#i heart organization ..i cleaned my room to move my keyboard back in so i can relearn to play

[chiistarri]

fuess whos turning this into a rb slash personal blog again and making. a Fandom blog. Again 🙁🙁

[deepseavibez]

Why So Serious? || MYG

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

-> Picture Source - Pinterest

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Why So Serious? [Yoongi x Reader]

Prompt - @casnextdoor

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Genre - Fluff; Comfort; Dad!Yoongi; Mom!Y/n; Drabble;

Summary - Why is your babygirl crying? And what can Daddy Yoongi do to make it better.

🎶- People - Agust D

Warning - Crying; Bad feelings(implied); Confused parents (at first)

Word Count - 1.7k

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

'No.' You looked up at the short answer. Four year old tempers were a thing, you understood that but your baby girl hadn't said no to picking up her toys before.

After playtime Mina usually cleaned up after herself, the task relatively easy for her, something like a game to put everything in its place in the shortest time she could.

You believed she got it from her father, because there was no way the trait came from you. You relished in your organized chaos, if it felt like it should be there it would stay there. You would go as far as capping your pens but they were never in their holders, just strewn about your desk, the closest color to your mood for the day.

Stretching your arms out along the island where you were chopping up pieces of apple for a midday snack you gave your toddler your full attention.

'But your LEGOs are all over Minnie, and you finished playing with them this morning,' you tried to sound as gentle as possible - an invitation for an explanation.

'I don't want to.' She shook her head back and forth, no playfulness present, mouth a stubborn line, as if that answer was good enough.

'Mina, those are your toys, you played with them, would it be fair for Mommy to clean up after you?'

Shaking her head in response she looked down and away from you, twiddling with the ears of the giraffe teddy in her hand.

You gave her a minute to move, to respond, each second of it hiking up your level of annoyance.

'I won't ask again, Mina.' Your voice was stern now, patience worn thin.

'No, Mommy, No!' She cried out, and ran out of the room toward Yoongi's study.

'Mina,' you dragged out, following swiftly after her.

You found Yoongi at his desk, phone at his ear, he looked at you and motioned with his eyes toward the tuft of hair peeking out from between his legs.

Leaning on the door you watched her cry, something in you tugging at your chest in frustration, because all you wanted was for her to listen, but you also didn’t want her to cry. She was never like this.

'-- I'll email them by tomorrow, yeah sure, just text me. We can set up a meeting to discuss the list.' Ending his call, Yoongi discarded his phone immediately and reached between his legs to settle his babygirl on his lap.

The transition would amuse you on any other day, the serious, intimidating Min Yoongi, softening his lips, his eyes, using gentle fingers against Mina's cheeks to wipe away her tears.

'What is my pretty girl crying about huh,' he asked, as he tried to make her face him.

Shaking her head in refusal to answer, he looked up at you, a camouflaged seriousness in his eyes, meant only for you.

'She refuses to pick up her LEGOs, told me no, and when I asked her again she ran out of the room crying.' Your voice sounded even but just by looking at you Yoongi could see, you were unnerved. The tantrum uncharted territory, especially for a task carried out so many times before.

'Daddy!' You had barely explained before she burst into tears again, falling into his chest, hiding her face from view.

Holding her close and patting her head tenderly he looked up at you in alarm, 'Why is she-, ' he mouthed at you.

'I don't know,' you mouthed back, shrugging your shoulders in emphasis, your expression bewildered.

Staring ahead for a few seconds, he contemplated before his eyebrows smoothed out, a realization crossed his face, as he decided to do something.

Interest piqued, you straightened up, and watched him, ready to jump in and follow his lead.

Your crying four year old still bawled her eyes out, hiccups coming from her chest, her throat would be ouchy later, you thought in concern.

‘Shh, baby, shh, you aren't in trouble, but you need to tell Daddy why you won’t clean up your toys.’ His voice was soft and coaxing as he gradually pulled her back to look at him. Grabbing tissues from the box he had near his desk for situations like sticky fingers and leaky noses, he wiped her tears and her small nose.

Yoongi, even now, in a situation like this had you in a pile of mush. He was not outwardly one for softness, especially with his blunt nature and his solid hands, but here he was gingerly running his fingers through Mina’s hair and setting it as he cooed at her to stop crying, to listen to Daddy.

Her voice hoarse from crying so hard she answered him, ‘I don't feel okay daddy.’

‘Are you hungry?’ Yoongi prompted, discarding the tissues in the wastebin, his hand now at her back and waist, holding her up, and lowering his head with a sulky expression to match hers.

With a shake of her head, she rubbed at her eye, he tilted his head to the side, and prompted again. ‘Are you tired? We could nap, you and I together, Mommy too.’

Another shake of her head, this time her frown prominent and lip quivering, as if ready to burst into another set of tears.

‘Did mommy do or say something bad to you,’ he asked in a whisper, talking her into telling him a secret.

Your eyes widened at the question, panicking internally in resistance. What was that supposed to mean? As if there were eyes at the back of his head, he held up his hand, a clear sign to wait.

Mina shook her head hard, now in a state, more confusion than ever clouding her features as she battled not to cry. ‘It feels bad, Daddy, I don’t like it and it won’t go away.’

‘Is it telling you to be mean to Mommy?’ Yoongi asked as she grabbed onto his shirt again, ready to hide away.

‘It just feels icky,’ she answered wetly, looking over at you her eyes widened momentarily ‘Mommy don't cry. Daddy I made Mommy cry,’ she cried out in desperation.

Your eyes blurred with unshed tears at your baby’s voice, holding a hand to your mouth you kept as quiet as possible. Yoongi had this.

Yoongi swallowed hard at his daughter's face, his protective instincts flaring, but this was one boogeyman he needed her to fight with him.

‘Baby,’ he used another tissue to wipe up the fresh tears. Moving the keyboard aside, he sat her up on his desk in front of him so she could lay her head on his shoulder and he could rub her back. ‘Sometimes Mina, we feel bad inside, and we don't know what to do about it.’ His voice was smooth as he explained, no indication that he had been affected. ‘It tells us to be mean, because we don't know what we’re really feeling and it's okay baby, because Mommy and Daddy feel it too, and we’re here for you. We love you.’’

‘Do you think it's okay to be mean to mommy.’ He was so patient about it as he asked her and it left you in awe as he made her understand.

‘No,’ the word muffled as half her face was squished on her father’s shoulder.

‘No it isn't, baby, and we can't help you if you don't tell us what's wrong.’ Pulling back he smiled softly, her cheeks puffed up and blotchy, eyes shiny but without tears. ‘If you told mummy you were feeling icky, she would have tried to help, right?’

She nodded enthusiastically at that. ‘Mommy always helps me.’

Your heart soared at the statement as you watched the energy come back to your Mina.

‘There's my girl,’ Yoongi smirked as he pinched her nose and she scrunched up her face, at the action. ‘So from now on, when you feel like this again, you can tell Mommy or Daddy and we can help you and take care of you.’ Holding out his pinky finger, she smiled as she curled her small pinky finger around his - she knew we took pinky promises very seriously.

‘Come on, let's go give mummy a hug and tell her you're sorry.’ She reached up her hands to be picked up as he stood from his office chair.

Mina reached out for you as Yoongi carried her towards you and you plucked her easily from him. Her hands immediately wrapped around your neck and she placed a wet kiss on your cheek.

‘I'm sorry for being meany mommy.’

‘It's okay baby,’ rocking her back and forth, you closed your eyes at the feel of your small human in your arms, a certain escape, as if everything in the world mattered a little less as long as she was okay. ‘Mommy feels bad too sometimes, and you know what daddy does?’ You prompted excitedly.

She leaned back to look at you, her cheeks puffy, lips pouting, as she listened to you.

‘Daddy gives me lots of cuddles and kisses me here and here and here and here,’ you placed kisses on her cheeks and forehead and nose, ‘and he gives me food, and chocolate and anything else I want.’

Giggling now, your chest ached at her happiness, a sweet ache, her importance beyond anything she could imagine.

‘Did you know Daddy got me Gloss when I felt really really bad.’

‘Big white gloss,’ she motioned with her hands, her eyes full of wonderment.

‘Yep,’ you popped the ‘p’. ‘Big white gloss,’ your own excitement palpable at the mention of the white teddy bear on your bed, his size slightly bigger than her form.

‘Mommy,’ she motioned you forward with her hand and you leaned closer to her, ‘Can daddy get me a gloss too?’ She told you in your ear.

Her very loud whisper had you turning your attention to the man who now leaned against the wall and watched the interaction.

He smiled his gummy smile as wrapped his arms around both of you and answered her softly, ‘Anything for you Minnie.’

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

Previous Next

Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked  about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o  y o u  h e a r  i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . .  Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

           Pain          Pain              боль

                    боль

   Pain                                         Pain

              боль

Pain        Pain                   Pain

          Pain         Pain    Pain                

боль                                                              боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.”  His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough.  Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

.

.

.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well. 

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart  @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard  @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @danjer

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.3

As it turns out, poison did not kill her. Not by a long shot. Not if the numerous tests with different kinds of poisons were to be believed.

Nicole was currently bent over the sink placed in the corner of Miranda's lab, her assistant hovering behind her with a timer in hand. What was it this time? Hemlock? Belladonna?

She stopped caring when a new wave of blood carrying the replaced tissue from internal damage came rising in her esophagus. With a disgusting gag, it came splashing onto the white porcelain, now stained and coated in crimson multiple times over. She coughed, trying not to let any of the burning mixture remain stagnant in her throat, and focused on the feeling of her body healing itself. It felt, for lack of a better word, like static coursing through her nerves and organs. After that too was gone, and the only thing that remained was the nauseating coppery taste in her mouth, she raised a shaky hand, too tired to speak up.

"Seven minutes, thirty four seconds," Emma announced.

Mother Miranda noted it down, fingers typing quickly over the keyboard.

It was a miracle that Nicole was still able to stand, although leaning a good part of her body weight on the sink thankfully secured to the wall did help. She took a few deep breaths, doing her best to not sound too croaky when she spoke.

"Can I see the results once we're done?"

She could keep track of everything herself of course, but it got difficult when her body was fighting toxins meant to shut it down. And she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't dying of curiosity.

"It's none of your concern," Miranda replied coldly.

That got a scowl to appear on thin blood stained lips, partially hidden by her hunched position. "I stood here quietly while you shoved pill after pill made from every poisonous plant you could get your hands on down my throat. At least grant me the grace of knowing my own body's limitations."

Her reply was little more than a tongue click. She couldn't help a scoff when Miranda simply ignored her request and told her assistant to continue with the next test on their list. Emma picked up one of the numerous pill bottles lined on her employer's desk and came over to Nicole, who unceremoniously grabbed one pill and swallowed it before looking at the label. Cyanide.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Her body's reaction was immediate, heart starting to beat painfully quick while her head started to spin. It was nauseating, the ache seeming to flood her chest and going up her spine in a searing migraine. Not to mention the deep breaths that didn't seem deep enough, as air itself seemed choking, the oxygen not quite reaching where it should. Mild panic started to settle in when black splotches began to cloud her vision and the tingling sensation seemed to battle with the pain for dominance. Before she knew it, her shaky legs gave out under her and the white ceiling of the lab blurred out of focus.

---

She woke up with a start, the bluish lights a painful glare to her eyes. The sound of ticking stopped and Nicole realized it was Emma's timer. She looked down at herself, haphazardly placed on a bed and then at Miranda, typing down a result the ringing in her ears hadn't allowed her to hear. With a few shakes of her head to try and chase the fog in her brain, Nicole finally croaked out: "What the hell happened?"

"The cyanide was damaging cells and keeping them from taking in any oxygen at a slightly faster rate than those cells were getting replaced. Which caused you to lose consciousness."

Miranda's tone was just as cold and clinical as ever, but a slight smirk tugged at her lips when she continued, the excited scientists buried under the mask of a goddess showing a crumb of itself.

"Although I'm quite certain we solved the mystery behind the accelerated heart rate. All previous tests show that it takes no longer than a few minutes to recover, while this took over twenty five."

Nicole was still fighting some mild dizziness, but she put all the focus on Miranda's words.

"We'll have to rerun the tests under anesthesia, but for now it's safe to assume the healing slows down while unconscious."

She acknowledged the theory with an oh. She wasn't really capable of much conversation at the moment, but she let the thought be metaphorically chewed in her brain. That made sense. If healing was slower after passing out, then her body had a damn good reason to keep her awake, hence the unnaturally high heart rate.

A slow shuddring sigh was let out when Miranda asked her assistant to prepare the anesthetic, laying back down. At least she wouldn't be awake for this one.

It took around double the normal dose to finally get her unconscious. She kept her eyes glued to the needle embedded in her arm until her vision was starting to fail her, the surrounding room becoming nothing more than dark blurs and vague beeping sounds.

People do not dream under anesthesia.

Nicole knew that of course. But as the lab blurred into odd shapes and more or less familiar places, there wasn't really a better word to describe it. Perhaps a result, she would later muse, of her overactive brain, fighting for consciousness at any given moment as it now had an instinctual need to stay awake.

That need manifested itself in the vague image of one of the castle's hallways. It was in an old wing, not frequently used by many other than the cleaning staff. She was walking along the wall, using it to compensate for her wobbly legs, and looked around for something. What exactly, was beyond her comprehension at the moment, but that didn't stop her from stumbling inside each room on her path, looking around the bright and beautifully decorated space, only to exit and continue down the hallway.

Something. Something ugh.

Nicole tried not to lean on the wall too much when she got to the golden frame of a painting, not wanting to risk damaging it. Slowly walking around, she threw a glance at the canvas when she was fully in front of it. She frowned.

It was the familiar portrait of all three sisters, dressed in period appropriate clothing and hair up into small curls. Their eyes, painted in such a way that they seemed to follow any onlookers around, greeted her with soft expressions. Some details seemed different though. They were small, and it took a bit of effort to notice how the brushstrokes seemed to have shifted ever so slightly in places. A familiar rose tattoo was present, albeit quite faint, on each of their foreheads, and their features seemed a little less soft and more akin to how Alcina would paint them. Nicole stopped to look at Cassandra's hand for a little longer, as if something was supposed to have changed there too. But before she had time to dwell on that, the realization that the painting should not be there dawned on her. Why would Alcina move it? And to a near abandoned wing of the castle no less. If she remembered correctly, that portrait had been at the main entrance for decades.

Nevermind that, she could just ask Alcina herself if they crossed paths. She kept walking down the hallway, trying to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something was off. Off, like the slightly misplaced furniture, or the lack of certain decorations, or antique objects that she knew for a fact were on display on a completely different wing. No, Nicole kept looking through every room she came across, in search of something her foggy mind couldn't quite grasp the memory of.

She finally reached one of the more populated areas, and although still not fully able to grasp her surroundings and walk around without any support, a shiver still ran down her spine. The off-putting feeling turned to dread with the realization that she was completely alone. No maid or other staff member has crossed paths with her in what felt like an eternity. No sound could be heard aside from her own breathing and a faint beeping coming from outside. At that moment, Nicole longed for the sound of giggling or the shuffling of a broom, hell even the sound of lycans howling outside. Anything.

By that point, shuffling against the wall felt more of a psychological need than a physical one. There was a fear that accompanied anyone when you found yourself in a place that seemed so unlike its normal self, and Nicole tried to make herself smaller than she already was in the eventuality that something would pounce out from the silence and tear her to shreds.

She found herself traversing another corridor littered with numerous doors to guest bedrooms or simply storage rooms. Each was opened one by one, whatever laid behind it inspected, and then shut again. Rinse and repeat. Repeat until Nicole found herself in front of an oddly familiar door. It had nothing special, the crest and color exactly the same as the ones she had left behind, but its position seemed to tug at her memories.

The door was pushed open, a slight creak accompanying the movement, and Nicole found herself in a well lit office. It was obviously a rarely used one, the shelves only holding a small number of oddly organized files and boxes, while the chair was tucked under a large desk. The plush carpet underfoot caught her attention, beautiful black, white and golden motifs waved around each other in an intricate pattern. She walked across it, up to the desk and crouched down to run her fingers on the old worn wood of small drawers. The iron handles used to open them seemed to be gone from all but the topmost one, which she opened slowly.

Oh.

The drawer was empty save for two familiar objects, a pair of matching rings with minuscule branches in flower engraved on them. She picked them both up but almost dropped them back when a set of hurried footsteps sliced through the dead silence just outside the room.

There was no time to scramble for a hiding spot, especially not with how her head started to spin the moment she stood up again. All she could do was put the hand that wasn't holding the rings on the desk to support herself and watch as the door swung open.

A sigh of relief flew past cracked lips at the sight of confused golden eyes framed by dark locks of hair. Cassandra was standing at the entrance, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Did you lose it again?"

There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, but it was mostly drowned out by an amused chuckle as she walked up to her.

"No, I-..." Did I? "I'm sorry."

Cassandra simply took one of the bands and wordlessly slid it on Nicole's ring finger, gesture that was imitated in turn.

"Why are they here?" Nicole's question was barely a whisper, either due to the dizziness she felt or the cemetery-like silence that almost demanded not to be disturbed. "I know I instructed the staff to bring mine to my room if they find it."

"Oh it wasn't any of the staff members," Cassandra replied matter of factly, even waving a hand to dismiss the apparently absurd idea.

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Nicole frowned. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to chase away the eerie feeling that seemed to have made its roots deep inside her mind. Cassandra's voice seemed off, and that beeping from earlier seemed to close in ever so slightly.

"Why here?" She repeated.

Her wife only shrugged and looked around the room, taking her time with the reply.

"Isn't this where we first saw each other?"

Right. That's why the office was so familiar. The memory of Lady Dimitrescu, so beyond intimidating at the time, sitting in the chair and interviewing her for a maid's position came flooding her foggy brain. Then the giggles and the rather dramatic entry and the small bickering.

"Are you waking up?"

If Cassandra wasn't so close to her, she would've thought a third person had spoken. Her wife's voice seemed off before, but now it didn't even sound like her own. Familiar, yes, but the regal icy tone belonged to someone else.

Nicole tried to instinctively put some space between them, only for Cassandra's expression to twist with concern, furrowed brows over soft golden, always so uncharacteristically soft when pointed at her. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak again, but the beeping came in louder, almost as if making its way from her throat with the sole purpose of attempting to bust her eardrums.

The room seemed to rapidly bleed out of focus, details replaced by black dots and blurry lines. Cassandra's shape slowly morphed, her beautiful black dress leaving way to a plain lab coat and golden eyes turning into icy green, ever calculating and scrutinizing. Incessant beeps from the cardiac monitor brought her back to consciousness more rudely than she would've liked.

Nicole shook her head slightly, trying to chase away the last effects of anesthesia. Her body seemed eager to oblige, quickly trying to wake up and be back on her feet. Not that she had any intention of actually getting up, but soon enough, she was looking around the space and all the pristine equipment held within. Emma was busy arranging vials and pill bottles inside a cabinet while Miranda was by the bed typing away, nails annoyingly loud on the keyboard. She shook her head once again, and looked to the opposite wall, where a clock was ticking. It was almost 11 p.m. and Nicole let out a soft groan thinking about how she'd been under anesthesia for about three hours and how her family was probably waiting for her to get back.

She laid her head on the uncomfortable pillow while waiting for the goddess wannabe to be done with her observations on her current lab rat, which meant Nicole, and finally dismiss her.

It took a moment to realize that Miranda had turned towards her and pushed her laptop close to the side of the desk, screen facing Nicole. After receiving a confused look, the woman rolled her eyes as if she were a teacher explaining basic maths for the hundredth time.

"You wanted to see the results."

Nicole's confused expression did not change, though now it was more directed towards the suspicious willingness to give what she asked for. Nonetheless she scooted to the side of the bed, letting her legs dangle over the edge, and she narrowed her eyes at the file on the screen.

---

Date: 23rd April 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 2 (Regeneration - 2)

Resistance and healing time to various poisonous plants (in the form of highly concentrated pills or injectable) and other toxins. First number refers to the healing time while conscious and the second while unconscious.

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) - 2'13" // 6'30"

Rosary pea (Abrus precatorius) - 2'20" // 7'02"

Crowbane (Cicuta virosa) - 2'40" // 7'12"

Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycoctonum) - 3'30" // 8'11"

Hemlock (Conium maculatum) - 3'18" // 8'28"

Oleander (Nerium oleander) - 3'55" // 10'17"

Ricin (Ricinus communis) - 5'58" // 16'19"

Arsenic, 100mg - 7'34" // 21'38"

Cyanide, 50mg - / // 26'53"

[cosmiclatte28]

6 Shots of Coffee (Jaemin x you + Dreamies)

a/n: I am back! With a sudden wild oneshot. Please be aware that this is purely fan-fiction. Anything happening here is mere pure imagination. I did not intend to connect any disorders with the idols in real life.

Warning : characters with disorders, a lot of dozing off characters, character with slight adhd (i tried my best to picture them correctly but I’m sorry if everything is wrong, i only did a short research). Mentions of orphanage, drunk parents, and a broken family. HAPPY ENDING! 

CHARACTERS : dream (minus Hyuck and Mark), Taeyong, and Yuta also our brave (y/n)! 

here we go, 

If there are three things in life you hate, that will be Jaemin, Jaemin, and oh god another team assignment with Jaemin!

Jaemin has been the most excruciating classmate you ever have! Not only did he tease you about your freakin need of keeping things in their proper place and keeping things spotless, but he also keeps using you to help him pass his classes. Yet no teacher minds your complain, and all the school girls think you're a freak for being mad about sharing a group project with the handsome guy.

No you’re not sick or weird. You just love organizing things and you like clean things a bit too much. Why? Coz you've had some bad memories with dirty things. Okay Jaemin is just another naughty kid in your class who likes to play and have fun with others, but you certainly did not find his jokes funny.

“Come on calm down (y/n)! It's only coffee, we can clean that.” Jaemin tries to laugh it off despite seeing you standing completely frozen in front of him with an empty cup and you with a  brown uniform. Although you clearly see there is a slight worry in his eyes.

You hold yourself back. How come the worst day has to become worse?! You woke up to period cramps, you forgot a homework thanks to late night distracted room cleaning, and as you were about to rush to type your homework in the library, Jaemin decided to meddle and spill his coffee on your white uniform.

A part of you want to scream and yell and pull his hair apart, but you're too tired to talk with Jaemin. Let alone think about Jaemin, there's just so many things you hate related to Jaemin.

Despite him trying his best to apologize and to help you wash your clothes, which is something new… Jaemin never cared if he messed up with you. You ended up slapping his hand away when he wants to drag you to the office to ask a spare uniform.

“Go away! I have to rush,” you push him aside with your shoulder and run to the library. Knowing so well you'll probably get another minus score and a weird look from the library thanks to your stained uniform.

You hate the feeling of sitting down with this coffee stained shirt, and as much as you want to open that shirt and change into something else, you don’t have the energy. So, after sitting down on the table with the library's laptop you stare into the keyboard only to focus more on your uniform and the least wanted thing happens.

You cry. You cry by yourself in the corner of the room and you don’t really mind the stare they give. You just want to end life here, can anyone just stab you? Or can the ground split and swallow you?

There’s another thing you hate other than Jaemin meddling with your ugly life. It's dirt and unorganized objects. Why? Well you were once a very regular kid, always playing in the rain mud and all kinds of sand. You don’t mind having dirt all over your body you know when you go home you can shower. That's until you grow up and notice how your family is different. Your parents look like they are okay, but every night you hear them argue and argue. The argument gets stronger and scarier, they shout, scream, throw things down and you were always awaken to the no longer comfy homey house. You realize one day you woke up to seeing your dad getting drunk, your mother depressed, and the house super dirty like a tornado just hold a party. It’s awful to wake up to the smell of cigar and alcohols instead of bacons and eggs. You had to keep one plate with you or else it will end up like its friends, lifeless, prickly, sharp, on the ground.

Your maid stopped working, you're moved to a new school, this middle school where you meet Jaemin and some other annoying problematic students. Your once colorful life turned dark and gloomy. No longer you woke up to morning kiss and breakfast. You find yourself sitting alone in the dining room, preparing your own sandwich from some cheap dry bread. No more nutella and you're grateful for butter.

You tried to understand, keeping all to yourself as you grow up and noticed your family is broken. You thought everything will get better, one day mom and dad will love each other again and you'll be back with the bright family you love.

Life is not that kind. Life is cruel, on your 14th birthday your dad left for another woman and your mother dropped you off to an orphanage. She said she can no longer pay for your school and living fees. Heck she even had to borrow money to buy you your monthly pads.

The cheerful friendly you turned 180° into a mournful secretive teenager. You hate everyone who looks bright and you hate every single dirt. Seeing unorganized things and dirty objects just remind you of the dark memories you want to forget.

The orphanage found your smart talent and you got a scholarship making you still able to attend the school. The orphanage you live in has a rule where there is a schedule for cleaning up and preparing dish. You meet a similar boy who has the same problem with you; just that he looks like he had overcome his bitterness and chooses to live a happy life. Which you deadly want to do but cannot.

Renjun, is the only person you talk to in that house. The adults taking care over you, still cannot make you talk comfortably with him and you're not planning to do any sooner.

“Hey, it's me. Should we make a letter to the office and go home?” Renjun's soft voice comes to your ear and you look up to him with blood red eyes.

“How long have I been crying?” you sniffle.

He shrugs his shoulder “I just came an hour ago when I noticed you're missing Chemistry class and Jaemin too. I thought he was with you.”

You scowl “Why would I be with Jaemin?”

Renjun scratches his head “I don’t know… you were always assigned a team with him… I thought both of you are rushing a task.”

“I am having a bad day.” You exhale.

Renjun shakes his head “That is more than a bad day. Here, put this on that coffee is hot or cold?” he gives you his school blazer and you gladly put it over your stained uniform.

You sigh, of course Renjun noticed. He is also like you, despise any single speck of dust.

“Jaemin spilled his cold coffee on me. Now I am late to submit my work, I'll never get the essay done and I am skipping classes. GREAT! Looks like I will be kicked out of school next week.”

Renjun shakes his head again “Silly, you're dramatic. They won’t kick you just because of that. What about your achievements?”

You scoff “They can always find another better painter. I could barely tell difference in colors.”

Renjun smiles well that’s what makes you different. The school honors your brilliant talent of drawing although you have a hard time distinguishing colors. But your emotions are well delivered on every picture you paint. That gives honor to the school when the art teacher secretly sent your works to different curators and exhibitions.

“Come, we will go home. I'll make your letter. Can you wait for me in the lobby by yourself?” Renjun smooths your hair away.

You shake your head and clearly looks afraid “Can I join you?”

He nods and lets you go with him, blaming himself for ever offering you that option.

You got home, Renjun fixes your mood by giving you new clothes. Yes, as simple as that, and you’re already less scarier than before. He makes you tea when he saw the circled date on the calendar and drops you some pain killers.

“It's that month, sorry for not noticing had I known, I'd bring you home when I heard Jaemin looking for you around the school.”

You pause from cutting the potatoes, well you need to start cooking dinner for the others. “Jaemin looked around for me?”

Renjun nods “Uh huh that's also how I know something is not right. Jaemin never looked for you except when he needs your score.”

You curl your lips “Weird. He also wanted to bring me to the office, which he never did before.”

Your sudden emotional change is a regular thing to Renjun. Although at first he has to bear with your monthly exploding sensitivity since you're the first teenage girl in this house, Renjun manages to tame you down when he calmly offer you a cup of warm chamomile tea you love.

“Maybe it’s the coffee.” You shrug it off. Come to think of it, you never see the school selling coffee but Jaemin always brings his cup of super dark coffee.

“Oh home early?” Taeyong, the oldest son of the orphanage owner, greets you both. Well Taeyong is like the head matron here, every school letter directed to him and every new kid will meet him.

“It's not her day. I brought her home before she spent another day dozing off in the school's garden.” Renjun whispers to Taeyong and the older just nods his head.

“Oh! Did I mention to you we will have a new family tonight? Please be nice, he comes from this neighborhood and we actually had been waiting for his arrival since last month, but he always escaped before his vise parents want to drop him here.

You grow annoyed at this news. Well you don’t really like having to act kind and good in front of the others. Especially when meeting new members. Taeyong always asked you to at least be welcoming and less patronizing but you cannot keep your resting bitch face to yourself.

“I might as well skip dinner.” You taunt at Taeyong “No way I am acting kind in front of that person when I had a shitty day.”

Taeyong just hums to your threat, it is nothing new. You're a stone heart and he doesn’t want to have to slap you because of your stubbornness.

“I don’t mind. Just try to be welcoming, he had a rough time too.” Taeyong waves his hand and disappears behind his study room.

“I wonder who is going to join us. Our dining table is empty after Mark and Hyuck got adopted.” Renjun is excited to welcome the new family, maybe because he really likes it better here and therefore, he wants to make sure everyone else is welcomed.

Unlike you who still can't swallow the bitter truth. For you, your real family was the best, yet you didn’t know when everything started to fall apart.

The other comes home, you see Jisung, Jeno, and Chenle coming from the backyard and you hide yourself back on your room. Dinner is ready they just have to heat it up. The stew.

You close your window and come back to sit in front of your paper. Trying to remember what project you missed and have to do.

You look around the room, you used to have a bigger room, but after Taeyong knew you cannot stay still when there are mess, he moved you to a smaller room where you cannot store so many things. He said its for your own good. He doesn’t want you to stress yourself and distract your studies just to clean things up.

You feel your stomach rumbling but when you hear the noisy sound downstairs, you remember the new family. Actually, you are curious, so you sneak from your room and take a peek from the walls.

Your mind might be playing tricks on you, you rub your eyes and focus more to the familiar man in the same uniform as yours. You want to doubt it, but when you hear Jisung repeats his name you want to jump away from this house and run far away.

Life must have hated you so much to send Na Jaemin not only to your school but also to your “house".

Although you try to ignore him, your mind wonders what makes him come here. He looks like he is okay, only naughty, but he doesn’t look like an orphan.

“Dinner?” Yuta, Taeyong's younger brother asks you when he was about to go down and greet Jaemin.

You quickly gasp and shake your head before making a quick run to lock yourself in your room.

You try to think of any reason why Jaemin is here… from dinner to nine you cannot think of doing other thing rather than fiddling with your pen as you let your brain wonder and wonder.

Only around twelve did you suddenly jolt and realize you've wasted another night without doing your paper. You hear a step on the squeaky floor, and you have to stay quiet. Taeyong and Yuta wouldn’t like seeing you still awake this late. However, you don’t recognize the footsteps. Must be Jaemin’s.

The next morning, you escape earlier from the house. Leaving before breakfast for the sake of not meeting Jaemin. You're still mad at him and you hate him. You hate him for giving you hard times at school and now at “home".

You were waiting in the class when suddenly Jaemin comes into the class with a nervous face. You wonder did he just see a ghost? Jaemin really looks out of his place. Did he finally realize he is thrown away to the orphanage? Or did he finally realize you're secretly writing foot notes to the teacher that Jaemin is only leeching on your grades? Did he get called by the office?

You try your best to stop distracting your mind and continue working your essay. Thank goodness you can submit the work when the teacher leaves the class, only then did you see Jaemin's frozen state on his chair.

“Jaem?” you surprise yourself too for calling out his name. He also looks surprised.

“Yes?” he puts on his damn sickening pretty smile back like he always did to other students.

“Erase that smile. It's creepy.” You mutter and the other girls in your class is wanting to end you up there and then.

“Sorry, it’s just that… I … I didn’t get my coffee this morning.”

You raise your brow, oh right. Taeyong and Yuta are not giving us caffeine until we are 20.

You raise a brow “And? Can’t you skip once?”

His feet thump on the floor and he looks around nervously “You're right. I- don’t mind me.” He stands up and suddenly leaves you with bigger question mark in your head.

He sure is weird. What’s wrong with skipping one cup of that bitter liquid?

--

“(Y/n)! Come let's go home.” Renjun greets you on the lobby as you wait for the youngers to come too.

“Noona, you should meet Jaemin hyung! He is so sweet last night!” Jisung tugs on your uniform.

You frown and shudder your shoulder “Jisung, I hate that man.”

Jeno just laughs at your words and at Jisung's surprised expression “So, should we wait for him?”

You click your tongue “Actually that weird man left class after the first session and did not come back to class. Maybe he ran away. Let's go before it rains.” You start leaving the lobby, but no one follows you.

“Is it because of us?” Jisung worriedly asks his brothers.

Renjun thinks for a while “You mean what happened this morning?”

Jisung nods. Your ear can still hear them, for they start walking after you too. You have to hold yourself from turning around and asking them what happened this morning that made him weird!

When the five of you enter the house, that's when your brain finally clicked on what Jaemin must be suffering.

There in the middle of the living room, is Jaemin looking so uncomfortable as he forces his hand to write on a paper with a textbook opened by his side, but what comes out of his hand is just scribbles of lines and curves and he looks like he is painting instead of writing an essay.

“So damn hard to be productive!” he suddenly throws his pen and pulls his hair. All five of you are shocked to see this. Even you! You never see this side of Jaemin in school.  He always looks like the charming prince every girl’s crush, but this is definitely not the same man.

His lips are trembling, limbs unable to stop shaking and he looks in pain. And he starts to hit himself as if scolding his body for not cooperating.

You are in awe and you have to quickly usher Jisung and Chenle away.

“Jaemin! Calm down okay.” Jeno and Renjun quickly stand by his side and tries to keep the boy from hitting himself.

You bring Jisung and Chenle to their rooms while your head is quickly thinking of what to do. You sure see he is panicking and he's throwing tantrum. Taeyong and Yuta are not here yet but when you see your reflection on the window with a clean uniform suddenly your mind reminds you of the incident yesterday.

Coffee. Na Jaemin needs coffee. As silly as it sounds, you've read somewhere that coffee can help someone with ADHD or something like that. You're not sure, but you want to give it a chance. You run to your room, break your saving jar and pick out the bills you've been saving.

“Jaemin, how many shots?” you ask him when you pass through him.

Renjun and Jeno look at you with question in their face but Jaemin understands you and holds out a number with his hand.

Your eyes widen but you run to the nearest coffee shop, the one with the brand you always see Jaemin holding.

“Give me americano with six shots of espresso. Cold I don’t know with water or not.” You sound as mad as a hatter, but the barista seems to notice something.

“Are you by any chance taking an order for Jaemin?” he asks you nod your head baffled that he is a regular here until the shift knows his order and name.

“I was confused when the morning shift told me Jaemin skipped his coffee today. Alright i'll make it like how he always orders.” The man with a name tag Mark punches the bill and gives you the amount.

You don’t mind paying such high price for the black bitter drink you never like, as soon as Mark hands you the drink you walk as fast as you can back to the house.

You see Renjun waiting for you in the porch and he looks pale.

“Where did you go?! I was worried.” Renjun almost scolds you for leaving suddenly.

You walk past him “Jaemin! I have your coffee.” You yell at him, who is currently staring on the TV that's off. Jeno is still sitting next to him, afraid that Jaemin will do anything dangerous.

Jaemin's eyes widen as he quickly takes over the drink and gulp it down like his life depends on it.

All three of you wait for him to finish half of his drink and like magic, Jaemin looks calmer.

He closes his eyes and leans on the couch. His head rests on the small pillow Jeno tosses to him and you can see his usual self back.

After ten minutes, he opens his eyes stretches his body and like a robot who has his reset button pressed, Jaemin shoots a “what?” look to the three of you.

“Sorry if I freaked all of you out. I…” he shyly scratches his head “I have a minor ADHD and … coffee seems to be helping me focus and calm down.”

Now everything clicks. You understand why the teacher actually always assigned you with him, because no one else can handle Jaemin as patient as you and you're too blunt to notice he has his own trouble. You understand why he always brings a coffee to the class and why he looks calm when he has them. Unlike yesterday when he spilled it over you, you clearly see a slight terror in his eyes, and he disappeared from class. Maybe he was shy of showing his true self in class. You now know the reason he skipped class today because of the lack of caffeine and you just didn’t know he is also as wrecked as you guys.

That night, Jaemin knocks on your door and invites you to join dinner.

“You skipped dinner last night, I don’t know if it’s because I was there… and yesterday I was really ruining your day. I'm sorry I wasn’t a good friend too at school.” Jaemin speaks rather in a calm tone and you're taken aback he can speak in a soft kind voice and not the high pitch annoying teasing voice you regular get in school.

You're flustered, but you quickly put back your cold face “It's okay. T'was my fault too not looking the way.  Don’t worry I skipped dinner last night coz I am not hungry.” You lied.

No way you were going to spill the truth to him, not when you already know how hard his days are. He was not as bright and happy as he looks like.

“Renjun told me last night everything about you. I am so sorry…I didn’t know my jokes were very painful and disturbing to you. I should’ve stopped but you know I sometimes cannot hold my brain back.” Chuckles Jaemin nervously.

You sigh and place a hand on his shoulder “Life is hard right?” He nods his head and you squeeze his shoulder, “We also find it hard. But at least we're not alone now. We have each other and the others too. I am also sorry for picking on you to the teacher for leeching my score, but I promise I won’t do that again. I'll help you Jaemin.” You smile sincerely to him.

His face brightens “You're the best! I always have hard time focusing! Well coffee helps me, but still it's not healthy.”

You take his hand in yours “Na Jaemin, you're a part of our family now. Since we're family, we will get each other's back! Don’t worry things will be okay and you too will be okay!”

He Smiles and that is a new smile you've ever seen on him. A smile that's pure and true. That shows he too is also a human who can feel pain not just the angelic handsome boy in class.

“We should eat. The others are waiting,” Chenle's appearance in the hallway makes you and Jaemin turn your heads to him.

“She's right. We're family, now family eats dinner, together right? Come on! Taeyong hyung got us some pizzas for your welcome party.” Chenle drags the taller man's hand which automatically pulls you too.

A smile comes to your face when you realize just how perfect this imperfect family is!

Yes you also struggled focusing on a certain job, yes you also hate messy stuffs, yes it's true Renjun took three months to open his mouth and speak complete sentences, it also takes Jeno five months to be true about his feelings, and Jisung plus Chenle? They also have their fish to fry. Now Jaemin, is here with his own battle that will soon be shared within us.

Just like the famous quote, Ohana means family and family means no one is left behind.

Looking around the table, although you really wish you have a sister or a mother figure here, you're more than happy to call the 7 men your brothers and families.

end

please let me know if there are anything I can fix. I am trying a new genre and it’s a bit challenging but I am happy with finishing this. 

Contact or reach me out if you have any curiosity of what happens to the members or maybe you wonder what their problems are. 

Thank you for reading :D 🤗💖

[irondad-not-ironsad]

WandaVision Episode 1 Reaction

Spoilers below!!

I enjoy the music over the marvel logo

But also a 43 second logo feels kinda long for a 29 minute episode- is it just for the premier or is this gonna happen before each ep?

Also I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that there is a title sequence, which will probably be similar in length. Combine that with the lengthy credits people have been complaining about, it seems that the percentage of the thirty minutes that is actually the story is lower than it should be

not that I don’t love a good title sequence! But I’ll take a well fleshed out episode over fancy logos, title sequences and credits any day

now that I’ve got that of my chest, on to the actual show

I like how they have the frame shaped like that of an old timey tv, combined with the black and white it really adds to the old timey sit come vibe

I like these bells

Ok I know I complained about to much time being wasted with logos and such, but i LOVE how cheesy this theme song is and I love them showing vision and Wanda driving tp there house in wedding attire

“A regular husband and wife” 2 seconds late *vision disappears into a cloud of sparkles*.... 1 minute 8 seconds in and I love this 

Even there acting is reminiscent of an old timey sit com this is amazing

feel like I should note he title sequence ends at the 1.36 mark approximately, which may not seem like a lot but again the show is less than thirty minutes so it adds up

Wanda talks with a fifties accent: I already love this show

Also I wish I had magic I could use to clean, I’m moving back into my dorm right now and Wanda’s powers would be SO helpful

Also I LOVE the laugh track

Also Wanda’s short curly hair is so cute

I love how neither of them knows what the heart means so they play it off by being like “yeah of course I know what it means, how could I forget? Do YOU remember what it means

Also Vision is literally part computer shouldn’t he have a photographic memory? 

Also how old is Wanda? I could have sworn someone said she was 19 in civil war, which would make her like 21 here? I think?? Idk tho, as a 19 year old I don’t think she has ever looked 19 in the movies, even back in Ultron she looked at least in her mid twenties

The face Vision makes when he makes himself human is so funny

Also Vision blowing Wanda a kiss and her reaching back to grab it is the perfect amount of corny that makes it still cute

Also I wonder what vision’s job is

The backing music is so funny

I can already tell Agnes is going to be some great comic relief in a show that’s already hilarious

“I assure you, I’m married. To a man. A HUMAN one!” I know I’ve said before that I was never the biggest fan of Wanda or Vision but I love Wanda in this show

Obv there is something clearly off here, but I feel like I need to mention that it’s clear this is some warped reality. If I had never seen any of the MCU before, I may believe it was just  witch and her robot husband living in the fifties, but the little details really make it clear to the audience (the majority of whom I am sure are familiar with the mcu) that something is off. This scene is one of those, where Wanda cannot seem to recall how long her and Vision have been together and plays it off by saying “It feels like we always have been together”

Is Agnes giving Wanda advice for the bedroom? is this really what I’m watching? Or have I wildly misinterpreted this?

Love the old timey lingo

Vision working a desk job is so funny

Love that vision doesn’t even know what they do at his job, I know it’s part of the false reality thing but also lowkey relatable

“you’re like a walking computer” “I most certainly am not! I’m a regular carbon-based employee made entirely of organic matter”

I started this like twenty minutes ago and have only gotten 7 minutes in because I keep stopping to type my reactions. I am going to try to shut up and watch, and stop screaming about every little detail for a bit 😂

Real quick though does Vision just go by Vision at work?

Ope apparently he does. 

I wonder if Vision took Wanda’s last name

Or is he Vision Stark-Banner since it was Tony and Bruce who made him??

He probably isn’t called that but I think it would be funny if he was

Love that instead of writing “dinner with boss” or “Dinner w/ Harts” or even just “Harts” he drew a freaking heart like im dying

if my lack of emojis seems weird I’m typing this on a computer which I never normally do and I’m to lazy to pull up the emoji keyboard, so basically imagine there’s a cry laughing emoji after everything funny

“No skeletons in the closet?’ “I don’t have a skeleton sir.”

Yup I was right, Agnes is giving her sexy time advice

“you should stumble when you walk in a room so he can catch you. It’s romantic!” that is the only way I will be flirting from now on

Also I got to say, I'm guessing it’s a fifties thing but those pointy bras don’t look comfortable

So she answers the phone “Vision Residence” Is Vision also their last name now? Does he go by Vision Vision??

They make the best facial expressions

This phone conversation where Wanda think they’re having a date night whereas Vision is talking about his boss coming for dinner is comedy GOLD

also I love the fact that they’re giving us stereotypical sitcom drama while keeping it clear that there are bigger problems than dinner with the boss

Fake commercial break is at 9.56 (these time stamps are for myself I want to calculate how much of the episode is actually the story)

I do love the fake commercials tho! And I suppose in a way they ARE part of the show

They missed the chance to make it the toastmate three thousand and make every ironman fan cry

The beeping toaster sounds like a ticking bomb..... also the little red light is the only color we’ve seen this episode I think

Commercial ends at 10.46

Also love that it was an SI toaster, still wish they had made it 3000 instead of 2000

How did Wanda confuse Mr. Hart with her husband? Not that I’m complaining, her coming out in a robe and covering Vis’ Boss’ eyes is HILARIOUS

“This is the traditional Sokovian greeting? Didn’t I tell you my wife is from Europe?” “How exotic!” “We don’t break bread with Bolsheviks”

Visions pants are SO high waisted

“It’s our anniversary!” “Our anniversary of WHAT?” “WELL IF YOU DON”T KNOW I”M NOT GONNA TELL YOU”

Poor Vision is trying to figure out what kind of company he works for this is sooo funny

Agnes coming in clutch with a full meal

So Wanda needs the ingredients in order to magic a meal she can’t just make one appear

Vision breaking into song was amazing

How did one chicken turn into like 30 eggs

Vision is singing old McDonald with his bosses wife this is great

“Diane!” “That must be my wife summoning me!” “She calls you Diane?” “Yes... it’s her pet name for me” “I’m coming... Fred”

So many clichés in this show but it’s done in such a purposeful way that it’s still funny

Also we have only seen three rooms: the kitchen, the living room and Vision’s workplace

“Well I think tonight’s going SWIMMINGLY”

Mrs. Hart is SO NOSY

But I love that they don’t know the answers

Wanda looks SO disturbed when Mr. Hart is demanding her and visions story, you can tell her mind is fighting itself and it’s so sad

Mr. Hart is choking, is it bad that I think he deserves it?

Mrs. Hart keeps cheerily repeating stop it, and gone is the stereotypical sitcom camera angles and and the backing music is switched for something eery

This is lowkey scary, Mr. Hart Dying while his wife keeps cheerily saying Stop It and it just feels creepier the more she repeats

Wanda looks distressed and vision is just looking to her for what to do, her old timey accent is gone and she sounds nearly robotic as she tells Vision to help

Poor Wanda, she is so clearly going through it mentally right now

Laugh track is back, and just like that the Harts are leaving, despite only having one bite of food

And somehow Mr. Hart is impressed? Was Wanda rewriting reality to make them so?

I know that this is clearly some alternate reality and nothing is right, but wanda and vision deciding to choose that day as there anniversary and this little convo here is soooooo cute

Aw her making them rings and them both saying I do is soooo cute

And vision saying “and they lived happily ever after’ is so sweet but also so sad in context

What is that little remote vision is holding meant to be?

And love the hexagon closing in on them with the cute music playing to end the episode

Are the people in these credits real? Because it lists the start as Wanda Maximoff and Vision but are the rest actual people?

So there is some sketchy dude watching the maybe fake credits so there's something going on there

The actual credits start with 7.13 left and I’ve been told there's no mid or post credits scene. I’ll let them play while I finish this up anyways

8 minutes and 49 seconds of this show is the logo, title sequence and credits. Out of 29.36 total this means only 20 minutes and 47 seconds is the show, which I suppose is standard for a sitcom but I think I felt deceived by it showing as 29 minutes

Also 50 seconds of “commercial takes the show time down to 19.57 if anyone was wondering

I swear tho I’m not all that bothered by the length, just did the math in case anyone was curious like I am. 

I thought I was going to really enjoy this going it, but it still really surpassed my expectations and I can’t wait for episode 2!

This is my raw reactions, but I’m sure that as I mull it over more I’ll be posting more about the show

This is somehow a perfect combo of lighthearted comedy and mild horror

I wanna let this episode stew for a while, so I prob won’t watch episode 2 for at least a day

Also what are your guys’ thoughts on this format of reaction? Did I write to much?

Also what did y’all think of this episode? Feel free to let me know what you think of my reaction, and whether you agree or disagree. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[artificialqueens]

It'd Be Easy if I Hated You (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

What else is she supposed to do when the things she loves about Crystal, her favorite bits, the little pieces that she wants to keep as happy memories are all of the same bits that make her feel like a bruise?

Written for the song fic exchange for @goodemethyd. Inspired by If I Hated You by FLETCHER.

If I hated you, I know that I could do this on my own

Gigi’s having a day so she decides that maybe doing mundane chores on a Wednesday afternoon will distract her enough from going into a full-blown bad mood. She’s standing in the freezer aisle of the grocery store, busy deciding between mint chocolate chip and cookie dough ice cream, when she gets a whiff of something and suddenly it smells like hot summer nights spent high as a kite, laying out on the grass in the backyard looking up at the stars. Suddenly it smells like cold winter afternoons spent cuddling under an itchy knitted throw, watching Love Actually for the eleven-hundredth time. Suddenly it smells like Monday mornings scrambling to get ready to beat the morning traffic rush, occasionally stopping to button a blouse or tuck in a stray piece of hair. Suddenly it smells like neck kisses. Like lazy make-out sessions. Like angry fucking. Like makeup sex. It smells happy. And sad. And comforting. It smells like a hug – the hug – Gigi knows she badly needs today.

This  – what just happened – she’s not sure she likes it. It feels too visceral.

The plan is to do groceries, wash the dishes that are a seemingly constant presence in the sink, clean the apartment, maybe organize her closet if there’s still time. The plan isn’t to think about her. The plan is never to think about her – not anymore. But this smell, obviously not distinctly her because she’s enveloped in it and she’s not here (Gigi checked), is sending her mind into a mild panic. How silly, she thinks, that her heart is slamming so hard against her ribcage because of this perfume. A perfume of all things. So maybe chores can wait until the weekend because her mood just took a turn for the worse.

She’s pouring herself a third glass of gin and tonic (more like three-quarters gin and a teeny tiny splash of tonic, for show) when Gigi decides that she’s in this mood and in her feels anyway, why not go all in. She allows herself to think about Crystal and the way things ended between them. It’s not ideal and she knows it’s not healthy but sometimes, she thinks, it’s what she needs. Maybe to figure out what really went wrong, how she could have changed things, how she could have saved them.

She thinks back on the way she tugged on Crystal’s hand and the way Crystal turned to look at her like she already knew what she was about to say, the way her chest hurt when she tried and failed to get the words out, the way Crystal’s face didn’t break when she said “this isn’t working anymore, isn’t it?”, the way her tears fell when she nodded yes. If she concentrates well enough, she swears she could feel the way Crystal squeezed her hand before she dropped it, she could hear the way Crystal’s voice cracked when she said “I’m sorry”, she could feel the warmth that Crystal seems to always radiate when she hugged her one last time.

Sometimes, Gigi thinks, it would be easier for her if she harbored negative feelings towards Crystal. It’d be easier to move on with her life if Crystal was a jerk and they ended things on a bad note. But she isn’t – Crystal could never be the bad guy, at least in her eyes. And the breakup wasn’t even bad – it was mutual and amicable and just the bookend to a relationship that was gradually unraveling.

This isn’t the first time Gigi finds her thumb hovering over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at her almost tauntingly. On better days, she’d like to think her emotional intelligence is high enough to stop her from texting but alcohol makes her reckless, making her make decisions out of impulsiveness and neediness.

Hey.

Delete.

Hi Crys.

Delete.

Hey, what’s up?

Delete.

I miss you.

She presses send before she overthinks it and as it is, finds herself passing out on the couch with her phone still in her hand.

Gigi doesn’t see Crystal’s reply until she blinks awake at ten in the morning – late for work, late for life.

Miss you too G xx

It’s strange, she thinks, that she spent eight years of her life knowing everything there is to know about Crystal – how she’s particular about the soft scramble of her eggs, the exact length of the scar down her thigh from a biking accident when she was twelve years old, the exact way she can kiss her neck to make her putty in her hands – and then to sit here like an idiot, not knowing if Crystal telling her she misses her too is real or not real. If she concentrates on it too hard, she knows she’ll drive herself crazy trying to make sense of it all.

The only wish Gigi makes every day when she wakes up is to just be okay. Most days, Gigi can not tell how she got there – there, where she can stand in front of her closet and pick out clothes that don’t remind her of the ways Crystal has taken them off her, where she can use her favorite coffee mug without thinking of the way Crystal chipped her tooth with it and just laughed the whole drive to the dentist, where she can buy the toothpaste they used to use together without thinking of the way Crystal tastes when she kisses her goodbye every morning.

Some days, and today feels like one of those days, she feels like she’s still here – here in square one. It really isn’t easy. In fact, it’s work – a lot of work – to make a conscious effort to stop herself from thinking, overthinking, remembering.

And of course, because she allowed herself to be in her feelings, the universe thinks she has the right to pile on. Crystal is in everything. She’s everywhere.

In the lady who had to repeat to the barista not to add any sugar to her coffee because she likes it black black.

In the car with their top-down next to her at the stoplight blasting Fuck the Pain Away by Peaches.

In the child who was throwing a tantrum at the store, insisting that he wants a donkey piñata at his birthday party.

In the speck of glitter that she finds stuck on her elbow after she’s done cleaning her car.

In the pumpkin spice scented room spray Nicky bought for her that just smells absolutely horrendous. She remembers almost throwing up when Crystal bought this exact same room spray, thinking it smelled delicious (it doesn’t).  

In the bottle of almost-gone seasoning mix that she can’t even read the name of – one that Crystal insisted they needed to buy to make this one thing that they only made once.

What else is she supposed to do when the things she loves about Crystal, her favorite bits, the little pieces that she wants to keep as happy memories are all of the same bits that make her feel like a bruise?

Wish I could’ve loved you better Wish you’d kiss me; wish I wasn’t me

“You’ll get home okay?” Jaida asks her, tucking some hair behind Gigi’s ear.

Gigi nods. “Happy birthday, sweets,” Gigi says, leaning in to hug her friend.

“Happy birthday to you too,” she says, returning the hug. “It was a good one this year, no?”

Gigi shrugs and makes a non-committal sound as she releases Jaida from their hug.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just different this year.” It’s the first time in eight years that she’s celebrated her birthday without Crystal.

Jaida knows why it’s different this year, why she finished a bottle of tequila alone, why she kept on looking at the door to see who’s coming in. “You still love her.” It’s not a question. And Gigi thinks it will never be a question.

“I- Just- Jaida, I want her to be here.”

“Okay, okay,” she says with a comforting pat on the back, “We’ll talk more about this when we’re both sober, okay? We’ll figure out how to patch you right back up.”

Gigi nods, deciding that this is the end of this conversation. They wait in silence for Gigi’s Uber to come. Jaida kisses her cheek good night when it does and makes her promise to text the moment she gets home and of course says yes. She buckles herself in and waves goodbye.

The ride home lulls Gigi to sleep and she finds herself woken up by her Uber driver, letting her know that she’s home. She thanks him and gets out of the car only to discover that she, in fact, isn’t home. Not her home. Not anymore.

Gigi recognizes her surroundings and quickly sobers up – as sober as she can get after eight (she’s not really sure of how many, might have been the whole bottle) tequila shots. She looks at her phone and figures out how she got here. Of course, her Uber app still has this address set as home even though she hasn’t lived here in six months.

She knows she should just order another car and head home like this mistake never happened. But she’s already here. And she’s really fucking drunk. And she’s been thinking about Crystal all week. And if she wants to be honest with herself, she misses her so much it hurts.

She reaches the door and rings the bell before she can think any better of it. She checks the time after she rings the bell and thinks maybe it’s a bad idea. It obviously is – she’s drunk and it’s three in the fucking morning. But she’s here. She’s already rang the bell. And now she can hear movement coming from the inside, she can hear the door unlocking, she can see the door opening, and she can see Crystal’s sleepy face as it shows up from behind the door.

“Hi.”

“Gigi?” Crystal rasps, still trying to wipe the sleep off her eyes.

“Why weren’t you there?” Gigi tries to sound mad and accusatory but all she sounds right now is sad and pathetic.

“Where?”

“At the party.”

Crystal scratches her head. “I didn’t think you’d want me there,” she whispers.

“What about Jaida? Didn’t you want to be there for her?” Yes, Gigi thinks to herself, be mad on Jaida’s behalf.

“She knew I wasn’t coming,” Crystal shrugs. “I’m taking her out for a birthday lunch sometime this week.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“I didn’t know you weren’t coming and I wanted you to be there.”

Crystal takes a deep breath and Gigi, for a split second, thinks she was going to say that the breakup has been a mistake and they should forget about everything that has happened and they could ride into the sunset to live happily ever after. Instead, she asks Gigi what she’s doing at her house, drunk, at three in the morning.

“I - I don’t know.”

Crystal moves to open the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

“I don’t, no,” she says. And she really doesn’t. This isn’t her space anymore; it’s Crystal’s. And her drunk self can’t take it. She doesn’t want to see Crystal pattering around in a space that they once shared and sit there as a guest – unexpected, maybe unwanted, but still a guest.

She turns to sit on the front step instead. She shuts her eyes and lowers her head between her legs. If this is to stop herself from throwing up or to stop herself from looking at Crystal with the heart eyes she knows she has, she’s not quite sure. But she keeps that position until she hears the door shut, until she feels a warm presence beside her, until she feels an arm encircle her.

The way she immediately leans against Crystal and lets her wrap her in her arms is instinctive and she catches herself before she could bury her face further against her chest – where it smells like warmth and clean laundry and just the vaguest hint of her woody perfume.

“Sorry,” she whispers as she scoots away, looking slightly embarrassed at the way her body reacts to Crystal.

“Did you have a good time at your party?”

Gigi raises a brow at her. “Is this what we’re doing?”

“What?”

“Sit here and make small talk like we don’t know each other?”

Crystal takes a deep breath as if trying to think of something to say – but she says nothing. She sits there quietly, hands tugging her robe closer for more warmth, hair disheveled from sleep, eyes curiously looking at Gigi.

Gigi lets the silence sit between them for a beat before word vomiting everything she’s been holding on to for the last six months.

“I just miss you all the time and I’ve tried to get over it, get over you but nothing is ever good enough.”

Get over is the wrong phrase to use because she’s not over her and she probably never will be. She can learn how to be Crystal’s friend, maybe – but she’s not sure she can learn how to balance that with still being in love with her. Gigi thinks she needs to start getting used to living a life without her.

“I keep thinking about how I used to feel like we were a forever thing and wow, fuck, now we’ve been broken up what? Six months? And I’m running out of reasons to justify why we aren’t together anymore.”

She looks over at Crystal who has suddenly found the ground and her feet to be more interesting. She knows this Crystal, though – this Crystal who would get up from bed in the middle of the night and sit on her front step cold and barefoot and in her pajamas to listen. This Crystal would let her ramble on just to get her feelings out. This Crystal is not thinking of anything to say back; she’ll think about that when Gigi has said her piece.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to lay in bed at night, in the dark, and not miss you? To keep on telling myself that dreaming about getting back together with you is only a dream?” Gigi takes a deep breath and tells herself not to cry. “It’s so fucking hard, Crystal. Wouldn’t it be easier if I hated you so I didn’t have to feel this way?”

Crystal sighs and shifts to take a good look at her. Gigi gives her a moment to collect her thoughts. But she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches her hand up to Gigi’s face and Gigi looks at her suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Eyelash,” she says, picking it up from her right cheek and showing it to Gigi. “Make a wish.”

Gigi closes her eyes for longer than necessary. She wishes for a lot of things – she wishes she wasn’t here right now, she wishes Crystal would kiss her, she wishes she’d forget but also not forget, she wishes they’d get back together. But the alcohol in her bloodstream is just the right amount of warming to let her be honest about her biggest one. “Wish I could’ve loved you better,” she says with her eyes still closed.

She hears Crystal whisper her name in a way she knows she’s about to say something sweet, something meaningful, something so very Crystal so she groans out loud to stop Crystal from saying something. “I need to go home,” Gigi says, getting up from the step.

Crystal gets up with her, making sure she’s near enough in case Gigi stumbles. “Let me drive you home,” she offers.

“I can just order a car,” Gigi says, pulling out her phone from her coat pocket.

Crystal rolls her eyes at her. “I’m here; my car’s right there.”

“Okay,” Gigi nods.

Crystal tells her she’ll be quick to get her keys and a coat and Gigi contemplates ordering a car anyway. But Crystal’s back as quickly as she promised.

“Ready?”

Gigi nods. She feels a warm hand on the small of her back guiding her to the car. It feels natural, it feels them. But Gigi knows it shouldn’t. She quickly buckles herself in the passenger seat and leans her head against the window.

She’s not quite as drunk now but she’s not quite sober either; everything is still a bit fuzzy around the edges. It hits Gigi, as she sees Crystal sliding into the seat, how fucking awkward this is. They haven’t seen each other in months yet here they are at almost four in the morning being whatever it is they are right now. This feels like what it really is – exes awkwardly trying to reconcile what’s left of their friendship.

“I’m sorry,” Gigi says, breaking the awkward silence that’s been sitting between them since they started driving.

Crystal glances quickly at her. “For what?”

“For things.” For dragging Crystal out of bed to drive her home. For looking a mess and feeling like it too. For how things ended – for ending things at all. For still being in love with Crystal.

There’s still a lot to say and also nothing else left to say. It’s quiet the rest of the ride except for Crystal humming to a song playing in her head.

Crystal pulls into Gigi’s driveway and Gigi doesn’t move to get out right away, feeling like there’s something important she still wants to say amongst the drunken rambling she’s already done. She wants to stay but she also wants to leave. And when she finally decides it’s taking too long and it’s making things too awkward and she’s one leg out of the car, Crystal stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Gee?”

“Yes?”

“You said you wish you could’ve loved me better and I don’t think you could have.”

“I– Crys, what do you mean?”

“You loved me enough and you loved me best.”

“Oh.” Gigi stares at her for a beat, hand gripping the car door handle tighter.

“Just– it’s just I know it’s not great right now between us but…”

“Crys?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for driving me home,” she says, getting out of the car – finally. Her heart can’t take any more emotions.

“Right, of course,” Crystal nods to herself as Gigi shuts the door.

Gigi waves goodbye as she watches Crystal drive away, waiting for the sound of her car to fizzle out completely before making her way inside.

You know I dream about Getting back together in the future I could focus on you

It starts when Gigi decides that she most definitely must text Crystal a thank you for driving her home and an apology for waking her up in the middle of the night. It’s short and simple and direct to the point. It doesn’t leave room for misinterpretation and room for extra conversation.

What she doesn’t expect is for Crystal to keep texting. For it to spark a whole chain of texts.

First, it’s just the casual hi, hello, how are you?

Then it’s a Merry Christmas.

And a Happy New Year. With a lingering unsaid wish you were my new year’s kiss. But it’s okay, I’d rather have none than it to be not you.

Then it becomes hey, I saw this and remembered you. A link to a funny Twitter thread. A depreciating Tumblr post. A viral TikTok video. A YouTube clip from a TV show they used to watch together.

Then they’re randomly hanging out to get coffee for a long catch up. Then it becomes a standing afternoon snack coffee date.

Out for lunch. First to try that place near Gigi’s work. Then once a week.

Out for dinner. Always just the two of them, both scared to involve other people and acknowledge whatever it is they are – casual places first then eventually date night places that they used to go to or places they said they’d try.

“Are we friends?” Gigi asks her one night.

“I don’t know, is that what you want?”

They aren’t friends. They’re more than that but they’re also less than that.

It’s not like things between her and Crystal ended on bad terms. Sure, it was a bit disjointed in the end when they both realized they wanted different things out of the relationship – Gigi wanting independence and flexibility and Crystal wanting constancy and marriage. But really, there’s no denying that there was love there. That there’s still love here.

“I don’t know either. But I like this, whatever this is,” she says. And it’s true.

It’s natural. This. Them. If anything, the weirdest thing about this is how natural it feels, how easily they fall back into a routine as if they’d never stopped.

Gigi’s phone keeps blowing up when she’s at dinner with Jaida. She instinctively reaches out to her phone every time it buzzes, always so quick to respond.

“Geege, have you met someone new without telling me?” she teases, trying to peek at Gigi’s phone.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“Oh, um, it’s just Crystal,” she says, showing Jaida her phone – not like there’s anything to hide. But also, yes, there’s something to hide. Jaida doesn’t have to know that the lock screen on her phone is still that picture of her and Crystal at Coachella.

“I didn’t know you were friendly again. When did that happen?”

“Since our party.”

“That long?”

Gigi nods. Yes, that long. It’s now already Spring, almost Crystal’s birthday.

“That stupid look on your stupid face is a look I haven’t seen in almost a year.”

“What about it?”

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’m just saying I think you should be careful.”

Part of her is screaming not to get her hopes up – that maybe this is just them talking it out and getting the closure that they need. But there’s also the other part, a bigger part, that hopes this is them finally swallowing their pride and fixing what they couldn’t fix. But the thing is, Gigi’s hopes are already so up there.

“What is it you want from her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to be friends? Do you want to close the space a little? Do you want to try getting back together?”

“I don’t know how to be around her and not fucking feel everything.”

Ideally, she would like to reach a point where thinking of Crystal, talking about Crystal, talking to Crystal doesn’t leave her aching inside. But she feels like a string that has been pulled on too many times. Gigi feels defeated and just allows herself to acknowledge everything that her brain has already taken notice of.

“I want her back. She’s the love of my life, Jaida. How did we let this happen?”

Jaida goes on a whole tirade about something or another but Gigi doesn’t hear any of it because she’s busy dying inside from the text exchange that is happening.

Thinking of opening a bottle of wine and starting a movie. Want to join?

Gigi’s feeling bold and flirty.

Miss me already?

And she expects nothing but honesty from Crystal.

Yes.

She looks up at Jaida, she can’t hear her but she’s still talking. “J, I have to go,” she says.

I don’t know if you know this but you’re very hard to stay away from.

Don’t start without me.

The way the space between them on the couch shrinks gradually each time one of them gets up and comes back from the toilet or back with snacks and drinks does not go unnoticed. They don’t say anything about it and they don’t shy away when they start leaning into each other. When Gigi notices Crystal starting to doze off in the middle of their second movie, she lets her rest her head against her shoulder.

Crystal shifts against her, shoulders rising rhythmically, breath steady, sighing quietly in her sleep. Crystal tucks her face further into Gigi’s shoulder, and Gigi presses her cheek against Crystal’s head, and she knows she’s going to be stuck loving this person in her arms for the rest of her life – whether Crystal loves her the same way or not.

She thinks back to the last time they sat on this couch, supposedly watching one of Crystal’s favorite movies, but giving up the pretense of paying attention to the movie about fifteen minutes in to enjoy each other’s mouths instead.

This feels intimate, far too intimate for what they are right now. In the back of her mind, Gigi finds it hard to believe how she had tried to imagine a future with this intimacy and togetherness and decided that it wasn’t for her.

It’s a little past midnight and if Gigi is being totally honest with herself, she doesn’t ever want to leave. She sinks her nose into Crystal’s hair and inhales deeply – her smell always intoxicating; now smelling like a dream she once had.

“Crys,” Gigi whispers, gently shaking her awake. She really doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want this night to end, doesn’t want to say goodbye (tonight or ever again).

“Hmm?” Crystal grumbles, leaning in closer without opening her eyes.

“I have to go.”

Crystal stays still and Gigi thinks she’s fallen back asleep.

“Crys, I have to go,” she repeats.

Crystal sits up straight to look at Gigi. “Or you can stay,” she suggests, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

Gigi turns to look at Crystal straight in the eyes, silently hoping that Crystal understands that really, she doesn’t want to go home either. But they both know she should. “I really shouldn’t be here.” Gigi reluctantly gets up from the couch and holds her hand out to Crystal. “Are you going to walk me to the door?”

Crystal lets herself be pulled up to her feet and stretches out her neck and back before grabbing Gigi’s hand again to walk her to the door. Gigi drops Crystal’s hand when she puts on her shoes and when she straightens up again, she sees a look in Crystal’s eyes – it’s familiar but it’s also hesitant.

“This was good, right?”

“It was, I’m glad we could spend time like this.”

Gigi sees Crystal hesitate for a fleeting moment and what she says is not what Gigi was expecting at all. “You were it for me, you know? You still are. And I want that back, what we had,” Crystal says reaching out to take Gigi’s hand in hers again.

There’s still that space between them that hasn’t been breached yet. And Gigi isn’t sure how to get past it. But apparently, Crystal can dive into it headfirst.

Gigi tries to keep her face neutral but it isn’t so easy when her heart wants to beat out of her chest. She’s in love with her. She always has been. And she thinks she always will be, in all of the best and worst ways.

“I’m scared it will be the same. But also not the same. Do you know what I mean?”

All they’d ever done was love each other so much, too much, and it still had not been enough.

“It doesn’t have to be anything, does it? It just has to be you and me.”

[chilling-seavey]

Since someone (you) wanted these asks to express “excitement” here it is – can I pretty please request an ABM dating phase where Daniel is working on a music class project with a female classmate and Florence is jealous but she feels like it's alright cause she's used to Matt cheating on her all the time?? This better? 😂 ~T

Yes, this ask is much nicer than your last try 😘 hehe Here we go-

Thursday, March 11, 2021

Daniel had been staying late at school recently. He had received a new project in one of his classes which started to take up a lot of his time as he had to spend extra time in the music studios outside of class time. With his assigned partner. Who happened to be a female. Now, Florence wasn’t a jealous person, and after having a successful friendship with Daniel and his friends, she was more than aware that it was possible for guys and girls to be platonic. And the first week or two was fine and Daniel came home talking excitedly about his project as it was in its planning stages, but as the weeks went on, he spoke less and less about it and seemed to be out more and more.

Florence only seemed to get more and more nervous about the whole idea, especially as Daniel seemed to shut her down and change the subject every time she tried to ask about his work. It didn’t help that she was living on her own with the two babies, Daniel still living full time with the guys so she didn’t see him too much to begin with. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but after the third night of having her FaceTime call declined, Florence was starting to get in her head.

It brought her right back to lonely nights when Matt wouldn’t come home, too busy hooking up or flirting with random girls at parties, while Florence was left alone with baby Clementine. Now with two babies, Florence was much more stressed and tired – the perfect recipe for overthinking. She hadn’t seen him since Sunday and hadn’t heard from him other than a simple good night or good morning text since Wednesday morning.

Florence’s anxiety was eating her alive and she couldn’t help but imagine him with some random girl making out in the studio instead of working. It nearly made her sick to her stomach but she didn’t expect any different since Matt had done the same. Maybe it was a guy thing? The naivety that coursed through her was sometimes comical.  

Daniel showed up to surprise her that evening, bringing takeout for the both of them as he came right from campus. She still had yet to make him a key, so he had to knock, sending her a grin when she opened the door.

“Hey, Flora.”

He didn’t notice her momentary frown at his lack of his sweet pet names as he pulled her into a hug. Florence wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her face into his neck and took a gentle inhale to see if she could smell perfume on him – that was always a giveaway with Matt. There was just the woodsy scent of his cologne and the slight must of the old school building…and a hint of vanilla.

Daniel pulled away from her and didn’t even kiss her before heading into the apartment with a tired sigh but still with a calm smile. Penelope was already put to bed but Clementine was still up, dressed in her pyjamas with wet hair from her bath as she was sat on the living room rug playing with her toys before bed.

She absolutely lit up at the sight of Daniel, jumping up and rushing to greet him, “Dada!”

“Hi there, my sweet angel!” Daniel bent down to scoop her up, holding her close as he peppered kisses over her chubby cheek. “I missed you!”

“Me too!” Clementine threw her arms around his neck and cuddled into him as he tucked her legs around his waist.

Florence watched them silently for a few long seconds, staring at Daniel’s back as Clementine hung onto him, her little hands clinging onto the back of his shirt. She suddenly shifted, pushing her fingers into the back of his hair as she sat up in his arms to look at him. Florence didn’t even listen to what they were babbling about, only focused on the fact that Daniel’s hair was much messier than normal.

“Time for bed, Clemmy.” Florence said, cutting off the two-year-old’s little conversation, hardly without realising it.

“I can put her down.” Daniel offered.

“It’s fine.” Florence took the toddler from him and Clementine cuddled sleepily against her mother. Daniel said a soft good night to her before Florence took her down to her room to tuck her in.

Daniel was unpacking the takeout when she came back out of the nursery and he sent her a smile as he poured the pad thai on plates, “I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet but I was starving. Gillian and I ate at this place the other night and it was so good. I was really craving it and I thought you might want to try it too.”

He held out a pair of chopsticks to her.

“Gillian?” Florence questioned, taking the utensils and her plate her offered out.

“Yeah. My partner for the studio project I’ve been working on.” Daniel said, walking around the island to sit at the breakfast bar. “She’s really talented and we’ve been learning so much with each other.”

Florence only nodded, jabbing her chopsticks into the plate of pad thai and twirled them around a little, not feeling hungry in the slightest. Daniel dived right in, taking a mouthful before pulling out his phone and scrolling away with one hand as he ate. Florence let her eyes glance at his phone screen, looking away quickly when she realized he was texting someone. His light laughter made her clench her jaw to hold back her nervous tears and he set his chopsticks down to text a reply. The clicks of his phone keyboard had her heart racing in her chest and she stood up from the bar stool and carried her plate around to the empty containers still on the counter.

“Did you not like it?” Daniel asked, looking up at her movement.

“I’m not hungry.” Florence mumbled, sliding it back in the takeout container before closing it and setting it in the fridge. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed.”

“Oh…okay.” Daniel frowned slightly, watching her trudge off to her bedroom without a look back.

Over the last two years, Florence had perfected the art of crying in the shower. And that’s exactly what she did, her tears washed away with the warm water and her sobs muffled by the stream. Why did this hurt more than it did with Matt? She washed her face free of tears and got dried and dressed into pyjamas – her own t-shirt and plaid pants – before heading back out to the main area of the apartment.

Daniel was still at the island, typing away furiously on his phone. He looked up at her as she came out of her room.

“Did you run out of my hoodies?” Daniel offered a lighthearted joke at her outfit of only her on clothes, but he was met with no response.

Florence busied herself with picking up the toys that were scattered over the living room rug. Her silence had Daniel putting his phone down and spinning around on the bar stool to face her.

“Are you okay?”

Florence swallowed thickly, holding back her tears that burned her eyes as they threatened to fall again. She tossed the toys in the basket in the corner and organized the coffee table that was honestly already tidy, but she was too anxious to just sit still. She always stress cleaned.

“Baby?” Daniel tried again, getting off the stool and made his way over to her. He gently took her arm to pull her away from the coffee table and get to her to face him. Her shimmering eyes and red cheeks had him frowning in concern, “Were you crying?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” Florence flatly assured him, offering him a tight smile before slinking past him to the kitchen.

“You’re not fine. What’s going on? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Can you…not call me that?”

Daniel seemed taken back, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, “I…Okay. I thought you liked it.”

“Not anymore.” Florence whispered, her voice breaking as she grabbed his empty plate to wash it by hand, needing to somehow busy herself.

“Not anymore? Did I do something?” Daniel asked quietly, standing right next to her, his body angled towards her as a subconscious action that meant he was completely focused on her.

“More like someone.” Florence said before she could catch herself. She played it off with an, “It’s fine though.”

“What? Did someone? What are you talking about?” Daniel frowned.

“You smell like vanilla.” Florence said flatly, turning on the sink.

“I…what?”

“You smell like vanilla. You smell like some other girl.”

“Probably because I just spent all afternoon locked in a small room with one. Are you…are you accusing me of cheating on you?”

Florence only shrugged.

“Florence, oh my God.” Daniel gaped. “How could you even think that?”

“The perfume on your clothes, your messy hair, the sneaky texts, the late nights. I haven’t heard from you in two days but Gillian gets lunch dates. I know the routine. I’ve lived this before.”

“Okay, stop. You have heard me say more times than either of us can count that Matt was fucking asshole and he didn’t deserve you yet alone deserve the time of day. I am nothing like him. For multiple reasons but especially because I would never even dream of cheating on you. Not now and not ever.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Florence grumbled, scrubbing hard at the plate in her hand.

“I am not a liar, Florence Margret.” Daniel stepped closer to her. “I am not a liar and I am not a cheater.”

Florence sniffled a little, still scrubbing away at the plate that was definitely clean by then.

“Can you look at me?” Daniel asked, an obvious edge to his voice.

She didn’t move, biting on her bottom lip as her chest rose and fell rapidly over the situation at hand, still cleaning the plate in the sink. He stared at her for a moment, his expression torn between anger and concern.

“The messy hair is from headphone’s I’ve been wearing all day, the perfume is because she’s my work partner and she drowns herself in the stuff, the late nights are because I’m working my ass off to actually get a good grade from the toughest professor I’ve had the last three years, and there are no sneaky texts! She sent me something earlier tonight about the file name that we changed today. You can freaking read them if you don’t believe me!”

“I don’t want to read them.” Florence grumbled, her voice wavering. “I just want to know why I haven’t seen you since Sunday.”

“I’ve been drowning in work, honestly. Midterms are coming up and it’s my third year. I don’t even know why I have to justify myself here.”

“Because you have a daughter.”

“I have two actually. I know. This has nothing to do with my schoolwork. I don’t love them or you any less because I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to take Gillian for pad thai.”

“I have to eat lunch, Florence, are you serious? You’re being a little ridiculous here.”

“I just don’t want to feel like I’m always second choice all the fucking time.” Florence mumbled coldly.

“I don’t want to get angry because I know you’re upset for a valid reason because of your past but that just pissed me off.” Daniel scoffed, taking a disbelieving step back from her as he shook his head. “When the hell have you ever been my second choice? Huh? Honestly. I didn’t spend the last nearly three years chasing after you and constantly professing my love for you to just brush me aside and then for you to tell me that I’m making you feel like a second choice. You are speaking to the king of second choices. Hell, I was the third choice for a bit there too. You have never been my second choice. Ever. You have always been my first choice, Florence Margret. Always.”

With that, he turned and grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder on his way to the door without a look back.

Florence kept her head down as he walked out, the sound of the door shutting finally getting her to drop the plate into the bottom of the sink, chipping the edge of it as it fell against the stainless steel. She leaned her hands on the edge of the counter to try and take a deep breath, only being met with a small sob. She pressed her soapy hands to her face in embarrassment as she cried.

Florence found herself on the kitchen floor, wallowing in her own self hatred for a while as she cried into her knees and muffled her sobs into her arms. She was sure she ruined yet another relationship and the longer she sat there, the more she was convincing herself of that. Her phone rang from the kitchen counter and she ignored it, letting it go to voicemail as she kept herself curled up on the cool tile floor. It rang again after a few moments and she blindly reached up to grab it, glancing at the screen just as it went to voicemail again, seeing two missed calls from Daniel. He called again and she answered it, licking her lips slowly as she raised it to her ear.

“Can you let me in please?” he asked before she could say anything.

She got up from the kitchen floor and trudged down the hall to the front door and opened it, revealing Daniel stood outside, duffle bag over one shoulder and backpack over his other. They stared at each other in silence a moment, both obviously had been crying but not quite knowing what to say first.

“Can I come in?” Daniel finally asked softly.

Florence nodded and stepped aside to let him in. She closed the door behind him and crossed her arms over her chest nervously. Daniel dropped his bags to the floor and turned to her, looping a finger around the collar of her shirt and he pulled her close to press a kiss to her lips. They stayed there motionless for a moment before Daniel leaned back again as their eyes met.

“My only choice.” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Florence mumbled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hug him tightly.

“I know.” Daniel said, brushing his hand through her hair and then down her back, “I’m sorry that one idiot’s stupidity hurt you so badly that it’s what you think you only deserve.”

Florence only nodded weakly, squeezing her eyes closed tightly as she clung onto him.

“I love you. More than anyone. Only you.”

“I love you too.” Florence sighed against his shoulder, his fresh hoodie he wore only smelling like him.

“You have all of me, okay? My heart, my soul, and even my virginity.” Daniel chuckled against her cheek and her giggle had him pressing a kiss to the same spot. “Not going anywhere without you.”

Florence leaned back from his shoulder and leaned in to kiss his lips, raising her hands to the sides of his neck to keep him there a moment longer.

Daniel broke their soft kiss with a bashful smile, “I’m officially inviting myself over until Monday. I packed a bag and everything. You’re gonna get so sick of me.”

“Not possible.”

[bigskydreaming]

For @imashittalkingmushroom who requested some Tim content. Excerpt from one of the seemingly endless WIPs I toil away at in my downtime because me pace myself, in this economy, hah. This one’s called “The Vienna Game” and is Batfam ensemble versus a new rising threat, which Tim has a revelation about here. This part is just a rough draft for the moment, but you get the idea.

THE VIENNA GAME

Chapter Five: Pawn Storm

Barely five minutes after Tim’s head hit his pillow, he sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering in his throat.

“They’re all connected,” he said, wide-eyed to an empty room. The lack of a response bequeathed by his surroundings was a bit, well, lacking, so he leaped to his feet and raced down to the hall to the Batcave’s nearest access point.

“They’re all connected,” he shouted again as he took the rough-hewn stone stairs three at a time. His words bounced and rattled off the walls of the cave, winging upwards into its darkest recesses and rousing the bats from their nests overhead. They scattered in every direction, deeper into the darkness, as they reacted to his urgency and intensity with shrieking complaints.

If only his actual family could be similarly moved. But no, they had to suck instead.

“Whozit whatzit howzit?” Dick swiveled in his chair, just enough to shoot the younger boy a quizzical eyebrow but not enough to necessitate removing his feet from next to the Batcomputer’s keyboard, where Bruce was currently drilling holes into them with a patented (and thus wholly ineffective) Batglare.

“What is it Lassie? Did Timmy fall down the well again? One bark for yes, two for no,” Jason said brightly. He bent at the waist and braced his hands on his thighs as though actually talking to a dog; it had the unfortunate side-effect of making his stupid brother a stupid firmly planted rock that did little more than shift the merest micro-meter when Tim rolled his eyes and brusquely shouldered past him.

“That doesn’t even make any sense. I’m Timmy,” he said irritably. Too late he realized the trap he’d blearily wandered into as his jackass brother practically cackled with glee. Tim reddened and quickened his pace to the Batcomputer. “Oh shut up.”

Jason swivelled, but whatever his intended follow-up, he abruptly cut off as an apple core arced out of the shadows and bounced off his head. The second eldest pivoted sharply once more and scowled in the direction it’d come from as Tim absently took note of the several other apple cores scattered around Jason’s feet.

“Would you stop that?”

Cassandra, target of his ire, merely contemplated him for a beat before shaking her head. 

“No thank you,” she politely declined, and she bit into a fresh apple with a loud crunch.

“You will be cleaning those up, not Alfred,” their father said, wearily enough Tim got the sense this had been going on for quite some time. His sister just shrugged. 

“Worth it.”

Bruce exercised the better part of valor and shifted his attention back to Tim. “And didn’t you say you were going to bed?”

“I did say that,” Tim said agreeably as he barreled forth unto the Batcomputer. He batted (hah - oh no, the sleep deprivation was real) Dick’s feet aside and rebutted Dick’s injurious expression with an apologetic one of his own; apparently appeased, Dick just lithely shrugged and lifted his linked legs straight off the desk’s surface and then just never stopped. Instead he kept lifting his legs up, up and away until he’d transitioned into a perfect handstand on the seat of the chair, which he then transitioned out of by gracefully flipping over the chair’s back and onto his feet. Because see, Tim’s eldest brother’s middle name was not in fact ‘John,’ it was ‘Just That Extra.’

“I even did that,” Tim continued as he set his fingers to dancing swiftly across the keyboard. “But then I realized something.”

“You look ridiculous when you pop your collar,” Steph said knowingly.

“What? No. Wait, when have I ever done that?”

“Umm, the last time you were drunk, duh.”

Tim paused just long enough to shoot his ex an absolutely baffled look, over where she was lounging bonelessly next to Cass. 

“When was I drunk?”

Steph tilted her head to the side and squinted in thought. “Drunk, concussed....whatever. It was definitely one of those two. I have pictures. They’re not good.”

Perhaps sensing his impending spontaneous combustion, Bruce interceded, raising a hand to quiet the perpetual storm of sibling (and Steph) nonsense.

“What’s this about, Tim?”

“Our newest Rogue, the one we just finally caught last week,” Tim reported, turning his attention back to the Dance of the Keystrokes. “We have a problem.”

Their father frowned. “Desperado? What’s the problem?”

“His name,” Tim said grimly. He finished pulling up the string of files he’d only minutes ago linked together in his own mind. Flashing into existence on the wall to wall screens before them were all the notes the various members of their family had compiled on the new villain in town, as well as a number of other files for a good dozen or so other relatively new or unknown villains scattered across the globe, with these latter documents pulled from the digital archives of various superhero teams and law enforcement agencies worldwide.

Blitz, a speedster located in Southern California, their indistinct form pixelated and blurred virtue of the crackling halo of electrical energy they seemed to wear like a cloak of St. Elmo’s Fire. 

A Filipino man and woman purported to be fraternal twins operating out of a number of hotspots throughout Southeast Asia, with a combined name whose translation from Tagalog roughly amounted to ‘Double Check.’

A young brunette woman seemingly barely out of her teens, with eyes hidden behind an overly large pair of sunglasses, linked to a series of crimes in Argentina and Chile and allegedly going by the name ‘Swindle.’

A black man in his mid to late twenties, moving across the Iberian peninsula, with no reported name given, just a strange adherence to a symbol that appeared to be of a windmill, of all things, and that had local press dubbing him ‘Don Quixote.’

King March, a white man in his late forties to early fifties, with black hair and greying temples and a stern but smug disposition in all the files Interpol had compiled on him due to his frequent appearances as a person of interest throughout Eastern Europe.

A short, acrobatic Latino teleporter who offered up only the name ‘Castle’ in his sporadic run-ins with various hero organizations across the globe. 

Tempo, suspected to originally hail from Sri Lanka, and last sighted in Hong Kong of all places...and by no means the only one of this assortment of individuals engaged in criminal enterprises in a city known for its Batman Inc presence. 

Undermine, a masked man so far content to operate just out of Australia.

Flag Fall, another masked individual largely spotted in the Southeastern U.S.

An unseen person or persons known only by a calling card left in various Saharan regions, identifying them as someone named ‘Tabia.’

And lastly, a mature black woman out of the UK, sporting a wry, enigmatic smile in the only known picture of her, alongside her alleged pseudonym: Zugzwang.

“It was pretty much total coincidence I put it together,” Tim said as his family gathered more closely behind him to survey the assembled files over his shoulder. “I’d come across most these files over the past couple months, just in passing, as I like to familiarize myself with the various players in most Batman Inc. operating cities, and I was just reading this last file before bed, just to kinda wind down, y’know....”

“That sentence makes me so sad I don’t even have the heart to make fun of you,” Jason interrupted. He frowned. “Wait, that implies I have a heart. Hang on, that doesn’t sound right. And is this, what, sympathy I’m feeling right now? Eww, that is not the emotion I ordered. Take it back.”

Tim glared at him briefly, and then foraged on. “Anyway, as I was saying, I happened to be reading this last file before bed, and her name stuck out for me and from there I just started connecting some dots. See, alone, none of these names stand out as particularly significant, but put them together, and what happens?”

“They all have multiple meanings,” Damian said, scowling at the screens with focused intensity. “Mostly innocuous, but they’re also all....hmm. Chess terminology.”

Tim nodded enthusiastically. “Bingo! Ten points to Stabby Smurf.”

He bent over the keyboard again and started pulling up various video files, catching sight of reflections out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Duke seemed to be mouthing “Stabby Smurf” with a kind of horrified awe and Damian himself seemed unable to decide if he was offended or not. Whoops, that part hadn’t been meant to come out aloud. Tim coughed to cover a grimace slash smirk and hastened back to his point. 

“For instance, based on geographical location alone, Flag Fall seems to be an obvious reference to an actual flag, but the term also refers to timed chess matches, when a given player has run out of time to make a move. Swindle isn’t just a term for cheating or fraud, but in chess, refers to when a losing player tricks their opponent into falling for a decoy move that ends the game in a draw instead of a loss. King march is a term for when you advance your king up the board, tempo is a single turn or move, a double check is when two different pieces put an opponent’s king in check simultaneously, and undermining is when you capture a defensive piece of your opponent’s and leave their king undefended.”

He stopped for a breath and Damian quickly stepped into the breach and picked up where he left off, seamlessly following the train of thought. “And Tabia comes from the Arabic for ‘essence,’ but in chess is a key point, specifically a point of departure from which you can perform any number of signature moves. The windmill symbol utilized by this individual in Spain and its surrounding regions most likely then does not reference Don Quixote, but rather a looped series of moves, usually brought upon by a rook and a bishop, which forces an opponent’s king to ‘windmill’ back and forth between just two or three squares in order to keep out of check.”

“And then Blitz of course refers to a specific opening gambit, that can bring about checkmate in four moves or less,” Tim resumed. “And while Castle has so far been assumed to be nothing more than a surname according to various heroes who have encountered him, largely no doubt due to the fact that he doesn’t affect any kind of costume or disguise, when you consider that pretty much all his demonstrations of teleportation utilize a kind of ‘switching’ of two persons’ relative placement in space/time, either as a signature or an actual staple of his power, its far more likely his name is a reference to ‘castling.’ Which of course then just brings us back to Zugzwang, which is a German term that loosely translates to ‘compulsion to move’ and specifically denotes any scenario in chess in which a player has no choice but to move, even though all moves available to them are inevitably going to worsen their position.”

They all took a minute to absorb that then, speed-reading their way through the various files with all the quickness that made it an actual possibility one or more of them might someday make it all the way through a read-through of the entire Wayne Manor Library, even taking into account the minimal time any of them allotted to the having of actual ‘hobbies.’

It was Cass who found something new to seize upon next, though she never once flicked her eyes away from where they tracked the movements of one videoed individual to the next, screen by screen. 

“It’s not just the names,” she reported, scrutinizing each figure intently. “They move alike. When they fight. Its not a lot. But enough that they probably trained together, or at least shared a teacher.”

Tim nodded again. “I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t have your eye for that, but it seemed like they might.”

“Reeet, record scratch,” Steph jumped in then. “Not to be all ‘talk nerdy to me, baby,’ since we don’t do that any more and whoops, totally forgot for a second that your dad is legit standing right here, wow, awkwaaaaaard, but for those of us still waiting to buy a vowel, why is this a problem with that Desperado dude specifically?”

“Because we’ve been operating off of the assumption that he chose his name as a more obvious reference to simply being some kind of outlaw,” Bruce said. “But in terms of chess specifically, a desperado piece is any piece that is trapped or in danger, and then sacrifices itself to achieve some kind of maximum damage or compensation that greatly outweighs the loss of itself.”

Steph nodded and pursed her lips. “Cool, cool. Okay so first off, let me just say how glad I am that it was you in specific that decided to follow up on that. Definitely the best of all timelines there, like just so, so absolutely stellar, that. It in no way compounded the awkwardness of the moment or contributed to my pending death by mortification. Secondly, oh, like. Yikes, so that’s not great, huh.”

“No, its not,” Bruce said seriously, with only the barest of twitches in the proximity of those things other people use to smile, aka lips. “If all of this turns out to bear fruit, as I suspect it will, the relative ease with which this Desperado was captured is nothing short of ominous. But luckily, we now have a chance to get ahead of whatever else might be in the works there. Excellent work, Tim.”

Tim squirmed, digging deep into the well of his bodily mastery and various techniques for exerting mind over matter. Don’t blush, don’t blush, you’re a super cool crime-fighting dude, not a total dweeb. “Like I said, it was mostly just dumb luck.”

“Hey now, none of that, Baby Bird,” Dick said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You still had to spot the pattern and connect the dots no matter how circumstantial you feel happening across the first dot was. That’s all you, kiddo.”

“Dick, I’m almost eighteen,” Tim whined. Ugh, his brother was the worst. He was going to be calling him Baby Bird when he was eighty at this point. And there went all his attempts at bodily mastery. Insult was added to injury when he stumbled to the side, then, though that had more to do with Jason hip-checking him out of the way so he could take over at the Batcomputer’s keyboard.

“Hey! What the hell was that for, Jay?”

“Umm, saving your ass, duh,” his other older brother said. Tim narrowed his eyes.

“That tracks how, exactly?”

“You were well on your way to immolation by way of embarrassment thanks to all the attention, so I’m stealing your thunder, double duh. Like I said, saving your ass. You’re welcome,” Jason said distractedly, busy with whatever else he was doing aside from being King of the Assholes.

Correction. That brother was the worst.

“Gee, thanks ever so much,” Tim intoned acidly.

“Don’t mention it, brat.”

Tim was still working on a return volley when Jason found whatever it was he was looking for and called up some more files onscreen.

“Okay, so check it out. Remember back in March, when we caught wind of some ‘new talent’ looking to establish a foothold in the local underground, and once we routed them, the only head honcho we could seemingly trace all of that back to was someone we assumed to be named Cassie or Cassandra based on what little we could decrypt of her communications? So now I’m thinking what if we filled in the gaps there wrong, and her name actually was Caissa?”

Tim looked around, but the name didn’t seem to be ringing any bells for anyone else either. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who the hell is Caissa?”

“The fictional regurgitation of some plagiaristic hack from two hundred years ago.”

“Jason,” Bruce sighed. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. So there’s this poem by this untalented dumbass named William Jones back in the 1700s, about a made-up Greek goddess of chess, named Caissa. But really, its just a rip-off of a much older poem from the 1500s by an Italian dude named Hieronymus Vida, in which the character of Caissa was originally named Scacchia. So I mean, I’m just saying, if this chick was going by the name Scacchia, I would have pegged what that was a reference to right away, because like, I have taste and so I’m way more familiar with the original version than the ode of a derivative hack. But I guess you just can’t count on bad guys to default to the superior take,” he lamented with a mournful sigh.

“But wait, aren’t you a bad guy?” Duke inquired, all bright eyes and fake innocence. Jason shot him A Look.

“Not this week, duh. Keep up.”

“Oh, sorry, my bad. I forgot to look at the calendar again.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jason said magnaminously. “Anyway, might just be a hunch, but worth looking into, I’d say. If her name really was actually Caissa, this Desperado could be working for her, and he might actually just be Round Two.”

Cass nodded. “Makes sense. Also restores my good name. Thanks little brother.”

“Any time, little sister. This mean you’ll stop throwing shit at me now?”

“Nope.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. Keeps me up at night.”

“You’re nocturnal, you bipedal asshat.”

Cass just smirked some more and sashayed away. Then flipped into a handstand and started walking away on her hands because clearly, she’d been spending too much time with Dick.

Which reminded him - Tim turned his attention back to his oldest brother, mortification forgotten or at least put on hold for the moment. 

“Hey, so, a lot of the files noted that several of these people are likely polyglots,” Tim said. “Since Cass thinks they have some kind of shared combat instruction in their background, I’m thinking there’s a chance we could get a better idea of what regions they all might have been in, in order to get that shared instruction, if we could isolate what languages or dialects or even accents they might have in common, y’know? You’ve got the best ear for languages, what do you think?”

Dick nodded thoughtfully as he perused several of the files. “Its a good idea. I’ll get into it. First though, I’ve gotta make a few calls.”

Their father shot him an appraising glance. “Harper?” He asked.

Dick nodded again. “Yeah, Roy, but also Helena and Tiger. Can’t hurt to have all three of them read in on this. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, and where there’s chess, there’s bound to be Checkmate. I’d find it way too big a coincidence if there’s not a connection there somewhere, and if there is one to be found, I’d say those three are our best chance of finding it.”

Bruce made a sour face. Dick arched a challenging eyebrow. Bruce sighed.

“I’m not disagreeing, I just don’t like it.”

Dick laughed. “Well, you don’t like anything, so really we’re all just in awe of your dedication to your Brand, Pops.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed again, before turning his attention back to Tim. “As for you, I think you’ve contributed enough for one night, don’t you? Why don’t you get back to what you were doing before this....what was that again....oh right, getting some sleep?”

Tim made a face of his own. He was way too keyed up now - again - still - to go back to bed now. And again, must he reiterate, he was almost eighteen, helloooooo.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad that’s what’s catching on as the family motto.”

“Don’t see you going to bed,” Tim sulked in a most mature fashion. The absolute height of maturity. Nay, the apogee, the zenith, we’re talking orbital here.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” Jason interrupted in a thunderous facsimile of their father’s impressive baritone. “This is a Do As I Say, Not As I Do household!”

“This from the son who makes an art form out of never doing either,” Bruce said dryly.

Jason shrugged and buffed his nails against his chest, blithely unconcerned. “I go my own way. Its part of my charm.”

“Oh cool,” Duke cut in excitedly. “Are we playing that game again where we just make up our own definitions that have nothing to do with the actual words we say?”

Jason gasped and pressed his palm flat over his heart. “Et tu, Daisy Dukes?”

Duke nodded gravely. “Et mi, Sweeney Todd.”

“Boys,” Bruce said wearily. 

Both stopped and shot him expectant looks.

“What?”

“I actually have no idea, to be honest. It just feels like one of those things I should attempt to say periodically. Never mind. Carry on.”

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes at Duke as the two of them wandered off towards the opposite end of the cave. “As if we were ever going to do otherwise. He’s so weird sometimes, I swear.”

Duke hummed in agreement. “I think its on account of him being an ancient eldritch being.”

“I’m only forty-two,” Bruce called after them, aggrieved. They ignored him.

“Did you know, he was actually there to witness the actual dawn of time,” Jason said. “And yet, wake him up before noon and its like you’ve committed murder. And I would know. I’ve actually murdered people.”

“That’s true, you have.”

[teddybeardoctorr]

Professional Environment

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Castiel

Summary: You’ve had the hots for your boss, Dean Winchester, since day one. You always do your very best to please him in any way possible. What happens when one day, you don’t?

Words: 4,270k

Warnings: 18+, Angst, Dean being authoritative, spanking, smut, cunninglus, fingering, rough sex, p in v, some dirty talk/cursing (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

A/N- A big fantasy of mine that I thought I’d write. Not my best written smut, but meh, this helped me release my sinful thoughts and this is all for fun anyway. I hope you enjoy!

“Y/N, can you make me copies of these?”

You looked at the papers Dean clenched in his hand, stretching them out to you. Looking between the papers and his eyes, you asked, “I don’t know, can I?”

"What are you now, a teacher?"

"Not a teacher, but I can make you a copy."

"You will make a copy because I told you to."

"We'll see if I'm capable."

He rolled his widened eyes, a smirk ghosting his lips. "You're gonna get it, sweetheart."

"Not if I get to HR first."

You took the papers from his hand, smiling while he said, "I am HR!"

Shaking your head, you couldn't help but giggle. The banter between you and your boss always made the day go by faster. 

But what made the day inch by slowly was the sinful thoughts you had of Dean Winchester, the personal/work injury lawyer you worked for.

A little over a year, you were hired into your office manager position. You were a little surprised to have landed the position, since you're younger than the typical leader. But he needed a person way more organized than he was. In the first fve minutes of your interview, he knew he would hire you for the job. As he put it, you had a vibrant energy to you that needed to be added to the office during all the chaos. 

At first, you weren't sure how you would meld in here. Dean was a very stern, to-the-point kind of man, but he also joked around every minute and made sure you had everything you needed. It's hard to come by bosses like him.

You'd be lying if you didn't admit that your flirting wasn't also a perk of the job. He also wasn't a terrible sight to look at from time to time. 

Especially when you saw him in his full suit, like today. The fabric hugging his arms so well.

Shaking your head at the thought and not wanting to get too lost in your daydream, you typed in the amount of copies you wanted to make before loading the papers in the tray.

"You know, it might actually help if you press the 'Start' button on the copier."

You turned your head to the right, snorting at Castiel's remark. "Funny."

"Any plans this weekend?" 

You shook your head. "Not yet. Think I might just stay in with Netflix and cleaning. You?"

Castiel shook his head. "Nothing. I was hoping you'd be able to help me with my garden."

"Your garden?"

"Yes. I can't seem to keep my tomatoes alive, and you're just so vibrant, I thought you could show me a few tips."

Elbowing his arm, you took your copies and watched him laugh. "Shut up, Cas. Not so loud.”

"Come on, Y/N. It's no secret. You can let it go."

"Not to you."

"Anyone with eyes can see it."

On your way to deliver Dean his copies, you said quietly, "I think you really just want an office scandal to liven up the place."

"I can't be the only one giving this office life, even if I am an angel."

"An angel of the devil, sure."

"The devil was an angel."

Reaching Dean's office, he continued typing with one hand and reached his other one out to you for his copies. "Do I need to put you two on a leash?"

Castiel replied, "No, sir. But I will take a Starbucks puppyccino."

Dean rolled his eyes, but ended up smirking. "Funny, Cas. I need you to meet with Mr. Singer today and call some of these insurance companies. We need to get these settlements out of the way.”

He nodded with a "Yes, sir," and headed off. As you were about to turn on his heel, Dean gestured with a flick of his hand. "Close the door and sit."

A little surprised by his change of tone, you closed the door with a quiet thud and sat in the chair in front of his desk. While Dean finished typing before pushing his keyboard away, taking off his suit jacket, and fully facing you, you couldn't help but notice how clean his desk was. He was a bit of a neat freak, wanting everything in an exact place. His hands were gathered on top of it, and just by his sharp posture, you knew you couldn't have been in here for anything good. 

"What's wrong?" You immediately asked.

Dean shook his head, seeming unbothered. "Nothing. I just wanted to ask you about yesterday."

"What about yesterday?" 

"Were you busy throughout the day?"

Not sure where he was getting at, you decided to throw a bone and think about it. You talked with some clients that needed administrative assistance, held two office meetings, and organized case files in the storage room. The usual, along with some other busy tasks throughout the day.

Finally, you answered, "I suppose, but we're always busy."

He thought about it for a few seconds, his tongue poking out as he nodded. "Okay, I thought I'd ask, because I noticed our supply order was not sent, and the trash was not taken out.”

As soon as he said it, your cheeks burst with embarrassment. You knew walking out of the office yesterday that you felt as if you were forgetting something. But you couldn't pinpoint what it was, because once you left for the day, so did your work-brain. 

"Additionally," he added, "I couldn't help but notice when I took a look at yesterday's cameras, that wherever you were at, Castiel followed. And you both didn't move away from each other."

He sat silent and let it hang, thick in the air. You took it as a sign to speak next, maybe offer an explanation, but you had no idea what to say. In fact, you were shocked that this was being brought up at all. 

"Uhh," you started, swallowing thickly, "you looked at the cameras?"

"I did. Care to explain?”

There was that expectant look on Dean's face, annoyed and ready for you to leave his office with a conversation that pleased him. It annoyed you and a blush crawled under your skin, threatening to flood your throat with nerves. What were you supposed to say? 

"I'm sorry for forgetting the trash and the supply order. I can get the order done now-"

"But this still doesn't explain why Cas was attached to your hip.”

"We were getting work done.”

"Want to look at the cameras?"

You tried keeping your face neutral, feeling the frustration rise behind your eyes. Tears threatened to prick the back of them, so you carefully shook your head, daring to keep eye contact with him. All you did every day you were at the office was trying to perform every task of your job correctly and accurately. Why was there suddenly an issue now?

You did everything you could to please and impress Dean, so hearing that you did the opposite made your heart sink. 

"All I'm saying is that I think your time wasn't managed wisely," he continued, sighing while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I came in to find these things not done, and then when I looked at the footage, I was really disappointed. You're a leader here, and I trust you with everything I have at work, which is why I felt it would be wrong if I didn't address this."

Angrily, you nodded once, hoping your face looked as neutral as possible, since you felt anything but.

But this still didn't seem to satisfy him, as he commanded, "Tell me what's on your mind."

You shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry that this discussion had to be had, but I'm not going to make excuses for myself."

His eyebrows pinched together as his eyes narrowed. You couldn't tell if he was annoyed or curious. And honestly, you didn't care either way. You were just annoyed that he looked so fucking sexy when he was pursing his lips together. Especially when he runs a hand through his hair like that, a tiny bit frustrated and looking for something to do while he thought a bit.

Why did you have to have such a hot boss?

"Why do you say that?" He asked, prompting you out of your thoughts.

You sighed, biting your lips and explaining, "Well, if I say why I wasn't able to get these things done, then I am just making up excuses. So instead, I will correct my behavior and make sure it doesn't happen again."

For what seemed like a few long, awkward minutes, but was probably only six seconds, Dean stared at you pointedly. Disappointment, anger, and confusion all blended in, trying to figure out how to resolve this conflict. Truthfully, his gaze made you uncomfortable, but what else could you do or say to make any of this better?

The fact that this conversation of time management was had at all with you, an office manager, made you embarrassed in a million different ways alone.

And after all of his pondering, all he could seem to say was, "Okay."

Waiting for him to say more, you asked, "Okay?"

He nodded once and dropped your gaze, letting you know this conversation was over.

Usually when this happened, Dean had a lot to think about. Whether it was about dropping a business partner or battling an insurance company about paying for a claim, that look was reserved for deep contemplation.

Maybe for the rest of the day, he was going to think about what he was going to do with you. 

The thought alone scared the hell out of you. You didn't want to lose this job. You honestly enjoyed all of the people you worked with and the work you dedicated your time to doing here. Imagining yourself anywhere else was a bit strange. 

Losing your job over something like this would crush you. 

Yeah, you were definitely overthinking this, but what else were you supposed to think about during after that conversation? 

The end of the workday rolled around, and everyone started their departure. You hadn't received the chance to talk to Cas about what happened in Dean's office, but you knew you would text him after your commute home. You had to know; did Dean have this same discussion with Cas? Why was he so nice to the both of you before he pulled you in for a one on one? 

Stuffing your phone in your dress pants pocket, you stood up from your desk and slung your purse over your shoulder. Frustrated with how today went, you knew a good few glasses of wine and pasta were in need tonight. 

"Y/N, before you leave, come see me."

But of course, what you really needed was going to be delayed. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you turned around and made your way to Dean's office. What else did he possibly need to talk about after making you feel like absolute shit earlier? Dean sat down on top of his desk, flattening his tie against his chest as he watched you sit in a chair in front of him. You tried analyzing his expression, wondering what this was going to be about.

But beyond those green eyes, the ones that made you want to swim and drown all at once, held something you couldn't place. 

Clearing his throat, he asked, "What should I do with you?"

Knitting your eyebrows together, you tilted your head. "Excuse me?"

"When we spoke earlier, you seemed very ...whatever about the situation. As if you couldn't accept what you did," he explained, his hands gathered in his lap. "If talking doesn't get through to you, what will?"

Now, you were completely lost. "I…...uh-"

"Do I need to discipline you?"

Thinking at a moment like this was beyond you. Not only did you have no idea what to say, as the day taking a turn like this was unexpected. But also, those eyes turning a dark shade of green, dancing with ideas behind them, made it incredibly difficult to focus on talking, breathing, or even looking at what was right in front of you.

Where was he going with this?

"Do you…" you began, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, you needed five glasses of water. "Do you want to...suspend me?"

"Suspend?" He scoffed. "What use are you to me absent? No. I need to know what to do with you."

Making your back straight, he stood up from his seat. As he slowly walked towards you, the slightest hint of a smirk could be detected at the corner of his lips. Not quite there, but almost. He was holding it back, as if he wanted to keep his composure.

Then, he stopped on your right side. Looking down at you, lifting your chin with his index finger so you could meet his eyes. You practically shivered at his touch. 

And that's when his smirk couldn't contain itself. 

Voice steady, yet stern, he stated, "I think you need to be punished and shown who's boss."

You found his hand traveling down your shoulder, bringing your purse down and flopping on the floor. For just a second, it felt as if you were leaning into his touch. The goosebumps rising on your skin in the wake of his finger set you ablaze. And just when you thought you caught a break, his hand returned to the bottom of your chin, making you stare him in the eyes as he was level with your vision. 

"Is that what you want?"

Just above a whisper and all too quick, you breathed, "Yes, sir."

He looked at your lips before diving in, pressing his against yours and drawing a gasp along with it.

Who could believe this was actually happening?

Right now, your boss was poking his tongue gently against your lips, demanding entrance. You granted it, letting his slide across yours as you tasted him. Just like you thought he would taste. Just how warm and inviting and sexy you thought it would feel.

When he smiled against your lips, that's when you registered the whimpering coming from your throat. Crimson warmed your cheeks, but he shook his head, rubbing his hands up and down your arms soothingly. "No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. I love hearing what I do to you."

Your brain had a way of turning on autopilot. If you thought about what you and Dean, your boss, were doing, you would find any way to stop this interaction and run away from the office. But his fingertips were electrifying. And you couldn't stop, because that would mean not being able to run your hands over his chiseled chest. That would mean not being able to meld his mouth with yours, feeling him sigh into yours. 

You pulled on his tie to deepen the kiss, chest pressing against yours. His hands traveled from gripping your arms, your hips, and your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands as he groaned.

Muttering against your lips, Dean said breathily, "I can't wait to fuck you on this desk."

You smiled, clenching your thighs together. You could've swore you felt a drip of arousal down your thigh at his words.

Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he broke the kiss to look at you darkly. Those eyes roamed up and down, surely thinking of all the sinful things he was about to do to you.

"Bend over the desk," he commanded, loosening his tie.

You nodded once, but before you obeyed, you pulled your blouse over your head. The air conditioned space hit your nipples and caused a slight shudder up your spine. Then, you slowly stalked to the desk, drinking him in before you bent over, the smooth dark wood sticking against your skin.

Hearing shuffling from behind you, you smirked, giddy at what was to happen next.

Maybe he'd wrap that tie around your wrists and do whatever the hell he wanted with you.

You definitely wouldn't mind being slapped around by your lawyer. What a fantasy this had been for you; replaying in your mind ever since you interviewed here.

But the expression was quickly wiped off your face when you felt a hand spank your ass.

After shrieking, you started, "Dean-"

"I told you to bend over, not strip," he replied gruffly, massaging the spot he assaulted with his palm. Swiftly, he pulled your pants down your legs, pooling at your ankles so you could kick them off. The urge to wiggle your ass was resisted as his hand came down hard on your other cheek, stinging more than last time. "And you're not wearing a bra to work. Are you trying to kill me?"

Massaging your cheek before coming down on it again, softer this time, you whimpered, "No, sir."

He tsked, and you could just see the corner of his lip curled upward in a mischievous smirk. He was probably eating up this display of you spread out, legs apart, completely bare for him. And you enjoyed it just as much, bent over, at his mercy, enjoying the treatment he was enacting on you. 

"And you're so fucking wet for me," he growled, grinding his hips against your rear. You were sure your hips would probably be wounded with his fingers digging into the flesh. "Are you always this ready for me?" 

"I'm always wet thinking about you," you rasped before you could stop yourself.

That earned you another smack to your ass. A moan erupted from your throat, and your back straightened even more so. 

"Dirty girl, you are," he drawled, massaging your assaulted skin. "That earns you a treat."

In seconds, you heard him kneel on the floor. His hands gripped onto the front of your thighs to bring you out further. Instantly, he dragged his tongue from your clit to dip inside of you. 

"Oh fuck, Dean!" You gasped, letting your head curl up in pleasure.

His hands and tongue showed no mercy to your body. Bruises were sure to form from his hands. He kept gripping and bringing you closer to his face to the point that you felt like you were drowning him.

But hungrily, his mouth showed your clit extra attention. They made sure to suck on it long and hard while his tongue flicked against it back and forth, while his nose dove up and down your slick. All of the sensations encouraged the endless sounds falling from your lips. The tension in your stomach grew tighter and tighter as the coil kept unwinding. The way his mouth made you feel was indescribable. You couldn't even think with the way his tongue fucked your pussy and swirled down to your bundle of nerves, making sure to taste every bit of your arousal that he could.

The vibrations against your sex shot through your entire body. Dean couldn't contain his own sounds of pleasure. It made you feel even better, the way you could make him starved and show your dripping folds attention in a way no one else had.

When not one, but two fingers pushed inside of you, you struggled to keep your legs grounded. 

"Oh my god," you whined, wiggling your ass out a little further into his face. 

He chuckled, adding a third finger into your pulsing sex. "I can't wait to have this pussy around my cock, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good."

The way the pads of his fingers rubbed against your softest wall with fast precision made your eyes shut tight. His fingers curled into you and made you clench around him. He fucked them into you so fast you heard your arousal echo in his office, which only made him grunt with his own satisfaction. 

You could only imagine how amazing his face looked, focused on making you feel so good and ready to take him inside of you.

At just that thought alone, you lost every sense as all you felt was your orgasm wash over you entirely. Luckily, Dean was there to hold you close, still fucking you with his fingers as he lowered his head to suck on your clit. Even when you felt oversensitive, you still shuddered and screamed his name and rode out each wave of bliss that you could.

The right side of your cheek pressed against the desk as you huffed. Your arms folded in front of you to still keep you bent over. It was the only support your body provided while it recovered. That one orgasmed alone ripped through you unlike one you had in awhile. But you already felt the building sensation in your stomach as Dean slammed his cock into you without warning. 

Moaning in unison, he gripped one hip and massaged your ass cheek with the other hand. "That's it, Y/N. Take my cock."

With your back to him, you couldn't see, but you knew from the feeling that his cock was long and thick. It had to be, with how he instantly filled and stretched you. It was so deep, it rubbed against the most sensitive part inside of you. But you relished in it and just wanted him to fuck you into this damn desk until you couldn't walk anymore.

He thrust out until just the tip was inside, and slammed into you again. You clenched around him each time he thrust slow but hard. His skin slapped against yours, slow but measured. You relished in hearing the sound. It was like ecstasy to your ears. So beautiful that you pushed back to meet him halfway, feeling his thick cock stretch you.

Taking the hint, he grabbed your hips forward. He started slamming into you at a fast, unsteady pace. Over and over, his cock rubbed against your walls and filled you entirely. Your hands desperately clung to the desk. They needed to grab something, anything, in order to hold you in place instead of surging ahead with the desk each time he fucked into you. At this rate, you would fall down into bliss all too quickly. Not that he didn't make that too easy.

Involuntarily, you started chanting, "oh fuck," until it became a mantra that easily fell from your mouth. It was like a song, each sound becoming the melody. Even if your throat was growing dry, you didn't care one damn bit. No thought could even form with his thick, swollen cock filling you to the brim. It hit a part of you that you didn't know could feel such pleasure, with just a slight sting after. 

"You like your boss fucking you like this?" He grunted, his fast pace unwavering. "You like being fucked like a dirty girl?"

"Mhmm fuck, yes!" You screamed, arching your back.

After your last word, Dean effortlessly hooked his hand into the inside of your right knee, bringing your leg up until it was supported by the desk. At the new angle, you cried out, feeling your upper half unstick from the desk so you could push back against him easier. At this angle, you could feel his cock slam into you and rub against every part inside. You didn't know if it was possible to be any wetter, to feel any better than you did right now. 

One of his hands traveled up your back and laid down flat while the other still dug into your hip. Breathily, he let out, "Fuck, Y/N, you feel amazing."

You whimpered in response, feeling the coil about to break loose. Just when you thought the impending orgasm would draw out with his erratic thrusts, he grabbed a fistful of hair and brought your head back with it. This allowed your swollen, throbbing clit to rub against the desk. Just the friction and roughness you needed to come undone.

"Oh my god, Dean," you moaned, feeling your cum drip onto him as your pussy clenched over and over around him. 

"God damn, I'm gonna-" he muttered right before you felt him spill into you, hot strip after hot strip filling you so deeply. 

He wouldn't still and instead kept thrusting inside of you, hard and fast and unrelenting. It was only when he started to slow down and enjoy his high crashing down that you felt the pit of your stomach spark with a newfound tension. Before you knew it, your orgasm came crashing down again, causing you to yell explicits even louder than before. 

By his uncontrollable grunts, he didn't seem to mind.

After slowly rocking into you, letting you squeeze every last drop from him, he pulled out and rested his softening cock against the crevice of your cheeks. You leaned forward, spent and trying to catch your breath. Feeling a bead of sweat race down your temple. 

Did that really just happen?

A soft hand rubbing small circles into your lower back brought you back to attention. "You liked that?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "I fucking loved it. But I didn't get to taste you."

Practically yelping from the sudden sensation of two fingers poking at your entrance, you relaxed once you saw two fingers in front of your mouth. Instantly, your lips captured them. You ran your tongue along the bottom and hummed around his skin, hollowing your cheeks. There was a slight tinge of you around him, but you mostly tasted the saltiness and distinct flavor of Dean. It made your taste buds so satisfied that you knew you would have to enjoy the full thing next time.

"God," he groaned, laughing. "You dirty girl. Whoever knew you were so hot for your boss?"

SPN taglist <3: @donnaintx, @lauravic

[peachyzens]

little things.

little things. Genre: FLUFF Summary: youtuber!Johnny has a birthday surprise for the other half of his channel. (1,927 words…) a/n: I had other ideas for this au but this one just HIT me so I had to do this one instead…also went for a different type of organization of this so…please bear with me; masterlist can be found in bio!  *the writing in italics are the video clips playing after the intro

“Is this thing on? Oh, alrighty, it is.” Johnny messed around with the camera, his clumsiness showing. He cleared his throat awkwardly before sitting in front of the camera placed on the tripod, feeling awkward in this new setting. He was a vlogger, not the sit-down type of youtuber, that was more of your thing but here he was, sitting down in front of the camera. “So, as we may or may not know, y/n’s birthday is coming up! And for their grand birthday present, because they said they didn’t need anything and they really don’t, trust me I can tell by living with them,” Johnny chuckled, taking in all of your belongings scattered around him. “I have decided to do a little video project. So, without further ado, let’s get it!” Johnny ended the clip with a smile, hand reaching out to turn off the camera. 

Seeing you grab the hand cream, Johnny quickly grabs the camera, panning over to you as you put a dollop of the hand cream on the backside of your hand as opposed to your palm, before rubbing it in with the backside of your other hand. Why you always applied hand cream that way, he will never understand. However, you were thoroughly convinced that this was the correct way to apply hand cream, and you were too passionate about that for him to argue with you. Seeing you continue with clicking at your keyboard, he cut the clip.

                                                              -

Johnny laid down in bed, teeth brushed and ready to sleep. He was scrolling on his phone when he saw your figure approach through the dimmed lights. As expected, you had your toothbrush in your mouth, simultaneously brushing your teeth as you moved about the room, cleaning things here and there. Quickly grabbing the camera, Johnny turns it on only for it to be focused on your back. “Hey babe,” he called out, to which to turned around in response. Johnny let out a loud laugh at your appearance, duck pajamas with a pink toothbrush hanging out your mouth, with an adorable confused expression he knew he would end up replaying when editing the clip. “Are you filling e?” you mumbled through your toothpaste filled mouth, to which Johnny laughed at your confused state. “Johnny!” you yelled, only for a big drop of toothpaste to fly out, causing Johnny to laugh even harder. You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth before running to the bathroom, finishing up your brushing there. He was glad he got such an adorable scene of you in your natural state, capturing the essence of your strange habit which was multitasking while brushing your teeth.

                                                             -

Shopping for groceries, it was something you oddly loved, which Johnny could never understand. Shopping trips that should be no longer than an hour, end being so due to your indecisive nature and thorough contemplation. Pulling out the camera with a smile, Johnny filmed his point of view from the cart as he followed your lead, pausing with you as you stopped at coffee section. He zoomed in on your puckered lips, a habit you did unknowingly when you were deep in thought. He watched you pick up one box before grabbing another one to compare, and repeating the same process with a few more boxes before finally placing one in the cart. You turned to him with your lips pressed into a slightly upturned line, your dimples coming out in view. “What?” You asked him, his smile almost mischievous but nevertheless, adoring. “Nothing, just BEAN thinking about you a LATTE,” he winked back, to which you rolled your eyes and quickly turned around to hide your blushing face. “Wait, I got another one!” He called out, nearly chasing you as you ran to hide from him in the aisle. “Come back so I can espresso my love to you!” He called out, laughing as you continued running to hide your embarrassment. He nodded at nearby shoppers, who watched the scene with amusement, before running with the cart to catch up with you.

                                                             -

While Johnny hated grocery shopping, you hated clothes shopping, specifically, trying things on. You would rather be in and out of a store, worrying about the clothes when you got home, while Johnny was the opposite. He would like to take his time strolling around the store, making sure to look at everything, before going over to the fitting room. So, when Johnny dragged you out to go shopping with him, you weren’t exactly the happiest. You grabbed the few things you liked that you saw, ready to checkout, only to find Johnny leisurely strolling around with a few items. Seeing you approach him, he quickly got the camera. “Done already?” He asked, his eyebrow raised. You nodded in response. “But I still have to try these on, did you even try those on?” He gestured at the handful of clothes you held; you shook your head in response. “Then how do you know they fit?” “I wrapped the pants around my neck, and I’m just sure that these shirts are my size! Please, you know how much I hate trying stuff on.” You looked at him with your big doe eyes, trying to convince him to hurry up. “Alright then, if they end up not fitting and I hear you complain about having to come back then I’ll say I told you so!” Johnny responded in a singsong voice, turning around to browse some more. Knowing Johnny was going to take forever, you groaned in response, following him like a dejected puppy. He laughed as he caught you pouting on the fitting room waiting bench, waiting for him to try clothes on. He came out to ask your opinion, to which you said that everything looked good to nearly every outfit. “If you say the same thing for every outfit how do I know you’re not just saying that so we can finish sooner?” He asked, laughing as he zoomed in on your irritated face. “Because! What else am I supposed to say when we both know you have an eye for picking out clothes? You don’t even need to try anything on to know it looks good!” You pouted even more, feet drawing imaginary circles into the ground. Johnny laughed at your childish antics, “Alright you big baby, lets go.” “Finally!” You cheered, whole demeanor flipped around. “Actually, I think I forgot to check that section over there,” Johnny mused, teasing you and laughing as you glared at him and the camera. “Alright, alright, let’s go now.” He grabbed your items, holding them in his opposite arm so he could hold your hand.

                                                             -

Being a youtuber, most of your time is spent editing, and you never edited without some sort of background noise. Whether it would be some random show on TV or your music playlist, it often filled up your entire apartment as you would get lost in the world of editing. Johnny always admired your concentration. Coming home after picking up some food, Johnny peered into your office, music coming through the speakers. You didn’t even notice him, so into editing that you didn’t even realize you were unconsciously singing along to the songs that you were playing. Quickly going to capture the scene, Johnny filmed you with a loving smile on his face. That smile grew as you began to sing louder reaching the climax of the song, to the point where it disrupted your concentration. You tear your eyes away from the screen, leaning back in the chair to find Johnny watching you with a camera and a smile. “Oh hey, when did you get home?” you asked, cheeks burning under his stare and having been caught by him. “A few minutes ago, I would’ve said something sooner, but I didn’t want to interrupt the concert.” He grinned. Rolling your eyes, you got up and made your way towards your boyfriend, arms wrapping around his waist. “Wow, and you were even filming a fancam of me? I’m so honored,” you giggled, playing along with his antics. He smiled and quickly leaned down to leave a kiss on your lips, one you happily returned. “Of course, don’t you know I’m your biggest fan?” He wiggled his eyebrows, only for you to roll your eyes before pulling him to the dining table so you could finally eat and take a break.

                                                             -

After washing the dishes after dinner, Johnny walked towards your room, seeing the door ajar with lights flashing from inside. He peeked in to see you sitting on your shared bed, eyes glued to the new voice activated lights you had just bought. He felt a smile come across your face as he watched you play different songs to watch the lights change, more intrigued by you than the lights. Quietly grabbing the camera, he turned it on, focusing it on your and your fascination with the lights. He was able to catch your entranced expression, one he found to be adorable as always. Taking in the scene of you so deeply intrigued by the warm lights that made you glow; he can’t think of a scene more beautiful. Clearing his throat and making his presence known, you snap your head to look at him. “Johnny Johnny Johnny! Look at this, isn’t it so cool?” You mused, grabbing his arm and pulling him to join you on the bed. He could only laugh lightly seeing your excitement resembling a little kid. With a determined expression, you scrolled to find the best songs to play for the lights, the beat of the music creating an interesting light pattern. While you were focused on the lights, he was focused on you. He could just feel his heart melt at you laughing and clapping at the lights, deeply amused by the scene playing out in front of you. You turned to him with such a childlike expression, he vowed to himself to preserve that bright personality and to protect you forever. “Why aren’t you looking at the lights, aren’t they cool?” You asked, cheeks burning at his loving stare. You placed your hands on his cheeks, turning his face to look at the lights instead of you. Who would’ve thought he would still have the effect on you, even after so many months together? “I don’t know, I think I like the sight of you more than these lights.” He tried to turn back to you to give you that charming smile you loved dearly, but your hands on his cheeks prevented him from doing so.   “Alright Mr.Cheesester, that’s enough!” You laughed, blushing at his antics.  

                                                             -

Cutting back to Johnny sitting on the bed, he smiled at the camera, thinking of the clips he played prior. He took many clips of you with your little quirks and habits that made you unique, before compiling together to create one whole video. “I hate to be that annoyingly sweet boyfriend, but I’m going to have to for this present I’m giving you. You always asked me where all those random clips I was getting of you were going, and obviously I couldn’t tell you. I just wanted to compile all the little things, all the little things I find adorable and some people may not, but that doesn’t matter because I love it all. All these clips I filmed of you, showing the little things you do, never fail to make me fall in love with you. Happy birthday y/n, I love you more than anything else.”

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 9: Accidents Happen but This Wasn't and Accident

Ugh, this is later than I thought it'd be. I kept getting distracted with stuff, work's been hard, and mine and my sister's birthday is tomorrow so I've been trying to prepare for that. Still, I managed to get it up on the right day, so that's gotta count for something, right?

Anyways, this a real important chapter, and it has a moral: Always go to the hospital if you've got weird surgery scars from insane voodoo puppets. Or they could get infected, you could get sepsis, or maybe she's taken your entire digestive tract.

She never put that back, by the way.

Scout sat through the whole rest of the movie, and then two more with the same characters. By the time she'd finished the last one, the rain and wind had stopped, but it was still dark. A look outside showed the streetlamps on, and nobody around. The road was really shiny though, and Scout watched for a while before turning back to the dark apartment.

"Okay." She thumped the side of her head, blinking as her flashlight turned on. "It's late, so let's go to bed now." She hopped down from the couch, then Jumped her way to the bedroom. From the doorway, she could see the blanket covered lump that was her Host. She made her way to the bed, then Jumped up on to it. With in moments she had wormed her way under the covers and pressed up against Stacy, ready to sleep herself.

Five minutes later she was crawling out, feeling far too hot. "Geez..." It was burning under the sheets, and also a little bit damp. It was almost worrying, and made Scout remember some of the more... unpleasant aspects of Hosts.

"Hey. Hey, Stacy. I think something happened." She pushed against the woman's cheek, but drew back at the wetness she felt. She also felt far too warm, and her breath was coming out in short gasps.

"Stacy, this isn't funny. It's time to wake up now." Ignoring the grossness, she pushed harder. "Something's wrong! Stacy? Stacy!" She pushed harder, but the Host didn't react. It wasn't even like when she'd pretended to sleep last night, there was nothing. She was completely nonreactive. It was just like when the Hosts back in the studio were used up.

"Oh no..." She fell back as the realization struck. "No no no NO! No! I'm not even doing anything! You shouldn't be like this! Wake up! Stacy!" She tried harder, beating her fabric fists against Stacy's face, but nothing worked. "Wake up! Please!"

Her eyes burned, and she looked around the room. "What do I do?!" What do I..." Her gaze fell on Stacy's phone, sitting on the side table. She lunged for it and swiped, only to be met with a request for a security code. "No!" She threw it onto the floor and, with one last glance at Stacy, Jumped her way to the living-room, where she'd left the phone she'd been given. Stacy had told her there was one other number on there, she just hoped it worked.

()()()

Will was supposed to be sleeping, but instead was staring down at the mess of circuitry in front of him. Off to the side was fully mangled and blackened body of an almost cat-like toy, it's head sitting upside down in his lap. It had attempted to move once, and he'd tazed it until had caught fire. He was currently poking around in the skull cavity, when his phone rang. Without looking at it he braced it between his shoulder and cheek.

"You've reached the phone of Will Carson. Unless you're the government or a scammer in which case you're having a bad trip and none of this is real." He spoke in a monotone, not even looking away from his work.

"Will!" The voice of that weird Puppet crackled through the line, and Will hung up immediately.

"Ew." He muttered, though he couldn't even put the phone down before it started ringing again. He answered quickly. "Whatever you want, I'm sure Stacy's more equipped to get it to you."

"Something's wrong with Stacy!" She spoke quickly, likely scared he'd hang up on her again. "Sh-she won't wake up, and she's hot and-and wet and she can''t breathe and she won't wake up-!"

Will felt his heart stop as she rambled on, unable to follow her words anymore.

"Will run! I found out what happened to Jerome! She's in here with me! Mom's-"

Will hung up the phone, dumping the head in his lap on the floor and grabbing his shoes as he dialed 911. He was just getting into his car as they picked up.

"Hello, 911. What is your emergency?" The female voice on the other end sounded so calm it was a stark contrast against his panic. He swallowed dryly, trying to quickly organize his thoughts.

"It's my girlfriend, Stacy. There's something wrong. She's in pain, and I think she's running a high fever." He struggled to keep calm as he drove the short distance to her apartment. "She just called me, talking about it, but I think she fainted. I tried calling her back but she wouldn't answer."

"Okay sir. Can you tell us where she your girlfriend lives?" He could hear her typing away at a keyboard as he rattled off the address. He parked the car as she finished. "Okay sir, an ambulance will be there very soon."

"Thank you so much!" He said as he got out of the car and started towards the door. "Tell them I'll meet them here, since I just got here myself."

"Will do sir." She told him, and he disconnected the call before running up the stairs. He fit his key into the lock and opened up the door, shutting it behind him but leaving it unlocked for the paramedics. When he didn't spot Stacy in the living room, he rushed into the bedroom. She was laying there, still covered up in bed, and he was quick to uncover her. He pressed a hand to her forehead, hissing in sympathy at the heat coming off her.

"What the fuck did you do Stace?" He whispered, subtly glancing around for the Puppet. He couldn't see her, but that didn't mean much. She was small enough she could be under the bed, or even in the bed with Stacy and he'd never know it. Still, he didn't like not knowing, but before he could search for her, he heard knocking and rushed to let the paramedics into the apartment.

As he waited in the living room while they loaded his girlfriend onto the stretcher, he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around in time to see Scout duck underneath the couch, and almost sighed in relief. He'd thought (half-hoped, if he would be honest) that he wouldn't be able to find her. But, as he followed the paramedics out of the apartment, he made a split second decision to lock the door behind him. It might not be soon, but he would be back eventually, and he wanted that Puppet there when he did.

()()()

Hours later, so many Will wasn't sure how long he'd been surrounded by the clean halls of the hospital, and Stacy was finally in a stable condition. She was still unconscious, but now it was more from the anesthetic than from almost dying due to infected surgery scars.

Because she had those.

A lot of them.

All over her body.

It had taken a long time for them to go into each one, clean out the infection, and then stitch her back up. Thankfully, there wasn't any damage beyond the infection, but the surgeon said it looked like someone had performed exploratory surgery on her. Badly, by the looks of things. Or at least, the doctor hadn't cared if she'd lived or died afterwards.

Will was going to murder that Puppet.

But for now he was in his own house, changing his clothes and getting ready to go hunt down said Puppet. One of those grabby things to get items off of high shelves, a large animal carrier, the long range tazer, and thick gloves. All of those went in to the back of his small car before he made his way back to Stacy's apartment.

As he reentered the apartment, he took note of how silent it was. The lights were still on from when the paramedics had been there, and nothing had moved from where it had been earlier. The only reason he had for knowing that thing was still in the building was the fact she was too short to open the door. And the one window in the room was still closed, that was a pretty big sign, too.

He searched the main room first, checking in the cupboards and under the couch. He found nothing except a couple of Stacy's smaller stuffed animals under the couch, which he found weird as usually his girlfriend was more careful with her stuff. He dug them out and put them back on the shelf, where they belonged.

Unable to find the Puppet there, he went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. It was almost as quiet as the main room, with a quiet, muffled sound coming from somewhere nearby.

'Gotcha!' He peered around the room, making sure she wasn't somewhere obvious and in sight. Unable to see her, it left only under the bed, so he crouched down to look.

To his luck, she hadn't noticed him yet. Her face was buried in her arms, with her small body shaking. The sounds, he realized, were sobs. He sat back up, massaging his forehead.

'Dear God, don't let me feel pity for this thing. This is all her fault...' He sat there for a moment, listening to the quiet sobbing. He sighed. 'Fine...'

He crawled partway under the bed, keeping his distance. When she didn't react, he cleared his throat, making all sounds from her cease. Slowly, she looked up at him, and he caught the sight of her eye lids tilted the opposite way before she glared at him.

"What do you want?" She spat out, though her voice lacked the bite she wanted. Instead it sounded tired and strained, and Will figured she'd probably been crying for a long time.

"I came to check up on you." He lied smoothly. "And to, uh, give you an update on how Stacy's doing." The Puppet looked away, glaring at the wall the bed was against. "She's still alive, but has to stay in the hospital for a while." Nothing. Will licked his lips, throat feeling dry. "Did you know about all those extra scars?"

She cringed away, curling up tighter than she had been before. For a moment he thought she wouldn't answer, but her glare softened, even if she wouldn't look at him again.

"Riley did it. She likes taking Hosts apart and putting them back together weird. Sometimes she just likes looking at them, though. She only looked at Stacy, but I know she took out a Host's entire digestion tract once." She told him quietly, and Will felt the blood drain from his face.

"Uh..." He swallowed thickly, mouth dryer than ever. "Stacy still has all of her organs, at least." 'What else can I say to that? Think, Will!' "Want to come stay with me until she's better?" 'Why did you say that?! Oh my god!'

For one, hopeful moment it looked like she was going to say no. But then she forced herself up right and turned to face him. "Fine." She ground out, making her way towards him.

'Fuck! Shit! Nooooooooo!' He crawled back out from the bed, waiting for her. 'Why did I even ask that?! Now I'm stuck with her for god knows how long!' He watched her crawl out from under the bed, then stood up, grabbing his taser.

"I have to do a couple of things before we go, so hang tight a minute." He told her, then made his way back to his car, where he dumped his hunting gear in the trunk and grabbed a duffel bag instead. He went back inside and to her bedroom, where he started packing some of her clothes into it. He then put the Switch and charger inside, and grabbed the backpack she always had, making sure her wallet was inside. He'd already taken her phone to the hospital, so at least he didn't need to worry about that.

That all collected and carried to his car, he returned to pick up Scout. He found her sitting on the couch, a small Kirby plush in her lap. She didn't look up when he entered the apartment, instead just slowly petting the toy.

"Uh..." Will cleared his throat and she looked up at him. "You ready to go?"

"Sure." She "stood" up and he, after a short hesitance, scooped her up. He carried her out to the car, making sure to lock the apartment behind them, and dumped her in the back seat with Stacy's stuff. He climbed into the front seat, and took a moment to stare out the windshield.

'I can't believe I'm doing this. I don't want that thing in my house!' He glanced back at Scout, noting she had unzipped the duffel and was trying to climb inside. He sighed, turning back around and starting the car. 'At least she knows how to stay hidden. Stacy would kill me if I let anything happen to her.'

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo and Ansem have an honest conversation about his time as Zexion. Riku is restless.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo thought often about sleep. Most of his days were preoccupied with sleep, and hearts, and trying to remember what he had studied years ago. In the intervening years in the Organization, he had cared less about hearts and more about Kingdom Hearts.

Hearts. Sleep. Old men passive-aggressively jabbing at each other.

His hands were on the keyboard, and he saw code slowly and steadily ticking in. Code he should subsequently be de coding. But he… felt…

Ansem’s hand on his shoulder startled him, making him gasp aloud like a startled animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ienzo shook the fuzz out of his eyes, his heart still pounding in his chest, adrenaline making him shaky. All of these human reactions were so sensorily intense . “It’s… it’s alright. I was the one far away.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He stood, feeling woozy. “I’m…” He pressed two fingers to his brow, trying to hide the dizziness.

“How long have you been here?” Ansem asked softly.

Ienzo blinked, and realized, “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you go get some rest?”

“I don’t need rest, I need to keep working through this.” He scowled. “It doesn’t help that my memory of coding is hazy at best--”

“Then why don’t you let me help you? I can give you a refresher on the basics.” He smiled kindly, and Ienzo felt an unexpected stab of memory--sitting as a small child on Ansem’s lap as he taught him the very basics of HTML, his eyes gleaming with pride at Ienzo’s first project (a page that simply said “HELLO!”).

But then, equally… his eyes flicked over to the closed door to the lab, the one he’d begged Ansem to finalize. And he was reminded for the millionth time that this was his fault.

“Would that help?” Ansem prompted.

He shook his head to dismiss the memories. “Yes. Yes, that would be prudent.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Ansem asked.

“I’m fine.”

He frowned.

“Really. I’m fine.”

There was a pause. Ansem knotted his hands together. “Naminé once told me that Nobodies do not need sleep. Is that true?”

Ienzo’s eyebrows shot up. Ansem hadn’t brought up the reality of their pasts--namely, the ten years he and Even had been Nobodies. “Yes, it’s true,” he said. “One physiologically can , of course, but it is not necessary to live.”

Ansem pursed his lips. “Does it feel… odd, to return to those needs, then?”

Ienzo considered, woozily. “Yes, it does,” he admitted. “I feel like I’m losing a lot of time from my day.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said, “do you like being human again?”

“Well, I had no say in the matter,” he said, “but it is… better than being the monster I was. I…” He rested his hand on his chest, feeling the pound of his heart. “I like having choice.”

Ansem smiled. “I’m sure you must.”

Ienzo exhaled. “I’ve done a great many awful things,” he said. “I wasn’t… a passive captive. Were it not for Saїx’s machinations, I likely would’ve been second in command. I… cared for their goals. I wanted it.”

Ansem cocked his head. “To be whole?”

“I don’t think so.” Ienzo squinted, trying to remember how it had felt to be Zexion. “In pursuit of… knowledge. Of growth of the Organization. I’m… I’m sorry.” Guilt hardened into a sour seed in his stomach, making him nauseous. “I’m so sorry.”

Ansem digested this, his eyes going somewhere distant and sad. “It says a lot about who you truly are, that the moment you were whole again, you chose the path of light,” he said gently.

“It does not feel that way.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “But we’ve all done things we regret. There’s no changing the past, as paltry as that sounds. Helping Kairi, and ergo, Sora and Riku… is a good first step.”

“I’m not sure it will ever be enough.”

“You can’t help how you grew up,” Ansem said. “In darkness, in nothing, manipulated, I’m sure, by them. You were just a boy. You said so yourself. How old were you, Ienzo?”

“Just shy of nine,” he said, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Precisely. A brilliant child… but still a child.”

“But what of--when I grew older? When I should have known better?”

Ansem squeezed his shoulder a second time. “By then you already believed.”

“I’m not innocent. I… the things I’ve done…” He exhaled. “I cannot simply absolve myself of guilt. I… I don’t want to.”

“I do hope that someday you can forgive yourself,” Ansem said. “You’re too young to live with such a heavy heart.”

“I think it is earned,” Ienzo said.

Ansem sighed.

“I’m going to go try to sleep for a few hours,” he said. “I’m sorry to leave this all in your lap.”

“It’s quite alright. I don’t mind.”

Ienzo wasn’t sure what else to say, so he started walking back to his room. He thought about what Ansem had said. His heart did feel heavy--quite literally. But how could he just… move on and have a normal life after everything he’d done? He didn’t know of anyone who’d messed up as colossally as he had. Wouldn’t it be wrong ? Masturbatory, so to speak? Where was his karmic payback? Why had he gotten this wholeness so many craved so dearly? He didn’t even want --

There had to be some way to silence the noise in his head.

Ienzo took a quick shower, put on some pajamas, and climbed into bed. His bedroom felt more cluttered and cramped than he remembered, the window by his double bed drafty. The overburdened bookcase was packed two and three deep, the rolltop desk flooded with yet more papers. He should clean and organize, remove the very last of his childhood things; there was still kid’s clothing in some of his dresser’s drawers.

His mind was swimming hopelessly with memories of the Organization’s plans to take down worlds--

Somehow, Ienzo fell into a restless sleep.

He recognized this dream, this nightmare. The tight, dark corners of the basement of Castle Oblivion. A redheaded demon, a boy in a black-and purple jumpsuit. A sharp glove at his throat, the tight heat of darkness swallowing him, and he couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe--

Ienzo sat up. Slowly. He touched the scar at the base of his throat, thick and ridged. It was the darkness, not the replica’s sharp gloves, that had left this mark on him. Tears burned his eyes. He felt pathetic, weak, for being in the grip of this memory. It was over with. It was the least of what he’d deserved.

Human.

He thought of the dizzy spin of those first few moments after he’d woken, on the cold lab floor, bleeding from the marks around his throat. How the swelling had made it feel like he couldn’t breathe, still, how everything felt like it was echoing loudly around him, his heart like a weight in his chest. Trying to push himself up, seeing Even and Dilan’s brutalized forms, Aeleus trying not to show how much pain he, too, was in. Being the least injured, it had been up to Ienzo to try and tend to their wounds. At least he’d had the foresight to study medicine in the Organization.

And truthfully, even though it had been nearly two months back in this body, with this heart, Ienzo… still was not used to humanity, the pulse and pound of unexpected emotions. Once he couldn’t get open a jar of peanut butter for his breakfast toast and the anger he felt when he struggled was so overwhelming he’d just thrown the damn thing. But more than anything he felt a guilt so thick it was like lead, and an anxiety he could never fully set this right.

He looked at the clock. He’d slept about five hours, which he supposed after that nightmare was all he’d get. He was feeling nauseous and achy again, shaky with low blood sugar. So much time I must spend doing maintenance on this body. It seemed almost like a waste.

But he needed to stay alive. To help, to atone.

Ienzo got up and went to the kitchen.

---

Riku couldn’t take the silence anymore. It was almost making him jumpy, and after so long without human interaction, he thought he was starting to hear sounds that weren’t there. The dizzy nightmares of that city didn't help. He wondered if he should tell Ienzo and the others about it; but every time he tried to remember fine details, all he could recall was the deep blue color of the sky. Not helpful.

If not for the gummiphone, Riku would’ve lost track of time, too. Ienzo had told him how to use it, but he still struggled a bit with the interface. But, he figured, if Sora , who had nearly failed their high school computer literacy course, could grasp it, so could he.

Sora.

Riku felt something like a stab of pain. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d seen him, since they’d gotten to do more than chat for a few minutes. Kairi, too, he’d barely gotten to speak with at the beach during their brief victory party. At least he knew she was--physically--okay.

He felt so… alone.

He took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly. I’m not alone, he forced himself to think. Even if it feels that way. Our hearts are connected.

That didn’t make the silence any less piercing.

Riku got up. He had to go get some laundry, make himself something to eat. At least this was something he could do.

He wondered if it were too soon to go back to Radiant Garden. He knew Ienzo said he’d call the moment something came up, but maybe Cid had something new, or maybe there were even some Heartless to fight. Something. Someone.

“Oh god, I’m losing my mind,” he said out loud. He took out the gummiphone and looked down at its screen. It was still set to the generic background it came with, mostly because he didn’t know how to change it. With clumsy thumbs, he opened the text messaging app and started to write. The keyboard felt awkward in his hands.

Mickey,

I hope your journey with Donald and Goofy is going well. I’m guessing it must be good to spend time with them again. How’s the Queen?

I’ve been staying in the Land of Departure. Terra asked me to, but I think it’s partially because he wanted me to feel like I had an official duty as a Keyblade master. Mostly it’s just housesitting. If you ever have time, you three should come by. It’s a lot prettier than Castle Oblivion. It feels more alive.

The Radiant Garden guys are still hard at work studying Kairi’s heart, so she’s been asleep. They warned me it might take a long time. I still wish there was something I could do, but the power of waking won’t help in this case. So they say, anyway. I don’t really understand it fully myself.

If there’s anything I can do to make your journey any easier, let me know. Take care of yourselves out there.

--Riku

This written, it didn’t make Riku feel any less alone. More like he was speaking out into nowhere. He went and finished his chores, worked out for a little while. When he came back there was a response.

Howdy Riku!

Great to hear from ya! The Queen and Daisy are both doing great. We actually got to talk to them last night--love these nifty gadgets! If only we’d had them years ago… can you thank Ienzo for them the next time you see him? Chip and Dale also say hello to you both.

So far we’re doing our best to find more information about Sora, but so far there are no leads that I can tell, anyway, and you know how sharp Goofy is looking for these things. This all got so complicated… but I have hope that we’ll all be together soon!

I hope you’re not getting too stir crazy up in there. If you like, the Queen says you’re welcome to visit any time. And if we’re in the area I’m sure we’ll drop by! I hope staying there isn’t too hard on you.

Thanks for writing! Speak soon.

--Mickey.

Riku exhaled. He was positive he was reading too much into the tone of the letter. Mickey was never condescending towards him. Every word he’d written, he’d meant.

Maybe Riku should get out of here. He could thank Ienzo, for one thing, maybe help with some Heartless there, or the restoration committee was always working on some project or another. Get his hands dirty, like the work he used to do on the play island--

He was used to the accompanying stab of pain he got when he thought of them, but it didn’t make it any easier. Yes. Riku very much needed to get out of here.

---

It was raining in Radiant Garden when Riku got in. It washed away the rest of the gel in his hair, making it fall hopelessly into his eyes, and he kept trying to blow it out of his face. The haircut had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, something to get rid of that old self, but this current in-between length was unbearable. He didn’t want to think about spikes or spiky hair. (The fact that he’d run out of hair gel was also besides the point.) He wandered the streets for a time. Just seeing other people was nice, made him remember he was real.

The slope up to the entrance of the castle was muddy in the deluge. At least I’ll have an excuse to do laundry when I get back, he thought. One of the guards--he didn’t remember their names yet, and decided he really should--waved him in. “Try not to track mud all over the place,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Riku washed off his shoes with a water spell and kept walking. The place was always dank and damp in the best of circumstances, but today it was downright cold. He shivered and wished he knew air magic, something to dry himself off. Oh well. He’d had worse recently than being a little cold and wet.

The path up to the lab was very much familiar now. He saw places where the people here were trying to repair all the structural issues; the moldy carpeting torn up, the fallen pipes cleared away. The circular office before the lab had been cleaned up too; the bits of broken glass were finally gone.

Riku saw them before they saw him. He observed them for a few minutes, in their long white coats and oddly formal scarves. He tried not to audibly shiver, his hair sending droplets onto the floor.

“All looks… very much ordinary , from what we’ve been able to decipher,” the one formerly known as Vexen was saying. “Would help if I could understand your shorthand.”

Riku saw a scowl cross Ienzo’s face, the first mean expression he’d seen on the young man since they’d met again. He thought of Zexion, all claws and cruelness and teeth. “My shorthand is up-to-date. It’s not my fault your knowledge of coding has fallen by the wayside.”

“Boy, I have more important things to do--”

“Like what? Is this not our priority?”

“ She is our priority. Keeping up with some language is not.”

“Your sniping does not help either,” Ansem the Wise added. He went over to the console computer, punched some things in, and shook his head. “Though I agree with Ienzo that we should all at the very least be on the same page.”

Ienzo’s smirk became a hesitant smile.

Then, “I think we can all use a crash course.”

The smile became a scowl again. Riku chuckled despite himself. So the politeness was partially an act. Good to know. He crossed over into the hallway, letting his footsteps make more noise than earlier. Their heads snapped up; Even seemed to struggle to get his expression to be neutral, while Ansem offered a kindly smile. Ienzo’s face simply went blank, and Riku felt an odd surge of jealousy for his control over his emotion. “Oh, hello, Riku. We weren’t expecting you,” he said.

“I’m sorry just to drop by like this,” he said, feeling a blush color his face. “But I was wondering if--” Seeing their faces fall just slightly, “there’s… no news, is there?”

Ienzo took a few steps closer to him. He always seemed to be a little… cautious, in the way he moved around Riku. Could this really be about the bad blood in their past? “I’m very sorry, but no. No significant change.”

He glanced over towards Kairi, still fast asleep in the chair. He noted that at least they’d given her a blanket. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s being kept very comfortable, I assure you,” Ienzo said. “Neurological functioning is the way it should be.”

He crossed his arms, trying to suppress the shivering; it was even colder in here. “Could I… can I go up to her? It won’t interrupt anything, will it?”

Ienzo shook his head. “She’s too deeply asleep to be disturbed by our voices. Though perhaps--” Looking him over and wrinkling his nose. “You might like a towel?”

Riku looked at his palms. His wrist braces were awkwardly wet, and he knew they’d take hours to dry out. “Sorry. It’s, uh, raining.”

He nodded. “Come with me.”

He followed Ienzo. He was only the slightest bit taller than Riku now, but his strides seemed long, quick and precise, the white coat flaring out. “If you’d like, I can get you something dry to wear,” he said. “We’re probably about the same size.”

The idea of dry clothes was appealing, but the idea of wearing something of Ienzo’s made him feel, well, pretty weird. “No, that’s okay, thanks,” he said. “I’m probably gonna head out before too long anyway.”

“I imagine you must be quite busy.” Ienzo opened a door to a very average linen closet and pulled out a white towel. Riku did feel much better with it around his shoulders.

He just shrugged in response. They started walking back.

“If you’re worried about her health, she’s in quite good hands,” Ienzo said. “I… understand why you might be hesitant.”

“It’s… not that.” Not entirely. “I just…”

“Worry about your friends?” Ienzo prompted. “I can imagine. Yes, it’s been… a rather tectonic year or so.”

“We’ve all been separated on and off since our world fell,” he said, feeling a stab of guilt. “Though that was… kind of my fault. Not kind of. It was .”

Ienzo’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”

“I know, I know. Some hero, right?” he forced himself to laugh.

“I… know that feeling exactly.” Ienzo cleared his throat. “Were it not for all we’ve done here… well.” He sighed. “We cannot… change the past. Not without a lot of nonsense.”

Riku smiled a little despite the heaviness of the conversation. “It almost feels… fake, how all this happened. When I heard about the… vessels, and the time travel, I was just like… are you kidding me? ”

Ienzo chuckled. “I think we all had that reaction. Even I cannot comprehend what exactly he was planning to do--and I was part of some of it.”

Riku thought about that laugh for a moment, how different it sounded than Zexion’s. More human, softer. Then again, the boy next to him was human. Trying to be better. Aren’t we all, he thought, wryly.

Back in the lab, he crossed over to Kairi and took her hand, hoping his wasn’t too cold. Her breathing was deep and even, and she looked peaceful. He wondered if she actually felt that way, what the “examination” made her feel. He almost asked, but Ansem and Even seemed to be deep into some conversation he couldn’t understand, and Ienzo seemed distracted, his brows furrowed. “So, uh,” he began slowly. “How’s the Heartless population around here?”

He looked up, startled. “The claymore defense system manages it quite well,” he said, with a touch of defensiveness. “Though I guess there might be a few hanging around the edges of town.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “Well. I’m going to go check in with the committee. But before I go. Um. The King said thank you for the gummiphone. And that Chip and Dale said hello.”

“Of course,” he said, his expression again quite neutral. “That was kind of them.”

Riku took off his damp towel and folded it. He left the castle and went back out into the rain. If anything, the deluge had gotten heavier, to the point where his left wrist (which had never quite healed correctly) was throbbing. Ienzo had been right about the Heartless; the few ones in the center of town were easily dispatched without him even having to draw his Keyblade. Riku found himself scowling. Logically, he knew that the system was fantastic for the civilians here. But it took from him the only thing he could do to be of use. As it grew darker, he wandered farther and farther into the fissures surrounding town, where he finally found something worth fighting.

He tried to vent his frustration into these Heartless, especially at his own uselessness. He was a Keyblade master , and all he could do was beat up a few mooks, was wait around for things to happen. He hated feeling like this; it was so like the old days on the island. At least this time he wouldn’t do something so off-the-walls stupid like let a creep in a robe persuade him to do what they wanted.

No, instead he was fighting Heartless. Alone. In the rain.

By the time he’d fought the last one in the vicinity, it was dark, and he could no longer suppress the shaking. “Idiot,” he said out loud. The clothes might protect him from darkness, but they wouldn’t protect him from the common cold. He should go back to the Land of Departure, take a hot bath, make himself some soup, and go to bed.

Riku went deeper into the fissures.

[elhoimleafar]

Celebrating All Hallows Eve in these strange new times.

Welcome back here dear reader, I am Elhoim, and this is my post, remember to share and leave your comments.

We are all living in these new times, times that are increasingly strange to us, times of ostracism and election season, months without hugs (can you believe it?), And times of political and social conflict, we are living together a season that in a way We were amazed, even though we saw for years that those glasses on the counter were overflowing with spilled water, we watched them fill up day after day, and finally, they spilled, all at once. But the important thing is that we are in this together and that we must remember.

We have reached the month of October, and it is the “popular witch's month”, it is Autumn in the North, Spring in the South, and a typical-warm summer in the tropics of Ecuador (Venezuela, my native country).

This was planned as my fifth month of Halloween since arriving in New York City in 2015, and although I did not have many plans, I was willing to take a couple of short trips and attend some parties of my friends, all of it was canceled, and now I'm planning the month from home.

I do not celebrate Halloween, I do not dress up or decorate the house with pumpkins and plastic dolls, because it is not one of my family traditions, and (here wasting the cold frankness that characterizes me) in these times where keyboard activists seem to have more power than the real activists, it is almost a social risk that a person from Latin America even dares to mention "Halloween decorations", without some white blogger accusing you of cultural appropriation (many Pagan Blogs are full of those).

But if like me, you feel at home, with a great desire to take advantage of the available energy of this month for your own benefit, these are some of the things that I will do, and I invite you to do, maybe it will be something fun, less elaborate, but definitely better than spending the entire day watching horror movies (two continuous hours of voluntary anxiety) and reading hundreds of repeated posts about the season's most recommended "witch" movies.

Remember that it is an annual celebration, it is a season with a duration of several days, it is a celebration of nature and its cycles. Take an afternoon to meditate on it, write what you think about it, and question what you know (and what you think you know) about All Hallows Eve, its origins, traditions, and customs, and how you are honoring some of these.

Cleaning, rearranging, and moving furniture is much more important than decorating to impress. There is nothing wrong with the decorations, but focus on moving the energy first, and for that, we move the furniture, let the old energy of last season move out so that the energy of the new season can come in.

Invite the ancestor spirits to come home, to connect with you, to sit around the table, to spend the night, to chat with you. The dead celebrate together with the living.

Turn off the television. Choose one to two days before the night of All Hallows Eve (October 31) and spend these days without using the TV. Plan other activities that put you in contact with nature, with forests, visit rivers and parks, visit the tombs of your ancestors, spend a day in the garden, read some books. And don't worry, Netflix will still be there when you get back.

Light candles and incense, burn herbs and dried flowers at home, remember that the aromatic smoke of herbs is perceptible beyond the senses, its energy influences various planes of existence at the same time, that is why we light incense in churches and temples to venerate those who have departed. I invite you to prepare your own incenses at home, or you can if you wish, copy any of the recipes that are in this blog.

Make coffee and serve it by the front door for several mornings in a row to honor the deceased and those souls who are about to be forgotten.

Connect with your ancestors and the witches in your family, honor their lives and their processes, read about them, write about them, I keep a small diary (really small, it does not have more than 30 pages), where I write the memories, rituals, and real stories of witches and ghosts related to my mother, grandmother, mom's uncles, my sisters, and other family members, so we keep their memory alive and honor their magic.

Decorate with flowers and bunches of herbs, grow and collect some flowers at home, nurture the nearby gardens, move the soil with your bare hands, leave portions of bread and seeds around to feed the animals. Connect with nature in different ways than usual.

Take a blanket and go out at night to look at the stars, prepare lunch for the park with wine, juice, fruits, and homemade bread (it can be from a local organic bakery).

Organize virtual meetings (zoom, Facebook, telegram) with your Coven or with your friends, to catch up, drink coffee "together", chat about their ancestors and about the energy of the season, about these full moons of October, about the season of All Hallows Eve, etc...

Clean and decorate your altar, that portal that connects you with your ancestors and your gods. Take a few hours to clean, rearrange, and decorate this space from scratch, add some flowers and aromatic herbs, you can use the dried herbs to make a homemade potpourri.

Learn something new. If we are in season to venerate our ancestors, and especially the witches and sorcerers who preceded us, it is time to honor them as they were. It is a good month to get started in the art of making your own candles (click here) and incense, maybe you can discover how to prepare some essential oils (click here), magic perfumes, and magic bags of good luck (click here).

This month has a powerful and accessible energy available, invest in some candles and amulets, dare to perform new spells, enchant your objects, practice a session of spiritualism, try a new ritual, or create a talisman to protect the house or the room where you sleep.

Invest some of your time in your spellbook, take notes of some herbs, crystals, and oils with which you have worked recently, write down what were the results, how they made you feel, what were the feelings and motivations behind these spells.

I will be offering this same month, a couple of workshops on summoning and mediumship (click here and click here) because the lunar energy this month feels incredible for this kind of magical work, I especially feel that there will be a magnificent moment between the last week of October and the last weeks of December, to carry out invocations and mediumship. Try to conjure something different and unusual, or to summon some familiar spirit.

Prepare some meals with magical intent, for this, I recommend the new book "A Kitchen Witch’s Guide of Recipes for Love & Romance" by Aurora Dawn (available here).

HUG TREES !!! There, in them, and in those sensations that they give you when you hug them, there lies our true power, in that sacred connection with nature that only we can understand.

Make a list of intentions for the next year, make a list of intentions for the blue moon (October 31), prepare some candles for that night.

Give thanks, perform a ritual of gratitude, as simple as writing down all the reasons for which you are grateful, light a candle with the scent of myrrh, and burn the list in the fire to send this message of gratitude to the universe.

Look for my new book Manifestation Magic on Amazon and Goodreads and preord…. No no no, it's a joke, (but you can do it anyway, lol), what you should do is add one or two new titles, so let me recommend you to search and read:

Llewellyn's Little Book of Halloween, by Mickie Mueller. (available here)

The Book of Candle Magic, by Madame Pamita. (available here)

The Complete Book of Moon Spells, by Michael Herkes. (available here).

Modern Witch: Spells, Recipes & Workings, by Devin Hunter. (available here)

Hoodoo Cleansing and Protection Magic, by Miss Aida. (available here)

Water Magic (Elements of Witchcraft), by Lilith Dorsey. (available here)

Initiation into Witchcraft, by Brian Cain. (hardcover available here)

Llewellyn's Little Book of Yule, by Jason Mankey. (available here)

And remember, your teacher is your daily practice, your magic and its results depend a lot on your daily routine. So whatever you do, make it conscious and put your heart into it.

with true love and honesty, Elo.

© Copyright, 2020, Elhoim Leafar.

Check my new upcoming Book (available on pre-order):

Available in Amazon: CLICK HERE TO PREORDER

Available in Goodreads: CLICK HERE TO SAVE

Check my next classes and Save your spot.

The Court of the Witches, and other Allies on our Magic.

A Mystical Night of Invocation and Mediumship.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Nachtmusik Chapter Twenty-Seven

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Twenty-Seven: Finding a Voice

There was a gentle tapping at Luka’s cabin door before Rose turned the handle and slowly nudged it open.

“Knock, knock,” she called quietly, voice low.

Luka’s throbbing head appreciated this immensely.

“You up?” she whispered as she tentatively approached.

“Unfortunately,” Luka groaned, pulling the cover over his head.

Rose sighed, hiking up her leg to rest one hip on his mattress.

Her right foot kicked back and forth like a metronome.

She was silent, but Luka could hear her eyes boring into him through the blanket.

Rose was like that. She looked small and cute and harmless, but, within, she was fierce, unyielding, and deadly.

Luka reluctantly pulled down the cover to peek up at her with crusty, bloodshot eyes. “Yes?”

She sighed again, voice soft and kind, cajoling. “Are you thinking about getting up today?”

“More important things on my mind right now,” he mumbled emotionlessly.

“Oh?” Rose reached out to brush greasy bangs out of his eyes with all the tenderness and care due to cleaning off an ancient artifact.

A hint of bitterness stained his weary voice. “Like how much I wish I were unconscious right now so I wouldn’t have to feel the shock of having had a limb hacked off without being put under first.”

“Okay,” Rose replied patiently. “I realize that that’s very important.” She purposely left out the “but” before continuing, “It’s also important to focus on taking care of yourself. Why don’t we switch tracks and do that a little bit before you go back to focusing on how bad you feel?”

Luka shook his head slowly. “Sometimes I still wake up expecting him to be curled up next to me, and then it hits me all over how I’m never going to see him again.”

Rose winced. “…I’m sorry, Lulu.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you think you could slip me one of Juleka’s sleeping pills?”

“Luka,” she replied sternly.

“It’s been a few hours. The alcohol should be all out of my system. I wouldn’t take it if I’d been drinking. I promise, Rose. I’m not suicidal,” he insisted, hoping to convince her to help him.

She shook her head resolutely. “Maybe you’re not actively suicidal, but you’re sure not trying very hard to stay alive, Luka. I’m not helping you get your hands on anything that could hurt you. We locked those sleeping pills up for a reason.”

Luka blew out another sigh, running a hand through his thick, slightly stiff hair.

“…Why don’t you get up and shower?” Rose suggested. “You’ll feel better once you get clean and put on some fresh clothes and eat something.”

“I don’t want to feel better,” Luka grumbled, rolling over so that his back was to her. “I want A-Adrien.”

His voice cracked in his anguish, putting a chink in Rose’s heart as well.

“I know,” she whispered, “but if you take care of yourself a little and start feeling less miserable, maybe you’ll start wanting to feel less miserable.”

He didn’t reply.

She stared at his back for a long moment. “Luka, Adrien loves you. He wouldn’t want to see you like this,” she tried.

Luka snorted ruefully. “Well, good thing he doesn’t have to. Ever again.”

“Luka, you know that’s not what I meant,” Rose replied, trying not to sound as exasperated as she felt. “Adrien wouldn’t want you to be like this. He’d want you to take care of yourself and be happy.”

“I’ll take care of myself and be happy when Adrien comes and asks me himself,” he retorted in a mockingly sweet tone.

Rose sighed and fell silent.

Remorse slowly welled up in Luka’s chest, overriding the throbbing in his head and the bitterness in his heart.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I know you’re just trying to help.” Luka rolled back over and tentatively placed his hand on top of hers. “Sorry I’m such a toxic wreck. I just…This is what grief looks like. I thought I was in love before with Honoré…with Marinette…and maybe I was. Maybe that was love, but this…Adrien…he’s my soulmate. I don’t think this is something I can get over.”

Rose was quiet a minute or two more, reflecting before replying patiently, “Lulu, we’re not asking you to get over it. We just need you to get out of bed and eat some real food and not drink so much. We need you to try to go back to school…try to go back to work…not get drunk and nearly die in motorcycle accidents.”

Luka sucked in a breath, not daring to point out that his bike was totaled, so another motorcycle accident wasn’t happening anytime soon, and that he hadn’t “nearly died” in the wreck. As drunk as he’d been when the idea to storm the Agreste Mansion and force Gabriel to let him back into Adrien’s life had entered his head, Luka had still remembered to put on his helmet…the black one with cat ears that Adrien had given him. Luka had gotten banged up a bit in the landing, but he’d walked away from the crash.

“Sorry,” Luka whispered. “I know I’m driving you all mad with worry.”

“Because we love you, Big Bro,” Rose sighed, flipping her palm over under his to grasp his hand. “Can you please shower and put on fresh clothes sometime today? Maybe try to eat some toast? Or, if you like, I can make you an egg or some bacon? Come on. Let’s try to do the bare minimum and see if maybe we can do something else after that,” she urged, trying to sound encouraging. It came off more like desperate.

“Maybe if you get up and get dressed and you eat something, you’ll find the energy to…to play guitar,” she suggested optimistically. “You haven’t played in months, and we all miss your music. What do you think?”

Luka slowly shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve tried periodically, Rose. I’ve tried to get these feelings out of me, to work them into a song, but the guitar just isn’t… It doesn’t work. A guitar can’t express what I’m feeling. Sure, I can play sad, heartbroken songs, but that’s not what I need from an instrument right now. I need an instrument who can scream in bloody, violent agony, Rose.”

She bit her lip, getting up and going over to the far side of his room where the usual assortment of instruments was either lined up or stacked. Her eyes skimmed the organized mess, searching for something to help.

She came up empty.

Well, there was one candidate, but…she didn’t think it would be good for Luka to try the keyboard he and Adrien had often played together.

With a sigh, she slunk back over to his bedside. “Please get up. Juleka’s really freaking out. Just…shower, get dressed, eat, and let me switch out the sheets for you. You can go back to bed for another couple days after that, but…please, Luka?”

Luka took a long, slow breath. As he blew it out, he pushed down the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “All right, Little Sis. Shower, new clothes, food, but then I’m going back to sleep.”

“Thank you.” Rose nearly cried as she watched Luka trudge across the room to the bathroom.

“Sure thing,” he mumbled. At least, that’s what she thought he said. He didn’t put much energy into make his words audible.

“I’ll just tidy up a bit while you’re in the shower,” she replied, already plotting how quickly she could change the linen, pick up the assortment of empty alcohol bottles and junk food wrappers, and clean out the minifridge (surely filled with molding specimens more fitted to a research lab than a bedroom).

 Twenty minutes later, when Luka finally dragged himself out of the shower, he found his room completely overhauled. All the filth he’d been working on stockpiling the past four months had been summarily evicted. His bed was made—sheets now smelling fresh and not like Bvlgari Blv. Though, to be honest, they hadn’t smelled like Adrien’s bath products in months.

Rose had left the comforter alone as asked back in September when she’d first tried to wash his sheets.

“Asked” wasn’t really the right word. He’d freaked out when he discovered she’d washed his bedding while he was passed out drunk in the main cabin. Luckily, the nail polish stain on the comforter from Adrien and Luka’s last night together when Adrien had asked Luka to paint his toenails with a Viperion-inspired design had survived the washing.

Luka let his towel drop to the floor. He slid into the fresh clothes Rose had set out for him and then grabbed the comforter, wrapping it around himself, pressing it to his face, trying to smell some hint of Adrien left on it.

He wished he had Chat Noir’s keen sense of smell.

The comforter didn’t smell like anything.

This wasn’t really surprising. Adrien and Luka had shared warm months from the end of March until the middle of August. They hadn’t used the comforter on the occasions when Adrien spent the night. True, they had curled up on top of the covers to watch movies, but there was no trace of Adrien left save the nail polish stain.

Luka tossed the comforter haphazardly up on the bed and trudged out of his room, into the main cabin where Anarka was lounging on the couch and Juleka and Rose were busy in the kitchen.

“Lulu,” Rose called chipperly. “I made eggs and toast. Come eat.”

Anarka looked up from her book, taking in the emaciated wreck of her son. “Good morning. It’s nice to see you up. How are you feeling, Luc?”

Luka sank down on the opposite limb of the wraparound couch from his mother, too tired to go any farther. He contemplated his response for a moment as Rose brought over Luka’s plate and a glass of water.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, forcing himself to pick up a piece of toast and chew.

Luka swallowed and replied honestly, “Like my insides are dead but somehow my body won’t stop moving.” As an afterthought, he added, “I should write a song.”

Anarka swallowed hard, reminding herself that she wasn’t allowed to cry now. That had to wait until night when she was alone in her cabin.

“It wouldn’t be a very nice song,” Luka continued distractedly, spearing a fluffy globule of egg and transferring it to his mouth. “Probably something ultra-serialist. Nontonal. Maybe I could use the twelve-tone method so I really had to concentrate on the composition of the piece.”

A tense silence fell as Luka took another bite of toast, suddenly realizing that he was famished.

No one knew what to say, and all three of the women were desperate to change the subject.

Luka helpfully obliged. “My head is killing me. It feels like it’s about to split open.”

“Because you’re dehydrated,” Juleka suggested. “Drink some water.”

Anarka gave a snort. “You’d think he’d be overly hydrated with the amount he drinks.”

Luka ignored his mother lashing out in frustration in favour of taking a long swallow from his glass.

“Be nice, Maman,” Juleka chided meekly as she set down the towel she’d been using to dry dishes and came over to sit beside Luka, tentatively resting her head on his shoulder.

He tipped his head to the side to nuzzle her hair and then went back to eating.

Anarka sighed, picking up her book once more and staring blankly at the pages, unable to concentrate on the words. She wanted to strangle Gabriel Agreste and give his son a good shake and a slap upside the head.

If she never heard the name Agreste again, it would be too soon. She’d never forgive them for what they’d done to her boy.

“Would you wanna jam a little bit after breakfast?” Juleka suggested, a frailly hopeful tone in her voice. “I’ve got this killer bass line just waiting for a guitar part to flesh it out.”

Luka slowly finished chewing and swallowed the bit of toast he’d been working on. “I’d love to hear what you’ve come up with, but I’ve kind of got a headache at the moment. Maybe a little later today, okay? I really want to head back to bed for a bit.”

Juleka nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show. “Yeah. Sure. Later.”

He turned his head to give her another nuzzle. “I promise, Jules. Later today. Just let me sleep a couple hours.”

“All right,” Juleka agreed, feeling a little better now that she was sure he wasn’t just brushing her off.

“Luka,” Anarka sighed, snapping her book closed. “It’s eleven o’clock. I hate to harp at you, but you can’t just sleep the day away. You need to get up and do something productive.”

“Maman,” Luka groaned. “Not today. I’m not feeling well.”

“Why? Because you’re drunk again?” she huffed.

Juleka tensed.

Luka put a hand on Juleka’s leg as he corrected, “Hungover. Let me sleep for a few hours, and then I’ll get up and listen to Juleka play, okay?” he bartered.

“No.” Anarka put her foot down. “Luka Couffaine, this has gone on long enough. I’ve let you wallow and try to destroy yourself for four months. Now, I’ve had enough of this, young man. I’m sorry that you’re hurting, and I would do anything to make it better for you, but, obviously, supporting you while letting you ride this out isn’t working,” she sighed in frustration.

“Maman,” Luka tried to coax.

Anarka wouldn’t hear it. “No,” she repeated forcefully. “I thought you’d snap out of it after nearly killing yourself on that bike on your birthday, but you haven’t gotten any better. I’ve tried to be nurturing and understanding and supportive, and it’s gotten us nowhere. I am at my wit’s end, Luka, and if I have to be a drill sergeant to get you out of bed and back out there with the living, so help me, I’ll do it.”

Luka squeezed Juleka’s knee gently as her trembling started to grow worse.

“Maman,” he replied in a slightly tense, entreating tone.

Rose quickly wiped off her hands, coming around to the side of the couch. “Okay, you guys. Let’s all take a deep breath, okay?”

“Luka, this behavior is unacceptable,��� Anarka continued intently as if she couldn’t hear Rose. “I understand that you’re heartbroken, but this is getting ridiculous. There are plenty of other people out there. Adrien isn’t worth killing yourself over.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” Luka snapped with venom as he shot to his feet.

Anarka, Juleka, and Rose collectively flinched.

Luka turned to Rose, tersely commanding, “Take Juleka somewhere else. Please,” he remembered to add.

Rose nodded, snaking her arm through Juleka’s. “Come on, Honey. Let’s go to your room. Show me the bass part you’ve been working on, Juju.”

Juleka obediently followed after her girlfriend but couldn’t help casting a worried glance back at her brother and mother.

Once the girls were gone, Anarka sighed, opening her arms down at her sides in a “come at me” gesture. “All right,” she encouraged tiredly. “Let me have it. I’m a hypocrite?”

Luka didn’t pull any punches. “Do you remember when Father left you?”

Anarka winced and opened her mouth to reply, but Luka cut her off.

“—No! You don’t! Because you spent a year blind drunk and moping around the house afterwards!” he accused, jabbing a finger at her.

She lowered her eyes and sighed. “Luka—”

“—No!” he snapped. “I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses. Do you know who held your hair back as you puked into the toilet? Who cleaned you up when you spilled vodka all over yourself? Who got odd jobs running deliveries so we’d have money for groceries? Who figured out how to pay the bills so we’d have water and electricity? Who made sure you ate? Who fed his sister and made sure she went to school and did her homework and took her medicine and went to the therapist and had clean clothes? Who took care of her in the middle of the night when she woke up from nightmares because her father was suddenly gone and her mother was a wreck? Do you know who held this family together while you were busy wallowing in self-pity, Anarka Couffaine?”

With each accusation, she sank further into the couch cushions, feeling smaller and smaller. She couldn’t look at him. He was right. He’d done it all and never complained, never mentioned it. When she’d come back to herself after a year-long void in her memory, he’d smiled and told her he loved her. He’d never held it over her head, never told her everything he’d done.

“Your ten-year-old son,” Luka hissed, lowering his voice to a hurt murmur. “Father abandoned me too, but I didn’t have time to be sad and angry. I had to put every ounce of energy into taking care of you and Juleka. I don’t resent that, Maman. I love you two so, so much, and even though I was terrified and overwhelmed, I was happy that I could take care of you. I was proud that I could keep it all together and protect my family.”

His voice softened. “I don’t resent you, Maman. I’m not mad, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I just want you to remember what it was like when Father left. Now I’m the one who can’t get out of bed and doesn’t want to eat and longs to slip into an alcohol-induced oblivion to make the pain stop.”

“Oh, my baby,” Anarka sighed, rising to her feet, going to him, and pulling him into a fierce hug. “My poor boy.”

He rested his head against her shoulder. “I can’t push my feelings down and pretend I’m okay this time.”

“Luc,” she sighed, running a hand up and down his back. “Oh, Luc. Ma Baleine, it’s all right. It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t think so,” Luka mumbled.

“It will,” she insisted, squeezing him tighter. “We’re going to get you through this.”

They stood there for a minute or two before Anarka spoke up again. “Why don’t you go sleep a little more?”

Luka gradually disentangled himself from his mother’s arms and nodded. “Could you go check on Juleka? Tell her I’m sorry for snapping.”

“I will,” Anarka assured. She bit her lip and tentatively asked, “You’ll get up again in a couple hours?”

Luka nodded, pulling away. “I promised Juleka I’d listen to the song she’s working on.”

A relieved look slowly took hold on Anarka’s face. “Okay. Thank you.” She watched after him as he trudged back towards his cabin.

Her teeth sank further into her lip. “I—…I love you, Luc.”

He turned slightly to smile tiredly over his shoulder. It didn’t really reach his eyes. “I know. Thanks. I love you too, Maman.”

 Luka kept his word, getting up again a few hours later to listen to Juleka play. He said he’d think about a guitar part to go with it. He really couldn’t come up with anything at that point. His head was still a cacophony of angry, anguished notes with no outlet in any of the instruments currently in his possession.

The following day, Anarka knocked at his cabin door in the mid-morning, peeking her head in without waiting for his response. “Hey.”

“…Hey,” he mumbled groggily.

His sleep schedule was completely messed up. After his mid-afternoon nap the previous day, he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep until nearly four in the morning, and he was feeling it.

“You thinking about getting up today?” She waited expectantly.

He groaned.

“Maybe a little later?” she tried. “For a few hours?”

“Okay,” he relented. “Later for three or four hours.”

A relieved smile spread across her lips. “Okay. Thank you. When you get up, could you maybe go to the old storeroom and go through some of the boxes? Maybe just one box?” she revised. “I’m trying to free up some space.”

The thought of expending that much effort made Luka feel exhausted already.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he loved his family and could do this one thing to make them worry about him less.

“I can at least start on a box,” he conceded. “I didn’t sleep well, so I kind of want to get a little more rest before I do anything.”

“All right,” she compromised. “Rose or Juleka will bring you something to eat in an hour or two. Is there anything in particular you want?”

Luka closed his eyes and sighed. “Pain au chocolat and passionfruit macarons? Maybe some sour cream on the side?”

Anarka frowned. “Odd choice, but okay.”

“They’re comfort foods,” Luka muttered.

Anarka hummed thoughtfully, wondering whose comfort foods they were because Luka had never displayed a preference for any of those. She had her suspicions, but she wasn’t about to ask. “Hey, if you’ll eat them, I’ll have the girls run to Tom and Sabine’s.”

“I will,” Luka promised.

“All right then. Go back to sleep,” she urged, quietly pulling the door flush with the frame.

 True to his word, Luka ate the pastries and the glob of sour cream when they were brought to him.

Later that afternoon, he got out of bed and headed to the storeroom, intent on making good on his promise to start going through one of the boxes of his old stuff.

The Couffaines were all packrats, and the storeroom was piled high with junk, not all of which had actually made it into boxes. Luka decided to start with the loose articles, making two piles as he went: stuff to keep and stuff to give away or pitch.

More items were ending up in the pitch pile than not. Luka couldn’t believe how much detritus had built up in their lives. Who had decided that they needed that many lawn flamingos or that they might someday have use for pool floats with holes in them?

The Couffaines had never been well-off, so they’d always been thrifty and resourceful, careful to reuse and repurpose whenever they could…but, even then, Luka couldn’t justify holding onto some of the stuff that had ended up in that storeroom.

With an exasperated sigh, he lugged an old clunker of a sewing machine over to the refuse pile. Maybe he’d consult Marinette and see if she thought it could be fixed. Maybe they could give it to her or sell it if she didn’t want it. She’d probably think the antique machine was neat, but he suspected she’d prefer to work with something modern that could do zippers and buttonholes.

Luka turned back to the junkheap, eyes scanning for the next most-likely target. He paused, spotting a gem amid the rubbish.

He grabbed the stepstool and climbed up to retrieve the violin case from on top of one of the box towers near the back. A layer of dust had formed over the case, and Luka tried to remember the last time he’d seen the instrument.

He’d never actually played violin seriously, but he had a passing familiarity with how to play it. Although not infallible, he possessed a good ear for pitch and had faith that he could figure it out given time.

They’d had the violin for as long as Luka could remember, and it was one of the many instruments he’d messed around with growing up. It had probably been three or four years since he’d last played.

The violin had never struck a chord with Luka the way the guitar had, so he hadn’t noticed when it went missing.

He carefully climbed down from the stepstool with his prize and set the case on a shorter stack of boxes so that he could open it up and inspect the instrument. He popped up the clasps keeping the case closed and gingerly raised the lid.

In general, the violin and bow looked a little neglected and in need of love, but all of the strings were accounted for, and it looked playable. It was probably horribly out of tune, but…

Luka picked up the block of rosin and rubbed it back and forth along the hairs of the bow, not sure if he’d applied too much or not enough. He figured that he’d probably find out once he started playing.

Carefully, he scooped the violin from its case as if it were a baby and lifted it into position, tucking it under his chin. He raised the bow, not pressing down on any of the strings with his left hand, leaving them open and free to ring as he drew the bow across them.

The violin squawked indignantly, insulted by Luka’s attempt.

Luka let out a short burst of laughter. He tried again, pressing a little harder until he could feel the hair of the bow gripping the strings as he pulled it across.

The violin shrieked dissonantly—as expected, horribly out of tune.

Luka chuckled as he lowered the instrument, setting it along with the bow down in the case to rest while he got out his phone.

He was used to working with six strings on his guitar, so he wasn’t sure quite where to start with four. A Google search quickly revealed that the strings were supposed to be G, D, A, and E. He followed each string up the neck of the violin to the corresponding peg, gently plucking each string as he carefully turned the peg back and forth until it sounded true.

Taking a deep breath, he drew the bow across the strings once more and beamed as a rich sound vibrated to life, high and sweet and resonating with his bones.

He set the instrument to the side once more and reached for his phone again, looking up a finger chart for first position. He found F sharp on the E string and grinned like a madman as the violin wailed beautifully.

That was the sound his sorrow needed to transform the agony of having his beloved torn from him into a melody. His guitar had worked to express joy and melancholy and frustration and amusement, but the violin was the voice he need to give his sorrow form. This was the instrument he needed to allow his soul to cry.

Hours slipped by as Luka experimented, getting to know the instrument and figuring out how to produce the sounds he needed to put his feelings to music.

Frankly, it was rough. Luka had always been a talented musician, easily able to pick up an instrument and befriend it, but the violin was not something to be taken lightly. It was a proud, prickly instrument that knew it deserved respect. It wasn’t forgiving like a harp or piano. It demanded precision and discipline before it would deign to sing.

The violin was a prima donna whose heart Luka would have to work hard to soften. He’d need hours, days, months before he could successfully woo her. He was patient and willing, knowing it would be worth it in the end. It had been months since Luka had wanted anything besides Adrien this much. It had been since August that something had felt this right.

The violin resonated with Luka in a way only his guitar had before, and he knew he had to learn to play her. She could understand his pain like no one else and transform it into something cathartic. She could help him get the misery out so that it didn’t eat him alive from the inside anymore. The violin could draw out the venom.

He just had to practice until he was able to match the instrument’s potential.

It was dark when Juleka went to fetch her brother.

“You still at it?” she called from the doorway.

He didn’t respond.

She wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t noticed her the other three times she’d come to check on him, and she was familiar with the way he went into a trance sometimes, unable to register the world around him when he was caught up in his music.

“Hey.” She carefully reached out and tapped his arm, fully expecting the way he jumped at her touch.

“Juliet! Hey. You startled me,” he gasped, heartrate still in the stratosphere from the scare.

She snickered, grinning smugly. “Yeah, I know. You got caught up in the music. Are your fingers bleeding or did your guitar callouses help?”

Luka looked down at his left hand and inspected the damage. His fingers were a little sore after not playing anything for a few months, but it didn’t look like he’d hurt himself. “Nope. Seems okay.”

Juleka nodded. “Good. Why don’t you pack up and come eat, Luc?”

Luka’s brow furrowed into a frown. “I just ate an hour ago.”

Juleka shook her head, letting out a fond sigh of exasperation. “No, you didn’t. You’ve been in here for hours playing that thing. Come have dinner.”

“Dinner?” Luka pulled out his phone and sucked in a breath when he saw the time. “Oh, yikes.”

“Yep,” Juleka confirmed. “Come on.”

Obediently, Luka cleaned off and packed up the violin and took it with them into the main cabin where Rose and Anarka were sitting on the couch, waiting with the herb-roasted chicken, baked potatoes, salad, and fresh baguette on the table.

“You found a violin,” Anarka observed with a satisfied smile.

“We heard you playing,” Rose added brightly. “You sound great! Well…not at first, but the last two hours you’ve sounded great!”

Luka smiled sheepishly as he headed to the kitchen to wash his hands before joining them. “Sorry for the noise.”

Anarka waved away his concern with a roll of her eyes. “Couffaines don’t apologize for making noise. Besides, like Rose said, the last few hours you’ve been sounding downright tonal.”

“Small miracles,” he sighed, breaking off a piece of the baguette and scooping some salad onto his plate.

“Seriously, Luc.” Anarka rested a hand on his arm, catching his gaze. “You sound good. We’re all happy you’re making music, so go for it. It’s okay if it’s three in the morning. Go for it.”

He looked down at his plate, chewing on his bottom lip, and then gazed back up at Juleka and Rose. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Juleka agreed, and Rose nodded, looking earnest.

Luka looked back to his mother. “Do you happen to know if I have any money in my account? I’d like to take the violin into the shop to get some love. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t break all four of the strings today. I have a feeling I’m going to be playing a lot, so I’d like to get her in working order.”

“If you don’t have the money, I do. We’ll get her playing for you,” Anarka assured, giving his arm a pat before pulling away.

“Thanks, Maman,” he replied, a little surprised at how readily she was supporting this whim of his.

“Mmhm. Now, eat up, Luc,” she encouraged.

Rose reached across the table to deposit some of the chicken onto his plate with a grin.

He returned the grin with a small smile of his own even as he thought about how Adrien didn’t like chicken.

 As it turned out, the violin was not a cure-all.

Some days Luka played obsessively. Instead of sleeping the entire day, he practiced the hours away. Instead of lying awake at night, he played mournful tunes somewhat unskillfully.

There were other days where he lacked the energy and didn’t get out of bed, and once or twice a week he still drank himself senseless.

It did feel like things were slowly getting a little better, though.

At least Luka now had an outlet for his feelings.

[no-other-words]

let’s take this offline - ch2

synergy is the key to success [read on ao3] kageyama needs to burn that sweater-vest and hinata needs to not get turned on by kageyama’s voice.

---

“Hi, I’m Hinata!”

It feels like he’s repeated this at least ten times now, but the conversation that comes after is never the same. Hinata has met pretty much all the people joining their team and he’s already liking this new bunch.

A meet-and-greet was called forth by Daichi where Kuroo’s team can meet the rest of the Marketing Division, a chance for new faces to introduce themselves and get to know one another. He adds in his memo that breakfast will be included and where there is free food, there is Hinata.

Seeing so many unfamiliar faces causes slight unease in Hinata so after loading up two full plates of fruits and muffins, he sets off to make some new acquaintances.

Oikawa seems like a total douche but the passionate way he talks about his line of work is admirable and Hinata goes starry-eyed. Akaashi is the complete opposite with his calm and collected demeanour and Hinata thinks that Kenma would get along with him. Aone is a tough one to crack but once Hinata mentions animal documentaries, an instant connection is built and he knows it will be a lasting one.

Then there’s the guy sulking in the corner of the room, staring relentlessly at Hinata. Eyes narrowed, brows scrunched, and lips pulled into small pout, he has not moved since Hinata got here. Everything about him is intense—the way he eats his fruits, the way he holds his coffee cup, the way he drinks from his cup.

The only thing that makes him slightly more approachable is the puke-green sweater vest he’s unfortunately wearing. Brave is the man who steps out into society in that.

He’s been avoiding to introduce himself but one can only be so rude for so long. Hinata musters up the courage, summons his biggest smile, and marches right up to the man.

“Good morning! I see you’re enjoying that coffee a lot.” He starts off. “I’m Hi—”

“I know. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

Now it’s his turn to stare. The next few seconds was a wild train ride as Hinata witnesses a rainbow of emotions running across the man’s face—shock, dismay, humiliation, and a final colour of cooled restraint. Or at least, as restrained as he can be with that growing flush of his.

Hinata hears the impact of an arrow shooting through his heart.

Then the guy blurts out, “I mean, you’re even harder to look at in person.”

That figurative arrow is then unforgivingly ripped out.

“What did you say?” Hinata growls.

“You just…” He appears to be struggling to find words. “You have that same stupid look—”

“Just give me your name so I know not to work with you in the future.”

“Too late, you already are.” The man takes his hand out for a handshake. “Kageyama Tobio.”

Hinata hisses in responses, slapping his hand away. “I knew there was something sinister about you.”

“Sinister? What the fuck do you mean?!”

Taking a step forward, Hinata says, “You were giving me angry looks the whole time I was here!”

“That’s because all I could see is that dumb picture you have on your Skype profile,” Kageyama says, putting his foot forward. “Take a better one by the way, it hurts my eyes and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Well I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“You already said that, genius. Try to be original for once.”

Before Hinata can reply, both of them gets a hard pat on the back and they turn to see Kuroo, standing uncomfortably close and wearing an uncomfortably wide smile.

“Well well, we sure are getting acquainted here,” says Kuroo. “It’s always nice to see our staff get along. Makes for good team morale, don’t you think?”

The silent challenge in his eyes makes both Hinata and Kageyama nod. His towering figure looming over Hinata makes it all the more intimidating.

“And Daichi will be especially happy to see us working and flourishing together as one big family, wouldn’t you agree?”

The two men couldn’t nod faster.

“Good.” Kuroo pats their back again. “Play nice.”

Waiting until the manager walks out of hearing range, Kageyama gives Hinata a pointed look. “Listen up moron, I'm not going to throw my reputation down the drain in front of my boss and Daichi just because some dimwit doesn't know how to do his job correctly."

Hinata grits his teeth. The two-faced, no-good, jer—

“Grab your laptop and come to my desk. I’ll take a look at your dumb report.”

A truce.

Okay, he takes it all back. Maybe this guy’s not all that bad.

Wait.

"Why don’t you come to my desk?" Hinata asks.

Kageyama gives him an incredulous look. "Because we're already on my floor so why the hell do I need to go to the 23rd? This is your problem anyway."

"Caused by your data!"

"Just…" Kageyama takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He rubs the bridge of his nose before brushing back his bangs, revealing a weirdly alluring forehead. "Just, come. Okay? Let me see what I can do."

Maybe it’s the way Kageyama finally pulls back. Not giving in, but receding for now to let things cool before both their hotheads steam up again. Maybe it’s also how he decides to lower his voice, as an attempt for cease-fire. It sounds smoother, low and solid, and eases Hinata’s defenses down.

Realizing that he still hasn’t replied, Hinata clears his throat. "Fine, give me fifteen minutes."

Kageyama raises his eyebrows. "It takes you that long to get up there?”

His personality is as horrid as that sweater-vest of his.

---

In all honesty, if it wasn't for his serious lack of charm, Hinata would've thought Kageyama as a slightly-above-average looking guy. He's decently-built, no doubt smart, and has a pretty face to boot (when it's not scrunched in negativity). Brown eyes are so common here so it's refreshing to see a person with blue ones.

Hinata first discovers them when they sit together to look at his broken report. Kageyama’s focusing on the screen in front of him, concentration level up 110%. He’s seated tightly against his desk, hands on mouse and keyboard moving ever so swiftly to navigate around the computer. Like a machine, he processes the report methodically and Hinata…well Hinata’s eyes explore the office setting.

And then at Kageyama. He’s currently addressing him about something, but Hinata doesn’t really listen because he realises that Kageyama’s eyes are not black but in fact a dark shade of blue. It’s hard to tell, what with the man glaring at you half the time.

“Are you even listening?”

“Your eyes are blue.”

This puts a stop to Kageyama’s scowling. He straightens up and looks back to the screen, muttering, “What of it?”

Hinata shakes his head in defence. “No I mean, I just think that’s cool. They’re so dark and…” He leans in closer to get a better look. The colour is so deep that Hinata’s mistaken them for black, to his shame, and Hinata finds Kageyama’s eyes are so intense that—

“It’s nice,” he says.

Kageyama visibly swallows. “Nice.”

Hinata nods with a smile. “They’re a nice colour.”

They find out what went wrong with the report that day. It’s neither Kageyama’s data nor Hinata’s report that is that the cause but some data-transfer issue that becomes too technical for them to solve. Surprisingly, Kageyama offers to help Hinata find the right contact and email them.

And that’s how Kageyama stumbles across the 400+ unread emails buried in Hinata’s inbox. He calls it a wrongdoing, uncivilized, an absolute abomination, and Hinata should be ashamed of himself for letting the situation get this far. Hinata in turn has no idea what’s so wrong about it until he seems Kageyama’s pristine clean mailbox.

That day is when Hinata learns of how diligent Kageyama is. How he makes sure to meticulously file his emails into folders structured in a hierarchal fashion, how he has 0 draft emails while Hinata has more than 10 because he isn’t all that great at finishing emails and he often forgets.

Kageyama’s desktop is a mirror of his inbox—clear and simple with only three icons to select on. His folders are neatly organized and easy to navigate around. His sticky notes line perfectly against each other, same width same height, and not a pixel disproportionate.

It’s all kind of endearing, really.

That and the fact Kageyama goes nuts over Hinata’s own desktop, filled with documents and software—some misnamed, some just having the default Untitled, and some with the asdf name. That one particular text file with the name asdfdsasdfasdafdasd is certainly one that drives Kageyama insane. He calls it a calamity waiting to happen.

Hinata likes to call it organized chaos.

Kageyama refuses to let it go, even a few days later, when Hinata emails him again with some work-related questions, and he lords over Hinata’s improper use of the signature block. Until this point of time, Hinata wasn’t even aware that it was actually a thing—isn’t your name enough to let someone know who sent the message?

Kageyama, Tobio [11:39 AM] It’s to show which team you’re in and your credibility.

Hinata, Shouyou [11:40 AM] ok fine team i get the credibility part i don’t what i work on reflects that

Kageyama, Tobio [11:43 AM] It’s also just corporate etiquette. It’s good to let people know who they’re speaking to.

Hinata, Shouyou [11:44 AM] ha u know im way past corp etiquette and they can find out who i am when they talk to me why give them something to put a box around me?

Kageyama doesn’t reply after that. Nevertheless Hinata takes what is advised and constructs an email signature. He might as well be half-civilized in the corporate world. Kageyama better be happy.

Their interactions are sporadic. Even though Kuroo’s team is now an extension of Daichi’s crew, it’s decided that it’s best not relocate everyone. At first, Hinata reaches out when he needs help, for purely work-things. Eventually, he gets used to the idea of bothering the snappy man because no matter how annoying he knows he’s being, Kageyama always answers.

Kenma is a victim of Hinata’s scattered attention. He tolerates Hinata with the Skype chats and over-the-desk conversations and by tolerate, it means half-listening and sometimes entertaining a response if he feels like it. The other guys on the team is more willing to join in, Nishinoya throwing in words of wisdom while Tanaka writes a book about it.

But Kageyama—Kageyama listens. He yells and questions and replies in way that makes Hinata want to talk with him more. His perfect grammar and formal wordings is as infuriating as it is charming. Never is a chat-window more of a juxtaposition than seen before. Kageyama is a big nerd and he can’t deny it.

Especially with that atrocious sweater-vest.

Hinata tells him what he needs to hear.

Kageyama, Tobio [3:11 PM] What’s wrong with it? Does it have a hole in the back?

Hinata, Shouyou [3:12 PM] r u joking it’s something my great granddad would’ve worn doesn’t go well with your skin

Kageyama, Tobio [3:14 PM] i don’t say anything about your bowtie

Hinata, Shouyou [3:15 PM] whats wrong with my bowtie?!?!!

Kageyama, Tobio [3:23 PM] It’s distracting.

He doesn’t elaborate afterwards. In fact, Kageyama goes offline for the next hour. Worried, Hinata goes to the restroom to check on his bowtie. Is it crooked? Tied unevenly? Does it clash with his shirt? He’s had the idea of developing a statement about his person in the office and his statement is his bowties.

He plans to ask just what about them offends Kageyama on a call they’d setup to talk over some project. Shimizu informs Hinata of an upcoming proposal that Daichi wants to explore next year. Apparently this project will heavily involve Kuroo’s team, Kageyama’s area of expertise in particular. They might as well start that conversation early so Hinata books a meeting call.

When he hears the beep of someone joining the line, Hinata opens his mouth to greet the person until he’s stopped short.

“Hello, it’s Kageyama.”

Oh.

Oh no.

A warm shiver runs down his back before rising up to the top of his head. Smooth, sultry, and rich is all he hears. It’s like creamy milk chocolate running smoothly down your throat, warming the rest of your body. It’s the afternoon sun on a calm autumn day, the quiet hum of a fire, the lullaby sung gently into your ears.

The sound of Kageyama’s husky voice is a surprise and it does things to Hinata’s heart.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi yes!” He hopes Kageyama cannot hear the breathlessness in his voice.

Hinata grips the phone hard during the entire call. He attentively listens to Kageyama’s lull, finding a rhythm to his voice. He sounds so different over the phone—calmer, at ease. Definitely doesn’t have that same bite when he’s in your face all the time. There’s a solidity to his tone, confident and so sure of himself in the best way. It mirrors the way he writes.

He likes that solidity.

Kageyama starts sharing his screen with Hinata, something about wanting to share a PowerPoint deck. Kageyama can share any sort of deck with h—

Hinata stops. He stops right there before it goes any farther.

He clears his throat long and hard, puffing out a harsh breath as if to expel all wicked thoughts. Kageyama is a decent-looking guy, but just that. Just your regular, average-built man with a less-than-average fashion sense.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” squeaks Hinata.

“Can you send me the file again? I want to have a comparison.”

Look at him, sweating over some man’s voice while said man is working hard and serious on the other side of the phone. Hinata needs to pull it together.

He sends the file over Skype, watching as his profile picture pop up on Kageyama’s desktop and grimacing.

“I really need to change my photo,” he says.

Kageyama clicks his tongue over the phone, casually adding, “I think you’re fine.”

Hinata’s heart skips a beat.

Oh no.

---

a/n: if you think those last 2 lines said over the phone was made up, think again. :)