotation mark. When closing a quotation, you'll have to double space.

Alt-ernately... You can still use your ALT key to add all of the above accents, but you have to use the one on the right. Just press right-ALT and then type the letter you want to modify. There are special characters on every letter, number and punctuation key on your keyboard except for F, G, H, J, K, X, V, B and back-apostrophe/tilde. Using right-ALT will also give you access to special characters such as the ° symbol (under the colon symbol, for which you'll have to hold down both right-ALT and shift), or the inverted question mark (¿) and exclamation point (¡) (each under their corresponding upright symbols). Again, this only works with the English-International keyboard (unless you're paying for Microsoft Office, in which case, these shortcuts apply without the English-International keyboard; but I use Open Office). So you'll still have to be aware of your punctuation's new commands.

[hopeishappinessff]

Holding Onto Hope: Chapter 34.1

Chris

My fingers twiddled nervously as I sat there with my head held low, ignoring her burning stare. She was waiting quietly and patiently for me to respond to her, but I didn’t have a response. I had no answer for any of the questions she asked and I wanted nothing more than to run out of this office and back to my room where I could hide from her intrusive questions and the world’s judgement. I heard her sigh and shift in her chair, but I kept my head down and my lips zipped.

“Chris… you’ve got to give me something.” Dr. Stevenson said with a sigh mixed with unmistakable frustration. Like any other day and any other situation, I failed to respond. I didn’t see why these people thought I would open my mouth to speak about something as personal as my life, let alone speak at all.

“The only way you will progress is if you speak to me Chris. Just answer the questions to the best of your abilities.” She urged. Still, I didn’t trust her and there was no way in hell I was going to willingly sit here and divulge my history to her.

Her chair shifted again and this time I heard the sound of her notebook closing roughly. It was clear that her patience was running thin, but I honestly didn’t care. At the end of the day, she wasn’t my therapist… therefore she was simply a stranger interrogating me and I felt uncomfortable with the concept.

“Listen to me,” She started with yet another deep and frustrated sigh, “We’ve gone through this four times already on four different occasions and you have yet to utter a word to me. This is a part of your treatment plan Christopher… it is almost like a test that you must pass in order to progress so that you can eventually leave. It is up to me to determine how much you have improved, which in turn will determine how soon you will be allowed to leave. Do you know how much improvement you have made thus far?”

Not bothering to raise my gaze to entertain her question, I sat still and stared down at my thumbs as they twirled round and round.

“None. You have made zero improvements. I want to help you… I want to know what it is that is festering within you. Whatever it is, it isn’t good but the only way it can get better is if you let me in.”

She was pushy and aggressive and almost rude… the tone of her voice wasn’t even inviting and I knew she didn’t give a shit about helping me. This was just a job to her and she probably got to go home every night and laugh with her perfect little husband and perfect little kids about rejects like me and everyone else in this place.

“I guess we can try this again tomorrow. We’ll get on a more set meeting schedule as soon as you decide to cooperate.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile then turned her attention to her computer screen. It was only then that I bothered to look up at her and discreetly roll my eyes as I briefly watched her begin to type away, ignoring my presence completely. Bitch.

Assuming that was meant to be my dismissal, I eased back in my chair and slipped out of her sterile office as quick as I could. Just outside the door stood Richard the security guard, waiting to lead me onto my next destination for the day… the recreation room. This was a part of the day that I hated and tried to avoid at all costs. Being around the other people in this establishment always fucked with my mood. I felt like most of them were actually crazy and it irritated me having to be thrown in a room with them as if I was one of them. I had my issues, sure enough… but I didn’t think I was as mentally unstable as some of them acted.

Richard led me down the hall and to the right into the spacious recreation area, where I plopped down in a stiff “cushioned” chair in a corner and watched the crazies interact. Several of them were quiet and doing exactly what I was doing by minding their business, but I always found it strange to watch the ones who let their mental issues shine. Like the girl who sat in the middle of the room Indian style with her hands pressed against her ears, rocking back and forth. Or the older man who sat near the television plucking follicles of his hair and nibbling on the ends. I began to question whether I belonged in here after my first time in this very room and every day was a constant reminder that I did not.

The longer I was around them, the more I realized I needed to actually get my act together so I could get on the right path to leaving. This was definitely not the life I envisioned for myself at only nineteen years old. I had so much to look forward to in the outside world… I still had a whole future ahead of me with school, I had a son to raise and now… I have a child on the way with Hope. The corners of my lips curled into a smile at the thought of my new son or daughter. Though it truly didn’t matter to me what it was, I secretly hoped for a girl… a little replica of Hope. I imagined myself spoiling her rotten and I imagined her having me wrapped right around her little finger just as her mother does… she’d be daddy’s little princess. Whatever the sex was though, it was already the light of my life right along with Jaylen. I felt it then… a sudden spark of life. It donned on me in that moment sitting in a room full of crazies that I did not belong with them and I had to get out and fast for the sake of my kids.

I sat up just a bit straighter in my seat with just a bit more confidence… more confidence than I’d had since this entire ordeal unfolded. I don’t know why I hadn’t allowed Jaylen alone to be on the forefront of my mind all along to give me the push I needed, but after what Hope revealed to me… I felt like I had a whole new purpose in life.

Play time was over now and the guards were on their way around the room to round everyone up. As Richard approached me I felt the smile still plastered on my face from all my previous thoughts of happiness. I wasn’t sure if I looked like a crazy person the way I sat there smiling to myself, but Richard didn’t seem to mind as he smiled right back.

“Eh Brown, look at ya buddy. Don’t think I’ve seen you look this happy a day since you’ve been in here,” He said in his thick New Jersey accent, “You’re a handsome fella with a smile… gotta do it more often.”

Nodding slightly, I stood up and towered over his chubby frame and allowed his statement to replay in my mind… I would definitely try to do it more often.

--

There were six hundred and eighty-two small dots in one square tile on the ceiling above me. I knew because I lay flat on my back with my arms crossed behind my head counting them leisurely. There was a television in the room with me and a window with a small view to the outside world, but right now my entertainment came in the form of numbers… because it helped me focus more. It took a lot of focus to not skip any dots and to keep my vision trained on the small marks, but the longer I squinted and the faster I counted, the more I focused… which was good. I had to stay focused to get through this hell that I was in. The days weren’t passing fast enough, but time was ticking away as I wasted away behind these walls. The world continued on without me and the thought alone made me want to slam my face into the wall, so I forced myself to focus.

Nine hundred and sixty-four small dots later and I’d managed to block out every single thought and distraction. My breathing was slow and paced and for once in I don’t know how long, I felt… in control. That is until an obnoxious knock erupted against my door followed by the loud jingling of keys and the door opening all too fast.

“Brown… you’ve got a visitor buddy.” Richard said as he waddled into the room. The pace of my concentrated breathing had been thrown off abruptly and I stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment hoping that it’d get back right before I stood up and potentially passed out.

By the time Richard made it halfway across the room, I’d caught my breath and shifted over to the side of the bed. I eased my thick socked feet into my Nike slides and peered up at him with a slight smile… something I tried to do whenever he was around because he was the one who reminded me that I could. In bubbly Richard fashion, he grinned right back and stepped off to the side to allow me space to venture out of the room. That was something I’d noticed about Richard… he never seemed to crowd my space. I’d seen virtually every other security guard in this place literally drag patients along by the cusp of their arms, but Richard always seemed to respect my space and he treated me like a human.

We walked side by side down the stark white hall toward… the visitor room. I’d forgotten that Richard had said I had a visitor and I could feel my heart beginning to race with anticipation for who it could be. I hoped that it was her… Hope. I loved seeing her here and though I had yet to gather my thoughts enough to actually speak to her, it truly made my day just being in her presence. She was literally the light of my life and it truly felt like an honor to be anywhere near her. She should have shunned me and written me off long ago, especially after…

Richard stopped abruptly and I only noticed because somehow I ended up behind him and I almost ran into his back when he stopped.

“Alrighty Brown.” He mumbled. Shifting my gaze past him, I quickly realized that we were standing right at the entrance of the moderately filled visitor’s room and today, I was allowed to walk inside on my own. I began the slow trek with my hands wedged down in the front pocket of my hoodie and quietly peered around the room to see exactly who was visiting me. And then I stopped… froze dead in my tracks and had to truly focus for a moment on breathing alone. I’m sure I looked like a crazed fool as I stared like a deer caught in headlights at the table about five feet ahead of me. He sat there with his hands crossed on the surface of the table and a cocky smirk on his face that should have pissed me off, had it not been for the drugs coursing through my system forcing me to remain calm. We stared each other down for what felt like hours before he leaned forward a bit and cleared his throat.

“Hey… son.”

I glared at him… at Eze… my father. Why was he here? What did he want? How did he even know that I was here? The thoughts raced and I didn’t see them calming down anytime soon. What was happening? Was this a joke? Is he here to taunt and ridicule me?

“Please, come… sit.” He motioned for me to claim the chair across the table from him and it took every bit of focus I’d worked so hard to gain to move closer to him and actually sit down.

I hadn’t managed to tear my gaze off of him like I wanted to and my nostrils flared with desperation as I now refocused my attention on breathing again.

“How are you?” He asked gently. I refrained from scoffing at the thought of him showing some sort of sympathy toward me. I didn’t need him to sit there talking to me all softly like I was a child… I didn’t need his sympathy.

“Fine.” I muttered.

With a sigh, he cleared his throat once again and straightened his posture in his seat “I’m gonna cut right to the chase with you… your mother informed me that you were here.”

I stared at him, not bothering to give even a hint of a response. I had already figured my mom was the culprit, but I didn’t have it in me to argue with him about why.

“I asked her about you… I’m always asking her about you, believe it or not.” Yeah, I choose not, “When she told me everything that’d happened with you, I… I was honestly very concerned.”

The cocky smirk had disappeared from his face long ago and now he sat instead with worry lines etched into his forehead and a deep frown of concern on his face. Sure it looked genuine, but in my mind I knew it was a lie. Everything about the man was a damn lie… hell I was hoping the part where he was supposed to be my dad was a lie!

“I want to help you get out of here Chris… you don’t belong here.” He huffed.

My stare remained strong on him and for a moment I imagined what it might feel like to lunge across the table and strangle him to death. Killing my father with my own bare hands in the middle of a mental institution probably wouldn’t really help my case much… but the idea was tempting.

“Well… don’t you have anything to say?” He asked, seemingly… irritated.

I blinked a few times and breathed steadily through my nose, but there wasn’t much more he was getting out of me. I hadn’t had anything to say to this man since I was a child and I surely didn’t have a thing to say to him now.

“I… I guess I understand why you wouldn’t want to speak to me. I’ve been worried about you Chris and I wanted to reach out after you went off to school to congratulate you and see if you received your gift, but I didn’t want to disrupt your life in any way. So I’ve been getting occasional updates from your mother and when she told me what’s been happening in the past few weeks… I felt like I needed to reach out to you.”

Was he expecting a round of applause? Did he think I was going to hop up out of my seat and race around the table to hug him? Did he want a fucking cookie… for doing what a father was supposed to do? The thoughts raced like an out of control freight train through my mind. What did this man really want from me?

Quickly glancing back over my shoulder, I spotted Richard and two other security guards lingering near the entrance of the room. I wanted him to look in my direction so that I could signal to him that this visit was over. I was abnormally calm, because of the administered drug, but I just knew it was only so long before my anger overtook that and I snapped.

“Chris please… just… just let me help you.” The previous irritation in his tone had since disappeared and had been replaced with sympathy, which pissed me off, and before I knew it I was swinging back around to face him.

“I don’t want your fucking help.” The sound of my own quiet and raspy voice nearly scared the shit out of me, but the thought that’d just leaked from my mouth like diarrhea couldn’t be contained. Whatever it was that this man was trying to accomplish here was only a waste of his energy and a waste of my time.

He stared back at me through shocked eyes, but I didn’t care… he wanted me to speak to him so bad, so I said exactly what was on my mind. His lips parted to say some more bullshit, but I pushed back roughly in my chair before he could and stood up abruptly.

“Son…”

Glaring at him briefly through squinted eyes, I finally turned my back to him and swiftly made my way back over to Richard.

“Visit over already Brown?” He asked.

I gave him a firm nod and waited for him to turn around and open the door to the hall so we could get the hell out of that room. I could feel him still staring at me from the empty table I’d just left him at, but I didn’t bother to turn back to look at him… just like he never bothered to look back after he nearly destroyed my family and abandoned me.

  Hope

I was surprised, to say the least, when Ms. Joyce asked me to come over the day after Christmas. She didn’t give me a clear reason, so I figured maybe she needed to vent or just talk so I went without question. The surprise came when I stepped into the living room and found both Dr. Yates and Chris’s head coach sitting there smiling at me like it was just a normal occurrence for them to be on Ms. Joyce’s couch all the way in Virginia.

“Hello Sy’Diyah.” Dr. Yates greeted, instantly making me feel completely comfortable and content in her presence. I extended a smile to her that matched the one already resting on her lips and greeted her in return.

“Well hello there little lady.” The country twang of the coach spilled into my ears and my smile naturally lingered as I shifted my gaze to him.

“Hi.” I muttered nervously. I wasn’t sure why, but he intimidated me to a certain degree.

“I know we’ve never been formally introduced, but I’m Jeffrey Maddox… Chris’s basketball coach.” He stood from the couch and ambled toward me, completely towering over me which left me feeling like a little chipmunk in his presence. With a hand extended out in my direction, he waited patiently and with a polite smile while I stood there gawking up at him like a fool. I finally took the hint and reached out to shake his hand, but I was still very much in awe by this man’s height… he had at least a foot on Chris!

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Maddox.” I smiled gingerly.

“Aw, Jeff will do just fine.” The wrinkles in the creases of his eyes held my attention and assured me that the grin on his face was genuine. I stared at him for a few seconds longer than quickly glanced past him at Dr. Yates, who of course sat there smiling at me. I’m sure the unanswered question lingered right on my face as I looked back and forth between the two of them then finally over at Ms. Joyce… what were they doing here?

“Sy, why don’t you take a seat?” Ms. Joyce said as she moved toward the vacant love seat adjacent to the couch occupied by Dr. Yates and Coach Maddox. Quietly following her lead, I claimed the seat beside her and eased down with a sigh. Because I had absolutely no clue what this random meeting was about, the first thought that my mind raced to was that she somehow knew about the pregnancy and she called me here to confront me about it.

“So… Dr. Yates and I have been talking pretty often since we left Georgia and we thought it was a good idea for her to actually make a trip out here. Of course with her being in constant communication with Jeffrey, she mentioned the trip to him and he was excited to join her.” Ms. Joyce began to explain, “I’ve also been in communication with his therapist at this… institute, and according to her, Chris is not doing as well as he should in his sessions.”

My brows furrowed the moment the revelation fled her lips. What did she mean he wasn’t doing as well as he should?

“What do you mean?” I blurted.

“Joyce… if I may,” Dr. Yates chimed in politely, waiting only for a nod of approval from Ms. Joyce before she continued on, “Dr. Stevenson, the in-house therapist for the more, severe cases… seems to believe Christopher is failing to progress because there is no comfort level there for him. He is still mentally reeling in the horrors of the tragic events of the past few weeks, so I can only imagine the discomfort he is enduring with having to open up to this stranger.”

With lips pursed together and frown lines creased deeply near her lips and in her forehead, Ms. Joyce sighed and slouched with defeat beside me “I suggested to the therapist that we contact Dr. Yates to see if maybe we could get her on the line with him just to get some type of response or reaction from him… but with Dr. Yates being such the wonderful person that she is, she offered the suggestion of actually coming to spend a little time with him in person.”

I was surprised, to say the least, at all the news they were sharing with me and I’m sure the expression on my face reflected that. I had no clue about the struggles that Chris was facing with his new therapy sessions, but just looking across the way at Dr. Yates and even his coach made me feel completely at ease. I felt like Dr. Yates particularly deserved some sort of praise or an award for her dedication to him. Never had I ever heard of a therapist being so devoted to their craft that they would travel cross country for it. I honestly didn’t even know if it was her dedication to the job or if she just had a particular soft spot for Chris, but whatever it was… it made me want to throw myself across the room and drag her into the tightest hug.

Quickly clearing his throat and sweeping his gaze over the three of us, Coach Maddox sat up a bit straighter in his seat and smiled almost timidly.

“I’m no therapist or anything… but I thought I’d come along for the ride just to give Chris that extra bit of support that he deserves.” He explained. If they continued to give their proclamations as to why they both volunteered to be here for Chris, I was going to cry… I was sure of it. I wasn’t even sure of the extent of the relationship that Chris had with Coach Maddox, but for him to travel all the way here just to show him support personally meant the world to me.

I could feel Ms. Joyce’s stare piercing the side of my face and eventually I glanced over at her to see her smiling at me “We have an appointment at the institute tomorrow morning. I think it’s gonna be something like an extensive session that they’ve agreed to have hosted entirely by Dr. Yates. I believe in my heart that she’s gonna be the key to him getting better. And… none of this will be possible if you aren’t there as well.”

Reaching forward for my right hand, she clutched onto it and I stared intently into her glossy brown eyes “Please Sy’Diyah… I don’t want to force you into this or make you uncomfortable in anyway, but… he needs you.”

The desperation was definitely laced in her eyes as she evidently fought back tears and clutched tightly onto my hand. She didn’t need to beg me to attend though… there was no doubt in my mind that I would be right there by her side.

“Of course Ms. Joyce… I’ll be there.”

TBC...

[pineaberry]

ESC: Life Day

ESC is a series of drabbles and ficlets that were really more like writing exercises created when inspiration struck. They’re labeled ESC because as you can probably tell, they’re choices that I’d like to explore but immediately hit ‘Esc’ in-game before they’re set in stone. These were never meant to see the light of day but seeing how I hit a 150 follower milestone, I’ll share this with you guys. Feel free to reblog and let me know what you think!

Life Day Event

Setting: Sith Warrior Timeline, immediately after recruiting Jaesa, before meeting Pierce on Taris.

Location: Dromund Kaas 

Players: Tremas Cidran (F!Sith Warrior), Malavai Quinn

Relationship: That part in the relationship where Quinn still fools himself into believing the relationship is professional. ‘We’re just friends. Really. Stop laughing.’

It was Life Day, or close enough to it, and the Fury Crew had returned to Dromund Kaas for the holiday. Vette had shuttled off to Nar Shadaa for revelry and partying with her old crew. All the while Jaesa had taken the first taxi available to her parent’s new penthouse in Kaas City. Tremas had been keen to do some last minute shopping downtown though she had stopped to ask if he had any plans. Quinn had managed to provide a vague reply about wanting to relax and catch-up on his reports. While she didn’t press him on details, Tremas left with him the spare key to her- the crew’s stronghold and sternly warned him not to spend all of his free time at the spaceport. He had merely nodded and as he continued calibrating the kolto tank’s filter.

He tried to remain busy to keep himself from thinking. He had accompanied his lord on business in Kaas City plenty of times before, but today was the first time he had stepped onto the planet without a definite schedule since… well since before his court martial. The first night as Captain he had agonized over his datapad before sending a letter to his mother informing him of his promotion. That felt like so long ago. He’d been to Nar Shadaa, Tattooine, Alderaan, and Hutta since then. Each time they arrived at a new spaceport he sent a message to his mother, yet he’d received no reply to his missives.

He was a grown man. The silence should not have stung as much as it did but, he honestly didn’t know what she thought of him and the uncertainty of it was all the more harrowing.

After his messages had failed to gain traction, he tried a different approach. He couldn’t give her the riches and prestige she coveted, but perhaps there was still a way to make amends. Tremas was an unusual Sith in that she divided all the rewards of a mission evenly among the crew members. He often criticized her decision to do so and spent his own exorbitant share on upgrading the ship. However, during their excursion on Alderaan, one of the nobles had rewarded them with a pink shimmersilk scarf. The rare Tyrian textile was valued in the thousands of credits; easily worth several months of his captain’s salary. Yet Tremas didn’t even bat an eye when he asked for it as his ‘cut’. He’d felt so guilty afterwards he’d spent a month’s worth of his Imperial stipend to upgrade the ship’s navigation systems. In spite of his misgivings, he’d packaged the shimmersilk scarf and sent it to his mother as a Life Day present several days ago.

It had felt like sending off a packet of detonite that could very well explode on contact.

Life Day had meant very little to him, even as a child. Even when his father had been alive, his parents were never particularly fond of the holiday calling it ‘Republic propaganda’ and ‘the inane superstitions of primitive species’. It was perhaps a bit hypocritical of them, for although they denied Malavai the thrill of presents, his parents were more than happy to attend every gala and social event associated with the holiday.

By the time he finished the testing the Fury’s internal critical systems, his stomach was in knots. He had timed the delivery and accompanying message to coincide with their arrival at the spaceport but had found no reply when they arrived. He moved on to inspect the cargo hold now filled to the brim with boxes. Tremas had begun receiving gifts the moment they crossed into Imperial space. More than a few were from Imperials that hinted at being willing to provide something more intimate to show their appreciation.

He felt a stab of anger which dissipated some of his nerves and redirected his focus at a gaudy package.

You presume much if you think she would EVER touch anyone as lowly as you.

More than once he had fielded a holo-call from some idiot ensign who developed a crush on the one Sith who didn’t treat him like dirt under her boot. They had all of them deluded themselves into thinking her mercy was a sign she was interested in them. More than once he threatened to report them all for their indiscretion only to have Tremas merely smile in amusement as though their insinuations were anything less than insulting. He never thought serving under a female CO would come with these complications. The sheer audacity and lewd remarks from some of these men made him want to neuter them with his blaster.

Is professionalism dead? What are they teaching in the Military Academy these days?

Quinn secured a taxi and had 2V begin unloading the boxes so they could be delivered to the stronghold. He scowled at a package that contained a bottle of cheap liquor and a private holo-frequency. He made a note to write a strongly worded letter to the Academy Officials. It was obvious there was a dire need for a course on Ethics and Personnel Boundaries.

They’d just about finished clearing out the cargo hold when a courier droid arrived.

“Delivery… Quinn, Malavai,” it blipped as it held an envelope just large enough to fit a datapad in.

Quinn felt the knots return as he approached the droid and signed for the package. His heart was pounding in his chest as he promptly marched into the ship and placed the steel-blue envelope on his desk. There were no visible markings on the outside other than his family’s coat of arms; nothing to betray the message he would find inside. He had been waiting for weeks for this moment, yet now he could only stare at the envelope as though it were a venomous snake about to bite him. Finally, he could stand the suspense no longer and he tore open the envelope…

Bits of pink shimmersilk fell like iridescent flower petals onto the desk. The scarf had been cut into precise squares rendering the fabric worthless. He stared at the destruction as he felt something hot yet cold douse him. A fist slowly closed over the pieces as he grappled with the message received.

Did you really expect anything different? You thought you’d send her a pretty scarf, and then what? She’d ask you over for tea? Stupid, worthless, idiot.

He felt a deep shame wash over him and he immediately stuffed the bits of shimmersilk back into the envelope as though to hide the evidence of his foolishness. All of a sudden the ship was too small, too constrained. He stormed out heading for the Spaceport’s exit, pausing only to shove the proof of his shame into the nearest incinerator.

I’m a fool.

He rushed outside blindly, not caring if it was raining as he took deep ragged breaths. He wanted to run, to punch something, to hide, to cease existing, he wanted…

“Sir? Sir!”

A voice cut into his thoughts and effectively cut off his nervous breakdown. He turned to face a field medic that was hesitantly stepping towards him scanner in hand.

“It’s fine, soldier. I was... ” Quinn’s voice trailed off as he failed to come up with a plausible lie.

“It’s easy to get disoriented during a storm, but if you keep heading this way, you’ll get lost in the jungle,” the medic said offering him a way to save face.

He’d walked off the trail without so much as a blaster.

What a mess...

“Yes, of course, thank you,” Quinn nodded before heading back to the Fury. 2V chirped a greeting when he arrived informing him the taxi was loaded and ready to go. He was soaked from head to toe but he didn’t think he could stay in that hangar for a moment longer. After securing the ship he joined 2V and headed to the stronghold.

Quinn watched the passing scenery with feigned detachment. He wished he could just go numb and forget the day had ever happened. It was moment like these that he understood the spike in suicides around Life Day. Holidays only accented a person’s misery… his misery.

“You’re worthless, Malavai.”

He arrived at the stronghold garage, chilled to the bone and still dripping water everywhere. Quinn left the droid to unload the boxes while he trudged up to his private quarters but even a change in clothing couldn’t shift his mood. He needed to forget, to just drown out his thoughts. It was a familiar a need.

He went to his office and reached out to grab a decanter of brandy when he noticed a black box with a gilded bow had been left atop his workspace. Curiously he approached the box but there was only a single handwritten word on the tag.

Malavai...

Inside was a real tome with the complete translation of the Discovery of Korriban. He sat down in stunned silence as he picked up the book. He couldn’t think of anything he would want more… And then he looked down see a display cube with a fragment of obsidian at the bottom of the box. Ancient Sith language was etched into the surface and next to the cube was a certificate of authenticity.

Location: Korriban, Tomb of Ajunta Pall.

Artifact Name: Malavai’s Tablet

Description: Obsidian stone fragments depicting the oldest known record of the discovery of Korriban.

Unearthed by: Lord Tremas Cidran

Recorded by: Imperial Archeological Society.

Of course it was from her.

Who else would know?

Who else would care?

He hugged the book to his chest unable to form a coherent thought when faced with this level of kindness.

“You know, you’re not supposed to open those until Life Day,” her voice called out from the doorway, “but I’ll give you a pass”

He looked up at her his eyes welling with emotion.

“This… I am… overwhelmed, my lord,” he said before standing up. Quinn tried to hide his gaze from her as he carefully placed the book back in the box.

“Oh, come now Captain, what’s with that face? It should be criminal for you to look so sad,” she frowned as she walked up to him and gave him a hug. The weight of the day seemed to lift of his shoulders with the action.

Ever since Tatooine, he had become comfortable with her touch. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had such a soothing effect on him. He didn’t know if it was a Sith mind trick, or just something uniquely hers, but her presence silenced his doubts and fears. The shame and self loathing that had threatened to overwhelm him vanished like a nightmare under the glare of the sun. He sighed in relief and pressed his forehead against her shoulder effectively hiding his face.

“You know, it shouldn’t be this easy to get into your head, Quinn.”

Ah. Force mind-trick then…

She’d been trying to train him against those.

“I’m sorry, my lord. It’s been… a disappointing day,” he murmured realizing she was easing him into a relaxed daze. She’d done this exactly twice, both times when he’d been on the brink of an anxiety attack. Tremas had also shown him how to shake her off, but he was not currently inclined to do so. Not yet.

You alone make me feel safe...

“I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day. Do you want to talk about it?” she asked as she rubbed him back and he felt himself sink deeper into the daze. The grime of his darker thoughts faded away.

“No. I don’t… I don’t want to think about it.”

Please keep me from thinking about it…

“You know, if you stay under too long, it’ll be harder to come back,” she murmured earning a soft grunt in reply.

I don’t care… 

He wanted to stay lost in her thrall forever. There was something irresistible about her willingness to take care of him. She tempted him by lifting his burden over and over again. And gods, how he just folded submissively every time. He just WANTED to let her do as she pleased. His weakness would mortify him to no end once he regained his senses.

“Well, how about we do this,” she said sensing his reluctance and offering him a middle ground, “we’ll order from the noodle place downtown. We’ll make a pillow fort in the library and I’ll put on that new Historical Holo everyone’s talking about.”

“The storyline is always riddled with inaccuracies,” he mumbled.

“Good. I’ll try to point them out and you can tell me if I’m right or not,” she smiled as she saw him stand up straight and finally push back enough to free himself from her thrall.

“Pillow fort, my lord?” he asked as he processed the entirety of what she’d suggested with a clearer mind.

“Yes. That part is essential,” she grinned impishly as she looped an arm around his and led him towards the second floor.

Now with fanart here: Pt. 1 

And here: Pt. 2

[insomniac-arrest]

Dress me up and Dress me Down

pairing: Blue Zircon x Yellow Zircon (lawsbians/courtship)

words: 2k

genre: 18+ NSFW, public sex yall

I saw a bunch of fanart with Yellow Zircon’s hands up Blue’s shirt, so this is the NSFW human!Zircon ode to that, dressing room fic

summary: Blue Zircon (Zarah) is trying on her first real suit, with a designer name and fancy fabric and everything. Yellow Zircon (Zayda) decides to help with the process.  Ao3

Takes place in my human law students AU, but you don’t really have to read that to understand this one

 Key

Zarah- Blue Zircon

Zayda- Yellow Zircon

1974: Dillards

Zarah had a problem. A personal problem.

The dilemma for girls everywhere who forgot to do enough laundry and didn’t care enough to look decent in the mornings: bulky sports bras.

Sports bras that were lumpy and uneven and held together by safety pins at the shoulder. Sports bras that drooped down and skewed the shape of everything but heavy jackets.

It’s not that she couldn’t afford better ones, mostly that she didn’t have time to go out. Or care. And now she was stuck with a dark blue ugly sports bra contrasted to the fine pressed light blue designer suit in front of her. A suit made of crêpe, material with the high society accent on the letter ‘e’ and everything, a material that said please and thanks when addressed and never looked at the price tag in stores.

She was looking at this price tag. But her parents said they’d foot some of the bill later, they wanted this for her.

She studied her inlined crêpe pantsuit that came with a white handkerchief neck ascot (a jabot if you were raised in a seven bedroom house with only three people). She felt the sleeve, rubbing the material with her fingertips, soft and thick. Her body grew still, eyes glazing over, it was like being about to step into someone else's unknowable shoes and a whole new name.

“Are you done in there?” A flat voice called, Zarah could just see her tapping her foot impatiently on the other side of the door. “Either put it on or stop moping, no one cares if you look silly.” Zarah scowled at the door, typical.

She sniffs and thought about how thick the top suit jacket was and how high-waisted the pants were. No one was going to notice.

She slips off her bulky sports bra earnestly and fits the suit jacket over her skin. It felt more expensive than her soul.

She buttoned the little jacket and affixed the neckerchief promptly, holding her breath as she secured the blue jewel at her throat. Like something out of a Cinderella novel. Before Cinderella sued her entire stepfamily in court and become the lawyer Queen of ‘fuck you child abuse.’

Zarah smiled at the idea and grins bashfully at her own reflection. It wasn’t bad.

“Ahem,” Zayda cleared her throat outside and Zarah rolled her eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She buttoned the high waisted pants all the way up past her bellybutton and reached up to adjust the large shoulder pads. They at least made her look a little less like a scrawny kid who never grew into her knees, and maybe, maybe something a little more.

Zarah turns around and holds her chin high, this was her new self, she clicks the door open before Zayda could make another sound, another contest she’d go to meet.

Zarah walks out of the changing room and straightens her jacket as she steps into the middle of the hall.

Zayda was leaning on the opposite changing room door and raising her eyebrows slowly. Zarah grew a small smile at her own new clothes. Zayda on the other hand just kept looking.

She grew a little fidgety when Zayda didn’t say anything right away. She meets her gaze steadily, Zayda in her simple yellow button up shirt and slacks, a toneless expression. She pushes off the wall and stalks around her slowly, a prowling bird of prey.

Zarah sweats slightly in her new suit and tries not to feel self-conscious.

“Well?” She prompts impatiently as Zayda finished circling her. Zayda hums wordlessly and lifts her eyes over Zarah like a caterpillar climbing a tree, Zarah shifts from side to side, “Do I really have to provoke an opinion out of you for once?”

Zayda lifts her eyes and Zarah tapped her foot. “If you don’t like it you can just say.” She resists the urge to wipe her clammy palms on her pants.

Zayda was now working her gaze down her like dripping molasses, “No,” she says curtly, “It’s the exact thing for you.” Zarah knit her brow together, “What’s that mean?” Zayda leaned forward, “It’s the best thing I think I’ve seen you in.” Zarah opened her mouth indignantly at the backhanded compliment, “But you’ll need to get it tailored.” Zarah shrugged, “It feels pretty well-fitt to me.”

Zayda rolled her eyes, “Come on. My uncle used to own a second hand suit shop.” Zarah blinked, Zayda grabbed her by the elbow, “I’ll show you.” Zarah’s skin prickled as Zayda guided her toward the changing room again, she didn’t know where the fluttering heat under her skin came from.

Zayda roughly led her back into the small gray room, two large mirrors on either wall and a sad blue chair in the corner.

“Are you actually an expert in this?” She asked skeptically as Zayda closed the door behind them.

Zayda glanced over her shoulder and flashed a cocky smile, “I’m an expert in most things.” Zarah shook her head with exasperation and Zayda turned her around to face the mirror, “Now, you see this?” She pointed at her pants, a slightly roomy left leg. All Zarah could focus on momentarily was Zayda rasping into her ear, a hot puff of air against the shell of her ear.

“Yes?” She finally says in a slight daze.

“It’s loose,” Zayda says snippily and then points at the inner hemline.

Zarah tilts her head, “It uh, yeah?”

“You see,” Zarah jumps as she feels two fingers pressed against her inner thigh, “You’ll want to bring this seam in.” Zarah’s eyes go wide, her breath picks up, Zayda forcefully dragged her two fingers up the seam in the blue pants, trailing all the way up her inner thigh. Zarah forced herself to stay still.

“Or else your scrawny legs are going to swim in the fabric.”

Zarah scowls briefly but Zayda’s two fingers were still tracing her inner leg, pressing the stitching into her sensitive skin.

“What are you doing?” Zarah finally asked in a strained voice.

Zayda gradually leaned into her, pressing her back to her chest. Zayda’s breath licked her neck, “You look good.” Zarah shivered, she knew Zayda felt it. The other girl put both hands around her waist and gently pulled her backward. She follows her thoughtlessly, Zayda’s backed herself up against the wall and held Zarah in front of her, having her face the mirrors. “Do you know what my favorite part is?”

Zarah looked blankly ahead as she saw herself in the mirror, cupped in the hands of the sly looking fellow student, “Nuhhh,” She made some sort of noise.

“You didn’t even bother to put a bra on for me.” Zarah gasps as Zayda sticks both hands up her boxed hanging jacket and drives the rough heels of her hand into Zarah’s nipples.

Zarah gasps sharply and can’t help but arch into the harsh touch the made her lower body tingle.

“There we go.” Zayda purrs and Zarah tries to scramble for words, “That’s the look for you.” Zarah could see her face flush and jacket lifted up to reveal bare skin, Zayda nips at her neck and Zarah squeezed her legs together.

Zayda roughly fondles one of her breasts and massages the other, tweaking, pinching, and rubbing the area like she owned it.

Zarah gave another small whine and finally leaned back, “Wait…” She huffed, her thoughts hazy, “We’re in…” She makes a hiccup of needy noises, “We’re in public.” She had seen a saleswoman at the end of the dressing room hall earlier, hungry for commissions, and a middle-aged career lady three stalls down.

Zayda bites the outside of her ear, “It’s not a problem if you don’t make a sound.” Zarah didn’t find it in her to argue against that and lets out a shaking, “Yes,” as Zayda tweaked her. “Yes.”

“You were always so sensitive here,” she pinches and Zarah bites down on the inside of her cheek desperately- trying to not made a sound. However, Zayda was relentless, knowing just how she wanted to push her to her limit.

She couldn’t help the next moan and her eyes squeezed shut, “Here,” Zayda said with a laugh, “I’ll help you.” She kissed her neck softly before biting down on her exposed throat. Zarah closed her eyes again but then felt a single finger circling her lips gently, sweetly nudging her mouth open. Another groan was rising up from within her, Zayda caressed her lips until Zarah willingly opened up, Zayda roughly slid two fingers into her mouth.

“Suck.” Zarah inhaled sharply but found herself rocking forward as Zayda thrust in and out of her mouth with her fingers. She felt a string of drool crawling down her chin. Oh no. She sucks helplessly on the pads of her fingers despite herself, aching between her legs.

She mumbles around the digits and Zayda faithfully pets her sides and lowers her hand, “Shhh.”

Zayda’s free hand wandered down, she started to unbutton the many fastens of her pants, then stretches the elastic of her underwear.

She wasn’t sure what would have said but the long fingers demanded her attention as she licked at her pads of her fingers and her thoughts swam.

Her sex throbs hotly and Zayda was taking her time reaching down, she moans around the fingers and Zayda kisses her neck in a mockingly tender way, “I know what you need.”

She makes a garbled sound. “Oh yes,” Zayda croons, “I will.” she palmed her clit and made her squirm helplessly before she reached further into her heat. She was always quick, pushing two fingers up into her skillfully and making Zarah wordlessly arch. She easily, effortlessly, opened her up, chuckling at how loose and wet she got so fast.

“Eager,” she kisses her cheek, “Pretty.” She should say something. But she was sucking on her.

Zayda was fast and dirty, making her feel like a Babylonian harlot put out on display. She could see herself in the mirror, neck dotted in red marks and jacket fully open to reveal her puckered and aroused chest. Her eyes were thick with heat and the drool ran down her chin.

Zayda thrust in and out of her as she fastidiously buried herself in past the knuckle and sunk deep within her wetness, she scissors inside of her. Zarah gasps and tries to press down.

She can only twitch and ask for more in jumbled speech, Zayda promised more and crooked her fingers inside her until she hit the flowering spot. Zarah makes a hard noise and curls into herself.

Zayda chuckles and pets the spot within her with a practiced deliberateness, a heat like a bubbling pot spills over.

“There, there,” Zarah’s screwed her eyes shut and almost sobbed, pressing down on Zayda’s fingers and her center uncoiling in a gasping high, she spills onto her hand.

She was going to have to buy this suit.

Zarah spent a brief blissful moment staring at nothing, another figure was in the mirror she thought, messy and absolutely taken. She goes boneless as Zayda basically carries her over to the chair and eases her down into it. She watches Zayda then lick her two fingers with relish and hold her eyes steadily, Zarah can only inhale.

She blinks a couple times and Zayda leans forward to place a real kiss on her mouth, a sweet press of her lips like she wasn’t a sly predator every other moment of her life. Zarah kissed her back, her eyes closed and heart sighing; Zayda stood up to look down at her appraisingly.

“I hope you wear that suit every day of your life.” It seemed like she meant it.

She lets out a breath and leans back in the chair, “Well, I’m definitely going to have to buy it.” Zayda kisses her nicely on the cheek, “See? I told you I was a helpful shopping buddy. No arduous choice making.” Zarah rolled her eyes, “but I’ll have to go to the other side of the mall to do it.”

Zayda winks at her and tries to help her up, “Happy passing the bar exam day I guess.” She just shook her head and Zayda gave her a couple more secret soft kisses, some murmurs of how good she looked. She didn’t know exactly what to say back but it was easy to feel a little glow in her chest.

[spnsimpleman]

The Unknowns: Ten

This is a continuation for The Unknowns.  Which was a one shot and is now a long ass Prologue.  Part One.  Part Two. Part Three. Part Four.  Part Five. Part Six. Part Seven.  Part Eight.  Part Nine.

Dean x Psychic!reader

Teaser/Summary: An AU sparked from a songfic challenge, The Unknowns is based on Season One Episode Nine, Dean met reader in Lawrence as a child and they created an unbreakable bond. At the end of The Unknowns, reader decided to stick with her boys because she felt something coming but she holds secrets; one she holds close to her heart and a few that she doesn’t even really know yet.

Word count: 3521

Lines borrowed from season one episode nineteen, “Provenance” in Bold.

Sam and I sat at another bar table, this one a lot cleaner than the last. We were scanning through a few newspapers as I picked at the last of my fries. A band was setting up on the stage in the back and I was a little excited to hear some live music instead of a scratchy jukebox.

I was feeling a lot better than I had in days, maybe weeks and tonight felt like it was going to be a good night.

I glanced up from the newspaper and spotted Dean leaning over the pool table pretending to have trouble with a shot he had made a thousand times without trying.

“Check this out.” Sam leaned over and handed me the paper then slid the journal in between us. “The Telesca’s of New Paltz, New York both found dead in their home. Throats slit, no prints or weapons, house locked up tight.” Then he tapped the journal, “exactly like three other murders in upstate New York.”

I glanced back and forth between the newsprint and John’s meticulous handwriting, “so your dad was waiting for another lead or he thought it was taken care of. Does it say if he ever looked into it any further?”

“No, just the notes on all the murders and his suspicions that it was paranormal.”

Dean was suddenly at my side and his hand landed on my hip. “Up for a little game of pool?”

I smirked at him, “Sam found a case.”  

Dean glanced at Sam and frowned, “but I need you to teach these idiots a lesson.” I hiked my brow up and he sighed looking at Sam, “alright, whaddaya got?”

Sam gave him a rundown and Dean glanced back toward the pool table and held up one finger. He took a sip from my beer waiting for Sam to finish. “Alright, I’m with you, it’s worth checking out. We can’t pick this up until first thing, right?”

Sam and I looked over to the pool tables where the three college age guys were laughing looking our way. Sam sighed, “yeah.”

Dean tossed his keys to Sam and pulled me from my stool, “don't wait up, Sammy. We’re gonna pull in this week’s rent.”

“We don't pay rent,” Sam huffed but was already stacking the newspapers.

“You know what I mean.”

I rolled my eyes at Dean’s impatience to get over to the pool table and leaned toward Sam, “are you sure? I could get him to leave.”

He smiled, “yeah. I'm good. I'll check some things out on my end and we can start fresh in the morning.”

Dean grinned, “see? Come on, I can't wait to see the looks on these asshats when we dust ‘em.”

I pushed his chest, “go on, I'll be right over.”

Dean walked away and I met Sam’s gaze, “seriously, if you want some company I’ll do this fast and we can go.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled, “I'll be fine. Besides, I think you should help him let off some steam. He’s been increasingly annoying recently.”

“Must you be so crude?” He grinned like a fool and I got a hint of what was so funny and jabbed my finger toward him, “not funny. We do not bring up that case! I almost killed you two and I swear to God if you ever slip him Viagra or any variant of it ever again, I will smash your balls. Got it?”

Sam pulled his lips into between his teeth desperately trying to contain himself but still couldn't keep the smile trapped. “I will not bring up the case that shall not be named and no more prank wars.” I narrowed my eyes at him and he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, “I swear. Honestly, never.”

I kept my finger pointed at him for good measure, “goodnight, Samuel.”

He nodded with that smile teasing at the corner of his mouth, “night, Y/n.”

~~

The next morning, I carefully maneuvered out of the car, my skirt a little tighter than I remembered, and straightened my suit jacket. “Rich people, man. Can’t let that expensive crap sit too long.”

Dean’s hands smoothed down my hips and Sam hissed, “dude!”

I glanced at Dean and admonished him with the poshest accent I could, “I’d thank you to keep your hands to yourself, sir. A lady is not to be touched in such a way in public. For shame.” I grinned as the soreness in my legs reminding me that I was no lady, at least not all the time.

Dean and I were still riding the wave from last night’s high. From the pool table where we cleaned up to the hour we spent drinking beer, listening to the live band, and dancing together thoroughly enjoying the rare moments between the hunt where we were just us; two young lovers enjoying the night out. I still felt the beats from the drummer, the pulse from the loud speakers blaring the guitars and voices of the cover band all the way out into the parking lot while we swayed close together on the makeshift dance floor and when we spilled out into the cool night. It had been a great night.

Dean wiggled his brows then turned to Sam, “we need to find more rich people cases.”

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up his pace. I caught up with him and was lucky I didn’t fall on my face. “Damn, I haven’t worn heels in way too long.” Dean grinned at me and I had to shake the memories from last night off and focus, “okay, remember we work for Connors Limited.”

“We’re just looking around.” Dean shrugged and Sam’s annoyance level was almost funny.

I gave Dean a look to settle, “hoighty toighty means buku security so please keep the sarcasm to a minimum or maybe just pretend you’re mute. Don’t be offended, it’s just you are a tad prejudiced toward the wealthier folk.”

“I am n…”

“You called them wasps in the car.”

“They are.”

Sam and I glanced at each other and I wished I had made some kind of bet. I walked ahead and they followed me inside.

The price tags at places like this always amazed me especially with the items I couldn’t understand how any person could possibly want in their home. Some of the people around me felt the same and yet they had to have it because someone else was eyeing it. It reminded me far too much of animals marking their territory and proving dominance. As much as I disproved of Dean judging an entire group of people simply by his associations in the past, I couldn't defend this group too much. Except for one woman who seemed above it all, only spending time in front of pieces that truly interested her.

The collective energy around me shifted and I looked up from a remarkably awful clock and scanned the area. A man with a very dignified bearing was heading straight for Dean and Sam. “Shit.” I made my way toward them without drawing more attention.

“We’re there, Chuckles. Just need to take another look.”

I rushed the last few steps and had to press my hands into their backs to keep from toppling over. I plastered the best smile I could and reached a hand forward. “I’m sorry, excuse my savant.”

The man shook my hand and Dean turned toward a passing waiter. Sam was clearly still reeling from Dean’s response and I looked at him with a glance at Dean hoping he understood the signal to stay with his brother. Sam smiled at the man then followed Dean.

The man, probably manager or owner, watched them, his eyes narrowing, “they are a little rough around the edges but they're brilliant. The taller one is a genius, his knowledge is just off the charts and his ability to negotiate, well, I shouldn’t say that to you. The other may be more awkward socially, I’m still working on that but his eye for art rivals the greats, I mean he spotted a fake without ever knowing a thing about the painting.”

The man was getting bored with me but he did believe my story. I hoped it was enough to give us time. “Keep an eye,” he glanced in the direction the boys went, “and a tight leash on your… savants.” I wanted to smack the smile off his face but I simply responded in kind with far better acting.

I walked away but watched him from the corner of my eye. He went straight toward an ornate desk against a back wall. He was going to look up whatever the boys told him. We were out of time. I glanced around but couldn’t see them. “Damnit, I knew they should’ve just bought new clothes.”

~~

Dean parked the car and headed for the motel office. Sam was looking at something on his phone and I pulled out my own. I really wanted to text Pamela and ask about Jess but knew it wasn't a good idea. It was bad enough I kept trying not to think about her around Dean but after I saw the way Sam looked at Sarah, I couldn't get Jess out of my head.  

The car was stifling. I climbed out and stretched my arms over my head breathing deeply then bending down low. I looked at the heels on my feet and scowled.

Dean whistled and I looked up. He walked toward me and slipped his hand into my jacket pocket with a wink. It wasn't hard to figure out what he deposited there and I wasn't complaining but I had other things on my mind.

I pulled off the offending shoes as Dean grabbed our bag from the trunk that Sam must've opened. I tip toed over the asphalt and almost bumped into the boys standing just inside the door. “What?”

Dean and Sam finally moved into the room and I got the full view of the Disco Fever that had stopped them, not the most ridiculous we had seen, but it definitely took points for the mirror ball. I dropped the heels, shut the door, and shuffled over to a white chair then sat and rubbed my feet. Sam and Dean’s normal back and forth was background noise to my own inner struggle about Jess.

“In other words, you want me to use her.”

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”

My stomach twisted and I turned the chair around. They were each standing in front of a bed with their bags in front of them. “You could just ask her on a date and we’ll go to the same place just in case you need an out or something.”

Dean’s head snapped in my direction, “what?”

“Why not?”

Dean glanced at Sam and his confusion deepened, “oh, umm.”

“Oh so, Sam can take one for the team but you can't back him up?”

“Sure, why not.” His confusion was apparent enough for Sam to glance between us and wonder what was going on.

I strode over to Dean, took the phone and gave it to Sam. “You got this. It's just a friendly dinner. Nothing to it… just friends.” I tried not to wince from the sound of my fumbling words or Sam’s concern. I smiled then rushed to the door, “just tell me the time.”

“Where are you going?”

I dug the second key out of my pocket as I left the room and left Dean to answer Sam. I opened the next door and shut it with a firm push. It was probably too much but I was safely behind the door. Safely away from prying eyes and concerned glances.

I walked over to the bed and collapsed. I could hear Jessica in my head, her telling me that everything would be okay, that I shouldn’t worry, but if there was one thing Sam wouldn’t forgive me for, it would be letting him unknowingly cheat on her. Saving her wouldn't cover me for that indiscretion.

I rushed up the stairs to the second-floor apartment, the stench of burnt cloth and hair already in my nose. I saw the door from my dream and rushed over with my lock picks already in my hands. I quickly unlocked it and slipped inside.

The apartment was dark and quiet but I could already feel it; the twist in my stomach, the stab in my chest, the heat and the thin air. I crept through the apartment not daring to raise my voice as I followed the past movements of an energy I'd known my whole life.

I made it to a bedroom, Sam’s room, his energy pulsed around me and I missed him even more. My attention veered to the water running in an adjoined bathroom.

The shadow wasn’t inside the apartment but it was still too close. I shoved my hand into my jacket pocket and grasped the small box reassuring myself that it was still there.

I pushed the bathroom door open and Jess opened her mouth to scream but I covered it before she could make a noise. “Listen to me very carefully. My name is Y/n.” She nodded, she knew me. “Good, that will make this a lot easier. I hate to tell you this but tonight is the night you die.”

 The bed shifted beside me and Dean’s warmth chased the memory away. I locked it in the vault in the back of my mind. His hand slipped under my shirt and splayed on my lower back, “what was that?”

“Nothing,” I spoke into the pillow. It was childish and I felt like an idiot but I had never seen Sam look at any woman on the road the way he had looked at Sarah when we left. Maybe I was being childish but I felt his guilt because she intrigued him. It killed me.

“Really?”

I turned enough to see his face, “I thought we could use a date night.”

His brow rose and he smirked, “Sam’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“You and I can go grab something we’d actually enjoy eating because you know Sam will take her somewhere fancy and blow the money we just made. Let them have their fancy dinner.”

“Who says I don't like fancy?”

He laid down beside me, “wha’ kind of fancy would you like?” His wannabe French accent wasn't exactly spot on but that made it funnier than it should've been. He pulled me against him, “do you really wan’ to go to some stuffy place because I will pull ou’ all ze stops and zen spend every min’net zinking abou’ how much I wan’ to peel your fancy dress off.” His terrible quasi-French accent fell away, “you need a fancy dress, right? So we'd have to go shopping for one and then…” I kissed him cutting off his rambling story.

I gazed into his eyes, his pride from his accomplishment flowing through me. “Okay, I'll butt out of Sam’s date. But only if I get to see you in that fancy suit you were going to wear.”

He grinned, “oh, I've got a fancy suit for you.”

~~

Dean and I were laying on the second bed in Sam’s room watching an old black and white movie when Sam finally came back from his date.

“I knocked on your door.” He walked to the table and set down a file barely looking at us.

I sat up and scooted back against the headboard, “I figured this would be easier and you wouldn't be worried about... interrupting something.” I gave him a soft smile to battle the voice in my head, and I didn't want any chance of you being alone with her had you brought her back.

He sat down and opened the file folder, lifting four or five pages. “The provenances for the painting.”

Dean moved toward the end of the bed, “and?”

I stared at the television feigning non-interest to his time spent in Sarah’s company.

“And nothing, that's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or…”

“Dean, get your mind out of the gutter.”

I felt terrible but I was relieved even if I felt what he wasn't saying.

“You know we could hang around even I can see you’re into her.”

“Dean,” I growled.

They both twisted toward me, staring with their confusion written all over their face, Sam once again emanating concern. But then Dean tilted his head as something came to him, “right… that.”

Sam glanced at Dean, “what?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking as his surprise darkened, “he's just realizing what an ass he’s been for pushing you.”

Dean looked down, “yeah, just… sorry, Sam.”

“Wow. I… okay, you guys are taking the silent conversation to a whole new level.”

Dean’s brow wiggled, “you have no idea. We can talk a little without speaking a word when one of us has really heightened emotions and I can feel her…” Dean paused and glanced at me, “ah…”

Heat crept up my neck and I snapped, “shut up now, please.”

Sam glanced between us with his brow hiked up, “wow, yeah. Please stop.”

Dean’s grin stretched, “it’s been weird ever since that reaper case.”

Sam looked down at the papers in his hand, “anyway, I think I've got something here.”

Dean walked over and compared the names of owners with the names in John's journal as I sat staring down at the bed afraid that I somehow gave away something else.

Could Dean really have figured it out? Surprise that bloomed into recognition. He hadn't asked about the four thing again but… could he possibly have somehow connected the dots? Did he hear me thinking of Jess? If he got enough information then he would have to lie to his brother. I really didn’t want that. Having one lie was too much.

“Y/n?”

I looked up, “hmm?”

“Are you coming or what?”

“Where?”

“We’re going to destroy the painting before it can be sold.”

I yawned before I could even think about it, “no thanks, you guys can do the b and e without me.”

Sam turned his concerned gaze on me, “hey, I'm okay. Really.”

“I know. Destruction of property just isn’t my thing and honestly, I'm exhausted.”

Dean nodded for Sam to go ahead then walked over to me, “you do realize you're in Sam’s room, right?”

I scooted to the end of the bed staring at the door where Sam had just disappeared.

“Hey, what's going on in that pretty head of yours? You've got nothing to worry about, okay?” I was drawn into his eyes as his calming warmth moved through me. He felt my worry or just read it on my face, I wondered which was true but too afraid to ask. “The demon doesn't know where we are. We’re safe.” He hugged me, “you sure you want to stay behind?”

I closed my eyes as I squeezed him, relief crashing, “yeah. I'm just tired. Everything’s just… overworked.”

“Mmm.” He kissed me then pulled back, his gaze searching but whatever question I felt stirring, he decided against it. “I’ll find you in my bed tonight? I promise no more funny business. Just rest.”

I touched his face. “You know I sleep better with you around.”

“Remember that.” He grinned and gave me a final kiss before running out the door and closing it behind him.

The demon. He thought I was thinking of the demon. Christ, that was too close.

I turned off the television and padded out of the room and into the neighboring one. Once inside, the buzz made me freeze then it went off again and I recognized it. My phone on the small nightstand in between the two beds had danced then fell silent.

I laid down on the bed and grabbed my phone, my eyes already heavy but I glanced at the message. The alert told me two text messages from Pamela. I opened it and read them.

All good here. Hope the same for you.

I miss you.

It wasn't Pamela who had texted and as much as Jess relieved an ache I was only recently realizing I had, it hurt. I hit reply and held back the tears by biting my tongue. Trying my best.  My thumb hovered over the send button but then I deleted it and tried again. Getting there. Miss you too. More than I thought possible.

I hit send and a few tears escaped. I deleted the two messages and my reply then put the phone back on the nightstand. I didn't need any more questions and I didn't think I'd be able to talk about the odd messages with Dean without giving something away.

I closed my eyes, my palm rubbing over the small scar on my forearm, and let the tears fall. It was the only relief I could afford right now.

Eleven

@duchessofwinchester , @jodyri , @jencharlan , @deanssweetheart23 @torn-and-frayed , @chrisatplay , @mogaruke  , @captainemwinchester  , @ashrod98 , @mrswhozeewhatsis , @purgatoan , @caitsymichelle13  , @escabell , @thealyana

[idekman-ao3]

wheels take me (i can’t stay) - kastle fic

It’s quiet and still the day she sets off for Maine.

She heads off early, Ben’s car and his old tapes crackling out of the speakers. Shining Star comes on and she ejects the tape so fast she almost goes headlong into the back of another car on the freeway.

--

Karen goes on holiday. A familiar face makes an appearance.

also available on ao3. if you enjoyed, please share! <3 

It’s quiet and still the day she sets off for Maine.

She heads off early, Ben’s car and his old tapes crackling out of the speakers (Shining Star comes on and she ejects the tape so fast she almost goes headlong into the back of another car on the freeway) and when the air con busts halfway there she doesn’t mind, just winds down the window and drives with one hand on the wheel, the other glancing against the breeze. Her skin burns a touch as the sun falls across her face, her nose and the top of her cheekbones flushed pink. She can’t bring herself to mind.

She catches a few hours in a car park rather than sleep in a motel. It feel safer, somehow, to sleep in the locked interior of a car she inherited, wearing a sweater she stole from Foggy, finger’s curled around a dead man’s gun.

(She is ephemeral, lacking permanence, wrapping herself around stolen and borrowed things.)

Dawn wakes her, the car park turned milky and grey, and she watches the sunrise with a shitty two-dollar cup of coffee, skin turning warm as the sky blooms pink and orange and golden.

Maine is just as she remembered.

Ellison had insisted she take a holiday.

She’d woken up to an email telling her not to come in for two weeks and a receipt for a B&B up in New Hampshire. Consider it your Christmas bonus, Ellison had told her when she’d rung, confused and miserable. He’d tried to sound chirpy, at first, as if this was a normal thing, until his voice had lowered, until he’d told her you’re exhausted, Page. You need a break. She’d tried to come in the next day. Security hadn’t let her up.

She’d been ready to sulk, ready to sit in her apartment for two weeks sat hunched over her laptop, come back to Ellison with a dozen more threads to chase – and then her electricity had gone. Water, too. Building-wide problem, babe, her landlord had told her, somehow missing the cringe that ran through her as he ineffectually twiddled with her taps. Could take a few weeks to fix.

Her landlord was barely out of the door when she’d thrown some shit in a travel bag and left.

She sings along to the radio, loudly and off-key, as she thunders down the highway, both windows rolled right down. Every now and then she’ll have to slow with the traffic and feel other drivers side-eying her. She wonders what they see. Young girl in a ratty hoodie and shorts, tapping out a drum beat on her steering wheel, churning through radio channels to find something she likes. She must look like some college kid heading out on holiday.

Traffic is thick and she’s at a stand-still. Most of the cars around her have turned off the engine, so for a moment she lets her eyes flicker shut. Pretends just that – she’s off on some girls holiday, newly minted ID, head clear, chest light and free and –

Someone behind her leans on their horn. She puts her foot down.

The B&B is nice. Nicer than anything she could afford, in some tiny little town by the coast, not far from Portland. She can see the ocean from her room and for a moment her breath gets caught up in her chest. The glass is cool against her finger tips and when she throws open her window she can taste the salt in the air.

(If she shuts her eyes and listens to the seagulls screeching across the harbour she can almost pretend she’s back, by the seaside on holiday as a kid, sand gritted in her clothes beneath her fingernails and –)

She heads out for dinner that evening, puts on a sundress and pushes out into dusk, stops at the first place serving local seafood she can find.

She brought a book with her to read as she eats, a slim volume of poetry she’s been meaning to get into, but the waiter gets chatting with her. He’s young, maybe even younger than her, a European accent she can’t quite place, and when she manages to make him laugh the sound is clear and sweet. She lies, tells him she’s stopping by for a few days before she moving on to visit her parents upstate, tells him her name’s Alison, demurs when he asks for her phone number with the bill and scribbles a fake number onto the scrap of paper he slides over to her.

It’s a different lie to the one she told the lady at the B&B place as she’d been shown to her room, or the one she told the sweet couple she’d stopped to ask for directions, leaning out of her car with a gangly arm brushing the hot metal of her car door. But the lying feels good. Like sloughing off a layer of dead skin.

She has a glass of wine alone in her room – and then another one, and another, and she falls asleep listening to a late night talk show on the radio. She dreams of the sea, of drowning in it – so when she wakes just before dawn again, eyes sticky with sleep, skin sticky with sweat, exhausted and electrified all at once, she changes into her swimsuit and takes her towel, and goes for a swim.

The sea is still and she swims as far out as feels safe, tries not to think about the cavernous space below her, lets seaweed brush up against her shins. She stands on the shoreline for a little while and feels wet sand sink between her toes and for a second, a moment of salt on her skin and hair snaking water down her back, she’s ten again.

When she turns, the beach is already beginning to fill with people – it’s a Saturday and the sky is cloudless, and she gets the feeling there are a lot of tourists here, just like her, making a weekend of it – and she hurries back to her towel. A couple of kids are investigating the rock pools, early risers staking out their section of the beach, and she pulls on a dress – some stripy thing she’d never wear back in New York, feels her stomach rumble and scouts up and down the beach. There’s a little beach-side hut, some brawny guy carrying out tables, wiping them down as they open up. She wonders if she can harangue him into selling her something this early – she’s suddenly starving, and –

The guy turns.

She’s been hit with a sledgehammer, right in the chest. Breath sucks in with the force of it. Feels the shock reverberate through her rib cage, feels her hands come up to her stomach, fingers linking together.

She sits in the B&B room. Runs the soft pad of her thumb over her car keys, presses down hard enough on the sharp edge of metal that her skin turns white, then red when she pulls away.

She puts the car keys down on the dresser. She rubs sunscreen into her shoulders, where they’re starting to go pink, on the bridge of her nose. Goes to the window and stares down at the sea. Unpacks her suitcase for the second time in twenty-four hours, watches the tremor in her fingers and waits as the panic attack crackles through her and, eventually, passes.

He’s still there when she goes back. Of course he is. For a little while, she’d been able to convince herself that he was a mirage, that she’d been making him up in her head.

But of course she wasn’t.

She stops just a few steps away. She thinks he must know she’s there because his shoulders go a little tense and for a moment he pauses – but then he forges on, keeps scrubbing away at the table tops.

‘I don’t want any trouble, ma’am.’

His voice is gravelly but impossibly gentle and she thinks, screams in her head, why here? Why now?

He turns. She thinks her face must be white because he blanches a little when he sees her. He looks good. Better than she’d expected. She realises, abruptly, that she’s never seen him without a face littered in bruises and cuts. His skin is tan, there are dark circles under his eyes and he’s a little thinner than he used to be but he looks –

He looks good.

His gaze flitters – from the beach full of people, to the cloth in his hands, to her. Goes to step forward then seems to think better of it, an aborted lurch. Finally;

‘What are you doing here?’

Somehow, childishly, she thinks she should be asking him that.

‘My editor –’ she blurts out, first thing she thinks of and it’s stupid, so very stupid, because Frank’s already darting forward, her arm in his grip, drawing her close as he growls out;

‘Who else knows I’m here?’

Reasonably, she knows with how tight he’s holding her arm, it should hurt. Adrenaline floods her system and she blinks, stares up at him.

‘No – no one, Frank, I swear – my editor sent me here on a holiday –’ and she’s cut off again, Frank huffing out a bitter sound, coiled up and angry and jerking out of his chest. She watches his face as his jaw clenches, watches him make half a dozen plans to leave in the space of a breath, and she carries on, words tripping over themselves; ‘he thinks you’re dead, Frank, everyone does – I promise you, Frank, I didn’t – it’s just a coincidence –’ he’s trembling all over and he won’t look at her so she shifts, as far as she can, waits until he meets her eye. ‘Frank,’ she murmurs, and his name sounds entirely odd coming from her, rushed out in a breath, and she forces herself to steady, to meet his gaze and not look away as she tells him, ‘I swear.’

He’s trying to read the truth from her face. She’s not sure what he sees there but he lets her go, sees the marks of his fingers fading away from his skin and goes all drawn and small for a moment.

‘It’s okay,’ she says, on instinct. ‘Didn’t hurt.’ He’s still stood close, gaze drawn over her shoulder again, watching the beach behind her. He takes a step back, finally, allows some distance between them.

‘Why don’t I sit down,’ she tells him, slowly, every exhale a shake, every word hand-picked to avoid spooking him even as she fights to catch her breath, ‘and you can start from the beginning.’

Frank’s making coffee.

She’d expected him to sit down with her but instead he had pulls out a chair for her close to the little beach hut that he’s retreated into. He pulls out a coffee mug and she expects him not to speak as he switches on the espresso machine, waits for the milk to heat up – but he starts, voice crackling and slow;

‘I came here about a month after – after everything.’ She nods – realises he’s not looking at her, is staring down at coffee mug and stops. ‘New York was –’ he breaks off and here he does look at her, glances through the doorway and catches her watching him, goes back to adding powder to the drink he’s making. ‘It was getting hard, pretending to be dead in a place where my face was plastered across every paper in town.’

His shoulders are stiff and his jaw is clenched. Lie, she realises.

He doesn’t speak again until he emerges.

He looks very clean. Which sounds absurd – but he’s dressed in a white t-shirt, dark jeans, a little stubble growing across his jaw. Still with that military-grade buzz cut. But he’s – brighter, somehow.

‘I got on a bus as far as it would take me, hot wired a car and drove ‘til I ran outta gas. Ended up here. This place was hiring, and I just – stayed.’

The court case – the shootings – all of it – that was half a year ago. Frank’s been here for five months.

Five months.

She expects him to drink the coffee but, absurdly, he slides it across the table to her and sits down himself. There’s something inherently ridiculous about Frank Castle, hunkered down on a plastic beach chair in the middle of a summer’s day in Maine. She takes a sip of her coffee to swallow the bubble of hysteria that’s rising in her throat.

Surprise goes rigid across her features.

‘This is my coffee order,’ she tells him. Voice flat. He’d even remembered the cinnamon on top. Something in her jaw tics as Frank swipes a hand under his nose, glares out across the water. ‘Frank,’ she grinds out. ‘What –’

When he turns back to her, fury rolls off him in waves. When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous and she wishes she’d never come got in her fucking car, wishes she’d never stepped foot out of New York.

‘What right have you got, huh? What’s with you? You think you’re so entitled to answers, huh – you and that fuckin’ lawyer –’

And of course. She should have known.

She doesn’t speak but he sees the way her face falls and cuts himself off, all the fight going out of him as she scrubs a hand over her eyes, lets the exhaustion rush through her.

‘What did he do?’ He doesn’t speak. He has a little burn on his thumb, she spots, almost-healed, keeps on running his fingers over it. ‘Come on Frank. I’m not an idiot.’

He lets a breath quake out of him.

‘He told me to leave.’

‘Matt?’

He glances up at her then, and she sees the question curled up in his features. Corrects herself;

‘Daredevil.’

‘You know?’

She nods, slowly.

‘He told me not long after it all – after everything that happened.’ She doesn’t mention how she’d screamed at him, how utterly stupid he’d made her feel, how she’d cried when she was alone back in her apartment, felt torn into tiny pieces.

(Doesn’t tell him how Frank had been right, in the diner; she had loved him, then. Not any more.)

‘How’d that work out?’

She’s aware her face is an open book, a raw nerve. Can feel the hurt tangled up in her features, catches it when Frank blinks and glances away. She almost wishes he’d keep looking. Vindictively, she wants to prove him wrong, show up everything he’d said in that fucking diner. I don’t want someone who hurts me. Look at what it did to me.

‘So you two aren’t –’

‘No,’ she snaps, wonders why he keeps pressing this. Her coffee cup rattles when she slams it down on the table. It’s her turn to look away, to study the people on the beach, the kids still at the rock pool, a young couple splashing sea water at each other, screeching with the cold of the water. When she looks back, he’s watching her, unabashed.

‘He told me to leave ‘cause of you.’

She knocks over the cup of coffee, grits out a swear word, watches as Frank jumps up, fetches a wad of kitchen roll and carefully, patiently mops it up. Sits down and continues, as if none of it had ever happened;

‘I had heard rumours – someone was planning a hit not far from your apartment block. I was there, scoping things out – but I guess Red heard the same things I did, ‘cause he turned up. Took one look at me and told me to get out. Must’a figured I was involved somehow. Told me that I was dangerous for you, that if I knew what was good for me I would stay away. Next day I was on the bus on my way here.’

He says it all smooth and quick, not stumbling over his words, not pausing.

(He’s ashamed, something tells her. He agrees with Matt.)

(Later, she dials a number she hasn’t for a very long time and leaves a voice mail. It’s short, and to the point, and she tells Matt she doesn’t want to see him again. Not lurking around my apartment, not in your shitty Daredevil get up – not at all. Stay the fuck away from me.)

‘You’re angry,’ he murmurs. Not a question. A statement.

‘No,’ she manages, eventually, quiet and soft. Not with you, she wants to say. With Matt. With Daredevil. With New York. With Fisk and Wesley and Schoonover and every single scumbag who tries to hurt me. She takes a long breath, feels it swoop in and out of her lungs. But not with you. Somehow, not with you. ‘No, I’m not angry. Not any more’ A little more sure this time, a little stronger. He nods, clearly not believing her. Her coffee cup rattles against the saucer.

‘Why’d you come here, Karen?’ He asks, finally, over the wash of the water and the screech of seagulls. 'Really?' She had thought it would be quiet here, but somehow it’s noisier than New York, where she had learned to drown out the wail of traffic and footfall. When she speaks, her voice sounds too loud.

‘Honestly. My editor sent me on holiday. That’s all.’

Frank’s staring at her, eyes hard. Something reflexive and frustrated lines his shoulders and she finds herself instinctively leaning back as he shifts forward.

(His hand is close to hers, covered in nicks and scars. Her touch drifts.)

‘What – you think he just happened to send you here?’ She blinks, a little affronted – the idea that Ellison might lie to her, manipulate her into sniff out a clue, use her to follow a hunch he’s too busy to –

‘Oh,’ she mutters, wretched. Of course. It’s what she would have done, after all, if it were a different thread she were chasing. She expects Frank to scoff, to laugh at her, bitter and cold – but when she meets his gaze he’s just watching.

‘Are you gonna tell him I’m here?’

‘No.’ It’s immediate, seems to take Frank aback. She had thought it would be obvious. ‘We’re long past that.’ And then, when he says nothing, she offers a quiet acquiescence; a little step back, a loosening of terms. ‘Aren’t we?’

An out. He doesn’t take it.

‘Yeah.’ When he laughs it’s gruff, and self-deprecating, and a little miserable, but the sound is somehow a relief.

He stands. She braces herself – for what, she’s not sure, but he just moves back into the little beach hut. She waits, watching him, unabashed now. He moves fluidly around the space and she wanders, abruptly, if he’s bored out here.

He rests a pot of ice cream by her arm. She blinks at him. He’s cracking open a tub of vanilla.

‘It’s good – they make it locally, on some farm about twenty miles west.’ When she doesn’t speak, he continues, ‘What? You don’t like fudge?’

‘No, I –’ she breaks off, perplexed. ‘Fudge is… Fine, Frank.’

He nods, seemingly pleased, although his placid expression reveals little.

‘This used to be Maria’s favourite place for – holidays, you know,’ Frank starts up, after a few moment’s silence. ‘The kids loved it too. Didn’t have much time to come up – it’s expensive round here, and I didn’t have much leave, but we’d drive up for a weekend here and there.’ He stares out at the beach. ‘Frank Junior chipped his front tooth on the rock pools over there,’ he tells her, jabbing his spoon out towards the far-side of the beach. ‘Blood everywhere, Maria was freaking out – he had to have stitches on his front lip.’ He shakes his head, exponentially fond, and when he glances back down to his ice cream, blinking his way back into the presence, something in the pit of Karen’s chest breaks.

‘Will you stay here?’ She asks, clearing her throat to mask the roughness of her voice. Frank shrugs, shoulders tight.

‘If your editor’s tracked me down, someone guy who's bigger and badder will have too.’ He sniffs, squints out across the bay. ‘Might as well keep moving.’

She watches him, and watches and watches and watches, and then tells him, absurdly, entirely out of the blue;

‘Come back to New York with me.’

He watches her back. Scoffs.

‘Right –’

‘I mean it. Come back.’

A beat. She feels it physically, like a punch to the chest. Frank won’t stop staring at her, eyebrows pulled together, a permanent scowl etched across him.

‘Why?’

She clenches her jaw.

Because I miss you. Because I haven’t slept properly since I saw those burned bodies being pulled off that boat and thought you were one of them. Because I shot James Wesley seven times in the chest and I’ve done awful things before that and I think you’re the only person who would understand.

‘Because I want you to.’

It’s the opposite of the acquiescence. It’s back against the wall, take it or leave it. All in.

His jaw flutters and his eyes look soft and his entire face curls inwards, vulnerable and entirely new. Karen can feel her heartbeat, in the tips of her fingers, in the lines of her neck, in the thrumming of her pulse points. He meets her eye.

‘Okay.’  

[antlerscolorado]

chapter 7, part 4

“Listen,” Walker says, reaching over to turn the radio down. He’s been driving for the past two hours - insisted on taking over halfway through the trip, so Landis didn’t tire himself out. The road has stretched out through largely barren land for what feels like days, the visual monotony only occasionally broken up by a gas station, or signs for a tourist attraction some twenty-odd miles off. “I know you killed people before, because you can’t keep your mouth shut about it, and I know you fought that...witch or whatever, in Hell, but you gotta let me take care of these guys when we get there.”

Landis considers this, then says, “Bullshit.”

“I’m serious,” Walker says. “I get that you fought to the death with someone who was using her own blood to attack you, like, two months ago, but these people have actual guns. And they know how to use them. If Jenny can get a clear shot at you, you’ll be dead before you know there’s a bullet in you. You won’t see her, you won’t hear the gun go off, you won’t know to dodge. Just,” he smacks the steering wheel for emphasis, “bam. Dead. And I don’t even know about the other people she’s with - they could have powers, they could be snipers like she is. They could be fucking werewolves, or shapeshifters, or just about anything, really.”

It’s the most Landis has ever heard Walker say in one sitting. Landis stays quiet, listening, watching the speedometer creep from 70 to 80. He sounds scared. He was barely worried when we went to rescue Austin in the mines - or if he was, he didn’t show it - and he didn’t bat an eye when we ended up in Hell. This Jenny must be something else if she managed to shake him up so badly.

“Isn’t Jenny going to know you’re coming?” Landis asks, finally, shifting in his seat. “You said she talked to you at the diner. Assuming the people with her told her they left that note, she probably knows you’re the only one in town who’d actually come after Austin to try and get him back. I don’t think her and her friends are going to be expecting me - or Jeremy.”

Walker takes a moment to consider this, looking out at the road in front of them, and the decrepit gas station approaching on their right. Landis watches it from his window, catching a glimpse of rusted pumps and a skeletal, caved-in roof as they zip past.

“What’s your plan, then?” Walker asks.

“I don’t know,” Landis admits, “but I think you could use my help.”

There’s a sign up ahead advertising a motel. Landis checks the creased map in his hands for the first time in hours, to see if the motel is the one marked as the ending destination for Jenny and her crew. Surprisingly, it is.

“That’s the place,” he tells Walker as they approach the sign.

“You sure?” Walker asks.

“Yeah,” he says, pointing forwards at a road just beyond the motel sign, partially hidden by it. “Turn down there.”

Walker does so. The road turns out to be more of a driveway than anything, curving gently this way and that before spitting them out in a parking lot shared by a two-story motel, a gas station, a gift shop, and a twenty-four hour convenience store. The lot is sparse, with only a few cars that Landis would guess belong to employees, parked closely to the buildings.

At least there won’t be a lot of people to get caught up in this, he thinks, feeling a palpable sense of relief, while Walker picks a parking spot at random and pulls into it.

“I can check the rooms,” Jeremy says. He’s been quiet for almost the entire trip, as per usual, and the sudden sound of his voice makes Landis jump.

“You’re going to check every room?” Landis asks, twisting around in his seat to peer over the headrest.

“No,” Jeremy says mildly, “I’m going to go and see which room keys are missing from the lobby, and then I’m going to check the rooms for those keys, to see which one Austin is in. Unless you have a better idea.”

Landis shakes his head and settles back down in his seat, eyeing Walker. “Jeremy says he’ll check the rooms to see which one Austin’s in.”

“Well, he should be careful,” Walker says. He’s not wrong - it’s still well within the possibility that one of the people with Jenny is a medium like Landis and Austin. But Landis can’t think of a single reason why a medium would be on a kidnapping job.

“I’ll be okay,” Jeremy says.

“He says he’ll be okay,” Landis relays to Walker, glancing into the backseat again just in time to see Jeremy float up, and vanish through the hood of the car.

Walker nods, stiffly unhooking his seatbelt, contorting himself to look through the car windows and the rearview mirror. His movements are erratic, anxious, something Landis would expect more from himself than from Walker. Seeing Walker so visibly rattled is starting to make him nervous, too. He’s been staving it off for the whole car ride, focusing on the scenery - or lack thereof - instead, but now there’s no way to avoid the sinking feeling in his stomach.

“This feels like a trap,” Walker mutters.

“You think they lured you out here to kill you?” Landis asks, unhooking his own seatbelt.

Walker shakes his head. “Not Jenny’s usual M.O.. If she wanted me dead, she would have killed me when we saw each other in the diner.”

“Then why did they give us the address?”

“I don’t know,” Walker says. “It’s possible they’re not here, and just fucking with us to throw us off the trail. Or whoever Jenny’s with really doesn’t want things to get boring. Or,” he hesitates, grimacing a little before he continues, “this is part of their contract, and whoever is paying them off knew that I’d probably come after Austin.”

“Who would know that?” Landis asks.

“Well, I’m pretty sure where I’m assigned is common knowledge around the DPR by now, and I don’t exactly think these guys - or their employer - are above torturing people for information.” Walker shrugs. “It could be anyone, really. Someone with a personal vendetta against the DPR, or someone just looking to ransom Austin off for lots and lots of money. Considering how much of a bleeding heart Jacob is, I’d be surprised if they’re not trying to use Austin to get under his skin somehow.”

Landis opens his mouth to respond, but closes it when Jeremy abruptly pokes his head through the roof of the car.

“Austin’s in 103, on the first floor,” Jeremy reports in, looking a little perturbed. “They have him tied to a chair, but I think he’s drugged or something. He didn’t say anything when I tried to talk to him. There’s two guys in the room watching TV, and the shower was on, so I think someone else was in there.”

“Austin’s in 103,” Landis relays to Walker. “There’s two guys guarding him, but they’re watching TV, and Jeremy says someone else is in the shower. I don’t think they were expecting us so soon.”

“Good,” Walker says, suddenly sounding much more confident than before. “We can surprise them, especially if Jenny’s in the shower and doesn’t see us coming.”

He reaches across Landis to pop open the glove compartment of the car, and takes out a pistol. After sliding the magazine out to make sure it’s loaded, he twists the gun in his hand, offering the grip to Landis. Landis stares at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Take it,” Walker says, wiggling the pistol in Landis’s direction. “Your close-range shit isn’t going to work on these guys, if we’re ambushing them.”

“I don’t know how to use one,” Landis says, but takes the pistol anyway, holding it gingerly in his hands as though it might go off at any moment.

“It’s not that hard.” Walker pops open the driver’s side door, stretching as he unfolds himself from the car seat. “Just take the safety off, point it, and pull the trigger. People are big targets. You don’t have to be precise.”

Landis’s hand is already sweaty around the grip of the pistol. He follows Walker across the parking lot, squinting to read the room numbers. 103 is just on the corner of the building, in the shadow of an overhang that makes up the second floor walkway of the motel. Walker pads nearly soundlessly up to the door, pressing his ear to it.

“Shower’s still running,” he murmurs, then makes a shooing gesture at Landis. “Get behind the corner. I’ll lure them out here where they can’t fuck with Austin.”

Landis rounds the corner and presses himself to the side of the building, peeking out. He can’t see the door to 103 any more, but he can see Walker, backing up several yards into the parking lot, then suddenly standing very still. There’s a sharp rattling noise, and for a quick, breathless moment, Landis is sure that Walker is going to pick up one of the nearby cars and ram it into the side of the building. But then something huge flies towards Walker with a snapping sound so abrupt that Landis nearly mistakes it for a gunshot.

It’s the motel room door. It hovers in the air above Walker, ripped from its hinges. Perversely, someone inside Room 103 is laughing.

“Came to get your boy back, did you?” a voice - a man’s - with a clipped, posh English accent asks from somewhere within Room 103.

“No one has to get hurt if you just hand him over,” Walker says, his voice even and dangerous.

“No fun in that,” a different man in the room says cheerfully, with a different, somewhat more slurred English accent. “Though it’s a neat magic trick you’ve got there.”

The laughter returns - from both men, this time. Landis cranes his neck around the corner, but he can’t see inside the motel room from the angle he’s at. He clenches his hand around the grip of the pistol, his knuckles aching with the force of it. They don’t sound surprised at all. Maybe Walker was right - maybe this is a trap. Maybe we were supposed to think we had the jump on them, to let us get cocky.

“Walker -” he starts, but it’s too late.

A barrage of objects fly out of the motel room. Instinctively, Landis assumes they’re bullets, or some sort of projectile shot from a gun. But it isn’t until he sees them standing still, quivering in the door Walker slammed downwards just in time to shield himself, that he realizes they’re knives. At least ten of them.

These guys aren’t messing around, Landis thinks, a cold bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. If Walker hadn’t acted as fast as he did, he’d be dead.

“We’ve got a couple tricks up our sleeve, too,” the man with the posh accent says, stepping out into the parking lot. Landis can only see him from behind, but he’s tall and lanky, with a shock of dark red hair that sticks up at an angle. “Looks like someone didn’t do their homework.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” Walker asks from behind the door. It’s standing fully upright between him and the man, effectively shielding them from one another.

“Hardly,” the man says, and Landis watches in horror as the door starts to curl forwards. It folds like a piece of paper, its top and bottom edges straining towards each other as it slowly becomes concave.

Landis can’t see the man’s face, but it’s obvious that he’s concentrating on the trick. It’s a clear opening. Taking a few steps forwards, Landis lines up a shot at the man’s torso, and squeezes the trigger of the pistol. He fires again, then again, for good measure, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears nearly drowning out the sound of the gunshots.

With all the adrenaline flooding his system, it takes him a moment to realize that none of the bullets connected. Instead, they’re floating, suspended in midair, a good couple of feet away from the man bending the door in half. As Landis watches, his arms dropping down to his sides in shock, the bullets slam down towards the ground with enough force to bounce off the pavement upon impact.

“Aw, you brought backup,” the other man inside the room says, walking outside to join his partner. He’s shorter, and stockier, with brown hair pulled back into a little rat-tail at the nape of his neck. He looks at Landis, now out in the open, and flashes him a grin. “Cute.”

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Walker growls.

“Don’t have to touch him to kill him,” the shorter man says.

Landis suddenly feels weightless, yanked up into the air like a balloon on a current. Against all better reason, he looks down, and feels his stomach turn as he sees the ground getting farther and farther away from his feet.

“Where’s Jenny, huh?” Walker asks, his voice lighter, a little more taunting. He’s changing tactics - has to be - but Landis doesn’t quite understand why. “How come she’s got the two of you doing all her dirty work for her while she’s in the shower? She doesn’t want to try and take me out herself? Or is she scared I’ll break her gun, like I did last time?”

Landis looks out over the parking lot, a good five feet in the air by now, and sees one of the cars, almost imperceptibly at first, start to lift off the ground as well. He nearly calls out to Walker before he realizes that it’s Walker’s doing to begin with. He must be trying to distract them so he can take them both out at once.

The taller man cocks his head curiously, propping a hand on his hip as he looks at Walker. “You government types really aren’t the smartest, are you?”

“What does that mean?” Walker asks. The car he has with his powers is hovering no more than half a foot off the ground. Landis watches as he starts to move it more to one side, to line up his shot.

“Anyone can turn on a shower, idiot,” the shorter man says, and then suddenly Walker drops to the pavement, face down.

Landis feels himself returning to solid ground, a little more quickly than he was raised up, and hears a small crash as the car is set back down as well. He nearly trips over his own feet running towards Walker, his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath sticking painfully in his throat as he sees small rivers of blood start to snake across the pavement.

Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, he chants in his mind, kneeling down next to Walker and beginning to gingerly roll him over. To Landis’s surprise, Walker’s eyes are fluttering open and shut, his chest very obviously pumping in and out with breath as he groans in pain. The shoulder of his t-shirt is soaked with blood, centered around a hole about the size of a quarter. A bullet wound.

“That,” the tall man says conversationally, squatting down next to Landis, “was a warning shot.” There’s a scar on his face that runs from his left temple all the way down to his chin, a thin crescent, and his eyes glitter mischeviously as he grins. “No use in killing you if we’re not getting paid. Now take your friend, and don’t come back.”

He pats Landis on the cheek, and stands up. As he and the shorter man make their way back inside, Landis shoots to his feet, trying to catch a glimpse of the inside of the motel room. He can see someone slumped on a chair inside, head rolled down towards their chest as though sleeping.

“Austin!” he calls, but doesn’t get a response. The two men pull the ruined door back after them, unfolding it and effectively sealing the motel room shut. 

7.3 || 7.5