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imatechbummerliketomholland · 3 years ago

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sorry seems to be the hardest word - h.o

Word count: 3171

Warning: angst, swear

Pairing : harrison osterfield

Request: no.

N/A: It took me so long to write this. I remember i asked @soft-haz to write something with the "sorry seems to be the hardest word" vibe, it was so good! But i wanted to write something by myself too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really try my best. Italics parts are flashbacks

Thanks to @petersasteria because she correct a big part of this fic! Love you. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

ღღღ

part 2 (harry hollad x reader) - part 3 (harry holland x reader)

The few rays of sunshine in London today and England's victory over the Croats had improved your mood. Tom and Harry were home as soon as the game was over, they found you sitting on the couch with a glass of wine. You hadn't wanted to join them at the bar for obvious reasons: to keep your privacy as much as possible. Living with four boys was not easy, but living with four boys, one of whom was a world-famous actor and another in the midst of the media boom, was even more so. Of course, fans knew that Tom, Harrison, Harry, and Tuwaine had a female roommate. But you've always managed to never appear with your face uncovered in any media activity of your four-favorite divs.

The bottle was already nearly empty and you were already on your drunken streak, not wanting to stop when two of your drinking buddies had just entered. What a good opportunity to continue the evening.

"Will you join me, boys?"

“Mmm yeah, sure, love.” Harry said.

But a problem presented itself to you: the boys drank beer, you drank wine. You had two options now: either open a new bottle of wine for yourself or continue the evening with beer. Your eyes turned to your glass, spilling the rest of the bottle into your jug before swallowing it dry. Harry had a stunned expression on his face as Tom smirked.

"I see hanging out with us leaves its mark."

"You wish, Holland. I knew how to do it before I even knew you existed."

"You've known me since I was 19."

"And you think I waited for you to learn how to drink?"

"Fair enough."

You met the boys in a pub. You’ll never tell Nikki that, when you met them, her precious twins drank too many beers even if they weren’t old enough to drink (technically, they weren’t criminals, drinking beer at 16 is legal and come on, it’s England!)

❀❀❀

So, you met the boys in a pub. It was one of the nights when your friends and you wanted to drink until you're blackout drunk. You were in that pub/club, looking up after one of your friends. She had detected some pretty boys in the back and left you there, alone. You moved around the room without paying attention: glass in hand, your phone you stared at in the other. You suddenly felt an arm blocking your chest with force. The surprise had made you drop your glass.

“What the heck?!?”

“You will not pass, miss.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Is the pope there?” You said sarcastically

The man who stood in your way raised an eyebrow and you looked at him, waiting for a response.

“You are very funny. It’s a VIP space.”

“Once again, why is that?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, I don't care if Sir Elton John is in that bar or if it's even the Queen of England. I'm just looking for my friend: tall, blonde, balloon-sized fucking boobs, red dress."

“Not seen."

You sighed. The situation annoyed you to the highest point. You had lost your friend and that big asshole had broken your glass. The man in front of you seemed to be marble. Short answer, arms crossed, and an imposing posture. All you wanted tonight was just to have fun. You didn't care that God-knows-who, any famous or rich enough to book a VIP space, was in that bar.

"Would the asshole that hired you tonight, at least be kind enough to buy me the glass you broke with your bullshit?"

From his side, Harry had noticed the altercation. He then walked towards you, he laughed when he heard you insult his brother through the bouncer's fault. And as the Colossus' bodyguard was about to tell you that you could always dream of getting that free drink, Harry spoke up.

“The asshole, maybe not directly. But the asshole's brother. Certainly. It will be on his check anyway.”

“For God's sake, what are you waiting for then?”

And just like that, you met the boys. Harry paid you for the glass that the other jerk broke, invited you to this precious VIP space and you could talk and dance the night away. You had exchanged your social media and over time, your phone numbers. And as fast as you couldn't imagine, you had found yourself stuck in an apartment with four adorable idiots as roommates.

❀❀❀

"Hey, y/n, where are the others?" Harry asked.

You grumbled and grabbed the beer the curly had just opened. He protested as you took a sip. Tom gave you a curious look and you frowned behind your bottle.

"y/n?”

"I don't know where T is, but Harrison's gone on a date with Gracie."

The two brothers exchanged a look heard in the face of the bitterness they had perceived in your voice. It was no longer much of a secret that you had feelings for Harrison. You had feelings for Tom's best friend for almost as long as you'd met him. Harry had noticed it first, because you were much closer to him than to Tom. The actor had understood at the start of an evening, at the beginning of the relationship between Harrison and his girlfriend.

However, you didn't hate Gracie. She was beautiful, kind, and very funny. She really brought out the best in Harrison, she made him happy and you could see that because of the distinct smile on his face. You didn't hate her; she just wasn't you and you just weren't her. And that was the whole problem. Jealousy consumed you and you hated yourself for it.

“Are you alright, darling?” Tom asked you since silence filled the room after your last sentence.

"I'll be fine after one more drink" you simply answered.

You took a sip of the beer you stole from Harry. Drowning in alcohol was certainly not the solution. But you just wanted to forget the blond a bit for tonight. Tom's worried look made you roll your eyes.

"Oh come on, Tom. Don't give me those eyes. I will be fine ..."

“Yeah, sure.” he said with a doubt.

"Can we just watch a silly movie or play a silly game to make my night better?"

Harry seemed to hear you as he shrugged and took a sip of his drink. He knew you by heart. At this point, he really considered you his best friend. So he knew you needed something to clear your mind. Something where your mind should be quick to think about.

“One,” he said nonchalantly.

"Two" you responded with a huge smile on your face.

"You are both stupid." the Holland elder complained about the game you had just started.

"You say that because you're a lousy actor who can't remember his lines. Play Holland!"

"Three". He capitulated.

And you continued like this until 21. Then, there followed a multitude of rule additions each time you reach the number 21. The 7 turned into "I'm a poor liar", the 18 into "I'd rather kiss a guinea pig" ... And every time one of you made a mistake, he drank. After an hour, the game looked like a strange conversation from the outside.

"Squirrels are scary, man." Harry said, mimicking his older brother.

"Black Widow is the best president of the United States" Tom said

"But she’s a bad lay." you responded, with a fake sigh of disappointment

"I'd rather kiss a guinea pig"

"Because you have no taste"

"Twenty"

It was at this precise moment, in the middle of the conversation, that Harrison decided to enter the living room. His blissful smile gave way to an air of amazement and disbelief at the talk between his three roommates. It was Tom who first noticed his best friend. He nodded to greet him. Harrison wore a simple black t-shirt with chinos. You took a look at your roommate and your cheeks flushed a little more than they already were.

"Hello mate! How was your date?" asked Tom with a big smile on his face

"Awesome. Can't believe it will be a year in 3 freaking days." Harrison said.

You could see his large smile, and blissful air. He was sweating happiness and although you were happy for him, it tore your heart. You purse your lips to avoid comment. Harry spoke up.

"We're playing 21. Do you want to land with us?"

"In fact, you can take my place." You got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen to drop off your beer drain. Harrison frowned as Tom exchanged a new look with his brother.

"y/n, you can stay, It's an unlimited players game." Harry almost begged.

"No, I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower and then go to bed."

“y/n” Harrison tried to call you to hold you back a little longer.

But you were already gone. You've never climbed the stairs so fast to run away from your roommate/best friend. Harrison looked at Tom and Harry, worried about your behavior. The curly one just shrugged his shoulders as his brother shook his head, silent. They weren't intending to get involved in this. You were the only master of your feelings and the time you'll decide to confess them to Harrison. That is why they preferred to be quiet.

☙♡❧

You spent the whole next week to avoid Harrison as much as possible. Established more distance with him was your solution to protect yourself from your feelings especially after his one-year anniversary date with Gracie and his absolute cute instagram post. It broke you down. Your heart was in peace but you couldn't blame him or his girlfriend. You were in love with the wrong guy, that's all.

But you couldn't hide from him forever. After all, you both lived in the same house, you had the same friends. So, it was hard to pretend he didn't exist.

Today was not your lucky day. You bumped into him in the kitchen. That was his opportunity to hold you down. He grabbed you by the shoulders, preventing you from burying yourself. Now he would finally find out what was wrong with you. Because Harrison wasn't a fool. He had noticed that you acted with him differently. Your behavior remained unchanged towards the other boys in the house.

“y/n. Don’t avoid me; please, please y/n, look at me”

You have plunged your eyes into its bewitching blue irises. Big mistake. You were drowning now in the turmoil of your feelings for the blonde. He had always had that effect on you, always. Tears started to bead at the corners of your eyes, you were biting your lip to hold back the torrent of tears that was already beginning to flow. Harrison's throat tightened at the sight of you like that and his hold on your shoulders slowly loosened.

“I hate seeing you like this. Please talk to me” he almost begged you

“Harrison…” your voice struggle as soon you pronounced his name.

“Please darling…tell me what’s goin’ on”

As a perfect angel, Tom was the one who saved you by interrupting this quick talk. You wiped away your tears with the end of your sleeve and run away to your room. Harrison sighed in despair. He didn't understand why you were running away from him like the plague.

“Dude, do you know why she's like that. What did I do? » He finally asked to Tom.

"I can't tell you Haz. She's the only one having the right to tell you about this"

"Bullshit. Fuck you all." Harrison said, frustrated.

Then he just quit, leaving the kitchen.

☙♡❧

Sunday came and Tom asked you all to spend the night with him before his LA trip the next evening. It was a normal night with friends. And despite your pent-up feelings and wanting to avoid Harrison at all costs, you didn't want to miss Tom, he was your friend.

There was only the usual gang: Harry, Tuwaine, Tom (obviously) and you. But the tension was felt within the group. The lingering unspoken words about your feelings for Harrison were beginning to weigh on all of your friendship. It was so bad that it hurts to stay in the same room as Harrison. All you could see was his constant happiness, this wonderful man he had always been but in a more radiant version of himself. And you weren't the cause of that. You hated it, you hated being selfish that much. You were ready to sacrifice your friendship with the young Netflix actor for two reasons: you wanted to protect yourself ... and you weren't ready to be that obstacle in the midst of Harrison and Grace's happiness.

You were in the kitchen with Harry, pretending to help him with drinks and snacks. The curly boy could see you dragging your feet, repeating like a mantra this phrase "come on, you can do it ... do it for Tom, it's his night. Don’t be selfish, you can make it." And you really wanted it ... have a good time with your friends.

Sometimes Harry felt guilty for introducing Gracie to Harrison. They worked together as set PA in 2018 and became close friends but not as close as you were with him. You considered him like your best friend. It made sense for him to feel a bit responsible for your broken heart. But you never said a word about it.

“I’m sorry, y/n” confessed Harry.

“For what?” you simply responded.

"For having hampered your happiness. I was stupid to introduce Grace to Harrison and ignore your feelings. I wanted to help my friend. "

"Bullshit Harry. Never apologize for that. You've been a great friend to Harrison."

"But not for you."

"Who cares?" you asked, trying to minimize your feelings

"Me ... you are one of my best friend y/n"

"Just like Harrison is your best friend. Don't apologize for making him happy. Fuck, I'm the one who should apologize." You said, with a tone of anger and despair in your voice

And that's how you crack, breaking in all your sensitivity. You couldn't hold back your tears from falling as you blasted everything that was on your heart. You don't even realize that Harrison is a few feet behind your back. The weight of your feelings, your anxieties explode in the kitchen as when a cup is dropped on the immaculate tiled floor.

“What I got to do to make him love me? What I got to do to make him care? Not as the sweet friend Harry. I’m deeply in love with him and it’s gonna drive me insane! What I got to do to make him want me? Huh Harry, can you tell me? All those question in my head…and no answer to that. And you know what? It's sad, sad situation…more than that it’s a shitty situation, because I'm getting away from him and it makes us sick. Because I'm unable to tell him why.”

“You just told me.” Harrison finally said.

You jumped for a second before you froze. Harry is caught off guard and rushes into the living room stammering an apology. You are trapped. You are trapped and you can hear the footsteps of your roommate coming closer to you, so close, that now you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. Gently, he places his hands on your arms and exerts pressure for you to face him.

"You love me"

"It depends ..." you replied with difficulty

"On what?"

"On what you heard before."

"Enough that you can't contradict me."

Her thin smile doesn't help you relax. Instead, you look down, admiring your two pairs of feet. You felt like being stripped naked and you didn't like that feeling. If you could have kept this secret in your grave. But now he knew and you felt even heavier than the Titanic.

"So ... is that it? Nothing more to tell me?"

"What do you want me to add to what you've already heard?"

"Sorry?" he tried.

"For what?"

"For what? y/n are you kidding me? Sorry for being distant with me, maybe? Sorry for hiding all these things from you? Sorry for not trusting our friendship to come to me and speak?" he exploded…

"What would that have been for, Harrison? You don't love me back…" you screamed back.

"I ... I’m ..."

"See, sorry seems to be the hardest word."

After that last ironic reply, silence fell in the kitchen. So was that it? Was that how your friendship was to end? The great giants of the universe had reserved this dramatic scene for you to break years of bonding. You didn't know how to get out of this situation. You didn't even know if there was a few more things to save. You were broken and had just spoiled the happiness of one of your best friends.

Harrison was silent. He seemed to be probing your body, your attitude, analyzing any gesture that might give him the opportunity to take a step towards you. But the solution was there, finding everything ... It was enough, for both of you, to swallow your pride.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" you echo your previous conversation

"Sorry for not feeling the same as you. For not being who you want me to be to you."

"You know ... I don't hate her."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Gracie. I don't hate her. She makes you really happy. I just hate the jealousy I feel towards her… I hate that I am not her. But I don’t hate her, she's a really good girl."

A small smile dawned on Harrison's lips, the blonde toyed nervously with his fingers and the ring he always wore as an accessory.

"Yeah ... yeah she's great."

"I'm really sorry ... about everything."

"It's ok. We don't control how we feel. I..I can understand"

"Yeah..."

"y/n?" he tried; a little bit shy about what he’s gonna ask.

"Mhmm?"

"Do you think we can be friends again?"

You bow your head, taking a minute to think. Was everything really broken? Were you going to be able to rebuild a solid friendship after this conversation? Were you going to be able to squeeze out your feelings? You sighed before plunging into those beautiful blue eyes that you loved so much.

"Maybe. I hope so with all my heart."

"I hope so too. And I hope you find someone like I found Grace."

"You can always dream. You dripping with love, it's impossible to find someone like you two."

"Don't despair. He might be closer than you think."

He winked at you and you looked at him confused. But after a few seconds, a smile appeared at the corner of your lips. No, you had no hope of him talking about him. But you were happy, because that little sentence opened the door for you to a bond that you were trying to find.

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield x reader #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x y/n

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itsembarrassing · 3 years ago

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[FanFiction] Drinking x Alone

Here is my (rather accidental) entry for the HxH winter bingo 2021-2022. @hxh-seasonal-events

I got 3 squares from the Bingo Card 3, 4x4: hot chocolate, music and black ice. Who knows, maybe I can come up with a sequel to get an actual bingo.

Summary: Killua's baby sister is all grown up now, and he finds himself alone on a Friday night. A meddling bartender and a friendly stranger might be just what he needs.

It’s past midnight when Killua walks into the diner. At this hour, most people in Yorknew are at clubs. He’s not surprised the establishment is fairly empty. On one side of the dining room, there are several girls sharing a table and laughing loudly. On the other side, an equally obnoxious kid noisily slurps on his mojito. If there is anything more pathetic than being alone on a Friday night, it is to be alone at a table. Killua ignores the other customers and makes a bee-line for the bar.

The bartender is tall and overdressed. He is absentmindedly drying a cup when Killua sits down in front of him. “What can I get you, kid?” He says, shooting Killua a short glance over his glasses before grabbing another cup.

“Whatever whisky you have, rocks.”

The order stops the bartender on his tracks. “You old enough to drink?” He asks, and Killua sighs, fishing his wallet from his pocket. Frankly, the question was stupid. Of course he is old enough to drink. He’s wandering around alone late in a city as dangerous as Yorknew. What kind of terrible parents would let that happen? My kind of terrible parents, Killua thinks to himself and almost laughs at his own joke. He manages to keep his face straight as he hands his ID to the bartender, who looks at it suspiciously for a moment, but goes to grab a bottle of Johnnie Walker.

Killua plays with his drink when it arrives. He takes a sip, swirls it around, takes another. A laugh booms across the room and Killua steals a look towards the annoying group of friends. They remind him of Alluka and her newfound companions. The thought is more bitter than the whiskey, so he downs the rest of it.

Around his forth shot, the bartender starts sending Killua concerned glances, with a hint of anger. On his sixth, the guy finally snaps. “You know, while you’re here wasting your liver, somebody else is in need of one.”

Killua scoffs. “I don’t remember asking you anything, old man.”

The bartender looks livid. “I’m not an old man! Listen, kid, if you keep chugging like this you won’t make it home.”

“The guy is not even tipsy, Leorio.” A new voice joins the conversation, and Killua looks over his shoulder to find the mojito kid walking towards them. Killua wants to send him away, but the way he recognizes the other’s sobriety, plus how unimpressed he sounds, picks Killua’s interest.

‘Leorio’ is now staring at Killua like he has grown a third eye. “You’re not drunk?”

“Nope.” Is all Killua gives him. His eyes are still glued to Mojito Kid, who up close seems to be his age, and has yet to sit at the bar. Killua raises an eyebrow at him.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not miserable.” Mojito Kid says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I could smell it from my booth. Would you care to join me? I can get you a beer.”

Both Killua and the bartender stare at Mojito Kid, the former blinking slowly. Killua did find it depressing that the guy was sitting by himself, but the normal thing to do would be for both of them to be at the bar, a couple of empty stools between them out of respect. Why would they share a booth? Still, he is right about one thing: Killua is miserable, and lonely. He reasons that is why he feels inclined to accept the offer (and not the guy’s bright amber eyes).

“I guess. But no funny business, I’m not going home with you.”

“Of course! Name’s Gon, by the way.” Mojito Kid, or Gon, extends his hand.

Killua shakes it, and Gon pulls him up. “Killua.”

Keep reading on AO3

#killugon #fanfiction #hunter x hunter #fanfic #fanfic preview #hxh bingo #not beta read #we die like men

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hard-boiled-criminal · 4 years ago

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Planetary Magick: 2

(Twisted wonderland x reader)

Masterlist

_______________________

Unedited

“Yeah…charming.” Apparently, by ‘charm,’ the headmaster meant ‘dilapidated and might have asbestos.’

An old Iron fence surrounded the perimeter, the bars mangled and twisted, as if something rammed into it over and over at each possible section of fence. You could only hope that whatever did that was no longer here. Unsurprisingly, the fencing was rusted in many places and had dead vines draped around them, no doubt having tried to survive on the fence but to no avail. What stood out as odd to you though, was the gate: it had an intricate design reminiscent of the black skeletal structure of a stained-glass window. Though it was odd to see these graceful curves and patterns on the gate compared to the arrow-headed fencing, it was something else that put you off. The gate itself was in pristine condition—no rust or dents whatsoever. You noticed an old, rusted padlock on the ground nearby, which was most likely used to seat the gate once upon a time, but that only lead to more confusion about why only the gate was so well taken care off.

The grounds themselves were mostly barren, save for a few vertical hedges and some dead trees. The dorm building itself sat atop the small hill and was in pretty bad shape. All the windows had been sloppily boarded up and patches of shingles were missing from all over the roof.

“Right, right,” Crowley brushed off your comment and lead you up the stone stairs towards the dorm. “Please come inside.”

‘Maybe it’s not that bad on the inside?’

Scratch that, you felt like the guy on the receiving end of “Sike! That’s the wrong number!” You didn’t think it could get even worse, but the interior proved you wrong. It was a complete mess inside; furniture stained and overturned, firewood and books scattered everywhere, cobwebs and spiderwebs in every nook and cranny, paintings and pictures either crooked on the wall or on the ground. The wallpaper was peeling at the seams with patches missing all over, and one of the wall sconces was completely broken, both the lightbulb and glass cover missing. And while the floorboards looked okay, there was no doubt in your mind that some of them were definitely rotted and would collapse under your weight in a heartbeat.

You turn and blankly stare at the headmaster. Did he really believe these were suitable living conditions? You were almost positive there was mold in this run-down dorm, and who knows which ones pose a threat to you since you’re an alien? “Does OSHA not exist here or something?”

“I’m sorry, but I do not believe I have heard of this ‘oh-shuh,’” Crowley replied, sounding honest.

“The Occupational Safety and Health Administration?” You got a blank look from Crowley. You sighed, “figures…” ‘Note to self: learn how to establish a government-funded fantasy OSHA so you can pile Crowley with violation fines. Or at least threaten him with them so he’ll fix up the damn place.’

“Staying here will at least keep you out of the rain,” he rushed to get his sentences out. Maybe he got nervous when he heard you say ‘safety and health?’ “I’m going back to do more research. Make yourself at home. Don’t go wandering around the school! Goodbye!” With that, Crowley rushed out the door in a hurry.

‘Well fuck. First order of business: cleaning up lest I die of never-ending sneezing fits.’ You were only able to get all the furniture upright before it started to rain, making you lose all focus and run to peak out a window, trying to get a good angle to see the rain, and hopefully lightning, through the boards.

You’ve always loved the sounds of rain and thunder. More importantly, there was finally something normal. Hearing the rain pattering against window and seeing the occasional flashes of lighting in the distance relaxed you. Out of habit, you counted the seconds between the lightning and thunder to estimate how far away it was. You counted eight seconds before you heard the low rumbling of thunder.

You sighed, content, before you remembered, “It’s storming! I can collect storm water!” You ran to the first door you saw and flung it open to see what looked to be a kitchen. Excited to finally get a round of good luck, you searched through the cabinets, grabbing any jars and bowls you could find. You found a total of three glass jars, which you removed the lids from, and two large bowls. You stacked the bowls and placed the jars as best as you could inside the top bowl before heading back out the front door. You walked out from the covered entrance into the rain and placed the containers along the side of the stone path so they wouldn’t be in the way. The rain started to fall heavily, forcing you to run back inside before you were completely drenched. Luckily, the large hooded cloak you wore kept you dry for the most part. You carefully pulled off the partially-singed wet coat and draped it across the back of the rocking chair you righted earlier to dry.

“Hyii! It’s really coming down!”

Startled, you snapped your head to face the direction the voice came from, only to be met with that same bakeneko (monster cat) that tried to incinerate you.

“Gyahaha! You’ve got this stupid look on your face like a spider being attacked by a water gun!” The bakeneko cackled at you. They must have snuck in when you set out the bowls and jars. “I’ll have no trouble sneaking back into school. If you think getting thrown out is gonna make me give up on getting in, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Mm, well good luck little bakeneko. It might help to not set the school on fire,” you gave them some helpful advice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. All that matters is that I get into this school,” the bakeneko brushed off your words. “Afterall, I’m a genius who is destined to be a great magician! I've been waiting for the Ebony Carriage to come pick me up. But... But... Hmph! The Dark Mirror just doesn't have an eye for this. So that's why I came here on my own. Not letting me in would be a loss for the world; humans just don't get it.”

“Well, I have to agree with you on the Dark Mirror part. Afterall, it decided to kidnap me, and I can’t do any of that flash-bang-boom magic you’ve been throwin’ around.” ‘But I can do other magick… I wonder if they have my kind of magick here… I’ll have to do some research later…’

“Wha? You can’t use magic? Pfft! You’re useless!” The bakeneko shrieked as a drop of water fell on him through the ceiling. “So cold! The roof is leaking!” He didn’t move out of the way before another drop hit him. “Fgyaa! It keeps coming! My adorable ear fire is gonna go out at this rate!”

‘Instant karma, bitch.’ You sighed, “I guess I’ll go get one of the bowls.”

“Magic should fix this leak up real quick, but you don’t got any.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t make things go boom, I get it. If you’ve got such a problem with the leak, why don’t you fix it yourself, bakeneko?” You said over your shoulder as you walked to the door to collect one of the bowls from outside.

“Huh? Help you? No way! I’m just a regular monster staying in a rainy place. You better get a can of tuna ready before I do any work.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” You felt a drop of water land on your head this time. ‘Looks like I’ll need to get both of the bowls.’ You grabbed your damp cloak from the rocking chair and quickly threw it on before running outside towards the bowls. They had already collected about half a centimeter of storm water, and not wanting to waste it, you poured the contents of the bowls into the closest jar. Sprinting back inside, you first placed the bowls down at your feet so you could quickly peel off your now-soaked cloak and hang it back on the rocking chair. You placed the bowls under what looked to be the worst leaks in the lounge area. ‘I wonder if there’s a cleaning bucket or something in a closet somewhere.’

“Yo, I’m gonna go see if they’ve got a bucket somewhere,” you notified the bakeneko, not getting an answer, as expected.

You peered over into a nearby hallway, suddenly much more nervous as you stared down the long, dark hallway. ‘This feels like a horror game and I hate it.’ You tentatively took a step forward, and then another. You made it about five slow steps in before the floor loudly squeaked under your weight. ‘I just had an interesting thought: Actually, fuck this.’ You spun on your heel with false bravado, your entire body now tense. As you stiffly walked back towards the lounge, you froze in place as you felt the familiar tingle of eyes watching you. ‘Okay. Don’t look back. Just. Just keep walking. Put one foot in front of the other.’

It turns out it didn’t matter if you looked back or not because three ghosts suddenly appeared in front of you. They… didn’t look how you’d expect ghosts to look like. These ones looked more… cartoonish. They weren’t half as scary-looking as some of the monsters you’d seen in Scooby-Doo.

One of the ghosts giggled while the other two spoke, “We haven’t had a guest in so long…” Said one.

“I’m itching for some action,” said the other.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass. I’ve had enough excitement for one day, thanks,” their completely underwhelming appearance circumvented practically all your initial fear, leaving you with only pure exhaustion. You didn’t have much of a filter in this state, but you didn’t really give two shits about what you said when you were tired anyway.

“Why are you talking to yourself…” the bakeneko walked around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “Gyaaa! G-g-g-g-ghooosts!”

Looked like someone was afraid of the cartoon ghosts.

“The people living here got scared of us and left,” a ghost explained.

“We’ve been looking for more ghost pals,” another spoke. “How about you guys?”

“Deadass? Fuckin’ go for it.”

The ghosts and bakeneko looked a bit shocked that you blatantly agreed to let them kill you to turn you into a ghost.

“Wow, you guys aren’t up to date on humor, are you?”

The bakeneko was the first to snap out of disbelief and shouted, “Grim, the Great Magician, isn’t scared of some ghosts!”

‘Heh, I ain’t afraid of no ghost.’ You had to mentally remind yourself to not start humming the ghost busters theme.

Grim, as you now learned his name was (you think), spewed more of that bright blue fire, completely missing all of the ghosts.

“Where are you aiming?” The ghosts mocked him and laughed. “Over here, over here!”

“Shoot! Stop disappearing!” Grim uselessly shouted at them and continued to be a living flamethrower.

“My mans, please, stop. At this rate there’ll be no dorm left to keep us dry.”

“Shut up! Don’t try to give me orders!”

“…I’m too tired to deal with this shit anymore. Fine. I’ll get you a can of tuna if you win without burning the house down.” You mumbled the first part before speaking to Grim.

“Wah? Mm, I-I’m a genius. I won’t let one—” Grim tried to keep his stubborn pride but was interrupted by the ghosts’ mocking laughter. “Bunch of cowards, ganging up on us!”

“Two cans. Take it or leave it.”

Your new offer seemed to change Grim’s tune in a heartbeat. “Hey, you! Tell me where the ghosts are!”

“’Kay. On your left,” Grim followed your orders and managed to singe one of the ghosts with his flames.

“I hit it!” Grim shouted, now sounding excited. “Alright, let’s chase them all outta here!”

Cue you shouting directions at Grim and him spewing fire in said directions. In all honesty, it felt like a pokemon battle. Except your pokemon was a talking cat with a holier-than-thou attitude. And you were fighting actual ghosts—not ghost type pokemon—actual previously-living-human ghosts. After a few minutes of Grim burning the ghosts, however that worked, they eventually fled the scene of your would-be murder.

“E-eh? We…won?” Grim spoke with the disbelief of someone who has never won in life before.

“Yup. Good job bakeneko Grim.”

“Ha-heee, that was scar—No, I wasn’t scared at all!” Oh Grim, what caused you to act like your pride is what matters the most? “This is nothing for the Great Grim! How ‘bout that, ghosts? You done?”

“Hey, don’t taunt them, bakeneko. If they come back, I’m not giving you directions.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘bakeneko?’ What’s that even mean?”

“Mm, it’s because you’re like a bakeneko. They’re mononoke, yokai, that resemble cats,” Grim looked ready to protest, but you continued before he had the chance, “and are extremely powerful. If you anger a bakeneko, your chances of getting out alive are slim to none.”

“Hmmph, well, I suppose The Great Grim will allow you to call him by such a title.”

Before you could continue to talk about bakeneko and other mononoke or yokai, Crowley came in through the front door just as you and Grim made it back to the lounge.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “I have graciously brought you supper.” That’s when he noticed Grim beside you. “You’re the monster that ran amuck during the entrance ceremony! I threw you out of the school! What are you doing here?”

“Hmph! I exterminated the ghost problem! Be grateful!” Grim puffed out his chest as he spoke, continuing to act high and mighty.

“Hmm? What do you mean by that?”

“…There were ghosts here that wanted to turn us into ghosts,” you blandly explained to the headmaster.

“Now that you mention it, there were some prankster ghosts living here so students keep away from this dormitory. And that's why it is now empty. I'd forgotten that.”

You half-heartedly glared at the headmaster. ‘Oh, how convenient. You put up the broke alien in a haunted house with killer ghosts that you just so happened to forget about.’

“However, hmmmm…” Crowley either didn’t notice or acknowledge your glare. “For you two to work together to get rid of them.”

“I'm not gonna overlook that "together" comment. They were just standing there watching. And I did this for a can of tuna—Ah! I haven't gotten that tuna yet!” Grim spoke, still holding on tight to that attitude of his.

‘Grim, I swear to whatever deities rule this place that you aren’t gonna get those cans of tuna if you keep up this habit of pushing others down to raise yourself up.’

“I'd like the two of you to show me how you exterminated those ghosts.”

‘Crowley, no—'

“But we already got rid of all the ghosts! Before that: Give. Me. Tuna!” Oh Grim, so we can agree sometimes!

“I shall be the ghosts. If you beat me, I'll give you tuna cans. For I am gracious.”

“Uh, no, wait, Mr. Crowley, please—”

“Now then, Transformation Potion!” Crowley pulled a vial of liquid from his coat and downed it in one go. It didn’t take long for him to become transparent and ghost-like.

“Eeeeeeeh, I don't wanna. This is a pain and I have to team up with them again…�� Grim whined.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Bakeneko, maybe if you show him how strong your magic is, he’ll let you be a student.”

“Grrrnnuuu,” Grim grumbled, annoyed. “This is the last time! You absolutely, absolutely have to give me the tuna!”

And you found yourself in a pokemon battle once more; this time, it was you and a bakeneko versus an actual living breathing person that can turn into a ghost.

‘If it’s a pokemon battle, might as well use pokemon rules.’ You pointed at the see-through headmaster, “Grim, bite him!”

“Hah? You really are a stupid human!” Grim shouted and spewed fire instead, though he missed like before.

“Fine, we’ll use your fire, but I’m explaining the pokemon system to you later. On your left!”

Turns out, pokemon battles can get boring when it’s just the same thing over and over again. Eventually, it seemed the effects of the potion wore out and Crowley returned to his usual opaque self.

“Hee-haaa…” Grim was panting, trying to catch his breath. “How 'bout that!”

“I can't believe… There is a person who can command monsters,” Crowley spoke in mild awe mixed with disbelief.

‘…Does this world not have pokemon? Should I?... No, I shouldn’t… but what if—what if I introduced myself as Gary Oak and just… no I can’t do that. I can’t tell people “smell ya later.”’

“Hmmm... Actually, my teacher senses were telling me since the uproar during the entrance ceremony that you have talent as an animal or wild beast trainer.”

‘…This man is really making this a cliché pokemon plot… Is this how it all started? Am I the original trainer!? Nah… Unless—’

“But, no matter how…” Crowley began muttering to himself, to quiet for me to make out.

“Hey, just let him stay here,” you were exhausted at this point and the bakeneko had honestly grown on you some. Plus, you needed him around in order to explain pokemon to him.

“What now? Let a monster live here?” You couldn’t see Crowley’s face behind the mask, but you were sure he was giving you a judging look.

“Well, I mean, he did just show you the magic he’s got, which is a whole lot more than I’ve got, and you’re letting me stay here. So why not let him stay? He still a magician, he’s just, well, in the shape of a cat.”

After a few seconds, Crowley sighed, “It can’t be helped.”

“Funa!? Really?!” Grim’s eyes widened and lit up as bright as his flames.

“However, I can't simply allow someone, let alone a monster, into school who wasn't selected by the Dark Mirror. Also, I can't let you be a freeloader here until you return to your own world.”

“Talk about short-lived joy…”

“Listen until the end,” Crowley then turned to you. “Concerning the fact that your soul was called here, the school has to take responsibility as the owners of the Dark Mirror. For the time being, you'll be permitted to stay in this dormitory for free, but other necessities you will have to provide for yourself.”

‘Uhhh what? I don’t even have my own clothes. How the hell am I supposed to live with no money or ID?’

“Seeing as you have nothing to your name,” he gave a slight chuckle for reasons unknown, “here is my proposition.”

Your mind immediately jumped to all the horror stories you’ve heard of what comes from owing shady people favors. The growing panic must have shown on your face according to Crowley’s next words.

“No need to fret, I'll have you do maintenance and odd jobs around campus. From what I can see, you're pretty decent at cleaning,” he said after glancing around the room. “Would you two like to become the "handyman" of the school? This way you will receive special permission to remain on school grounds. You'll also be able to research going home or study whatever you desire in the library. For I am gracious. However! Only after your work is done.”

“Eeeh!? I'm not okay with that!” Grim complained. “I wanna wear that fancy uniform and be a student!”

“It's fine if you're unsatisifed. I'll simply toss you out again.”

“Ffgnnaa!? I get it! I just have to do it. Just do it!”

“’Kay.”

“Wonderful,” Crowley clapped his hands once in delight of our agreeance. “Then, you two starting tomorrow, endeavor to be the best handyman at Night Raven College!”

“Cool, now that that’s settled, headmaster,” he turned to face you. “I’m, like, about to pass out from pain. I’m covered in bruises and burns, plus my vision is blurry and I can’t focus on anything. My eyes are like a camera lens that twenty children smeared their greasy fingers on. You’re magical in that flashy, immediate results way, right? Doesn’t that mean you or someone else can help me not feel like I want to peel off my skin? It’d be cool for my skin to not burn when I get cleaning solution on it tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course,” Crowley almost seemed sheepish, as if he were embarrassed to have not truly noticed the state you were in until now. “While healing magic is not my forte, it should be enough to heal the wounds you have.”

He pointed his palmed towards you and you watched as it began to glow a pale yellow. Slowly you felt your burns and bruises dull themselves to just faint aches. He kept this up for about a minute before he extinguished his magic and pulled his hand back.

“Now, the worst of your wounds are still be a bit tender, but they should be completely healed after a good night’s rest. So, off you go then; sleep now so you’re ready for work in the morning,” He shooed you off with a hand gesture.

“Thank you, headmaster. C’mon Grim, let’s get going.”

As you and Grim headed up the stairs, the headmaster turned around and walked out of the building. Each step creaked under your weight as you trudged up them. While the pain was all but gone, your fatigue was still all-consuming. You followed Grim down the upper hallway, since it seemed he already picked a room before, probably when you went to find a bucket. You followed him into a room in a similar condition as the rest of the dorm. Across from the door sat a fireplace in the center of the opposite wall, a large mirror mounted above it. There were tall windows stationed on either side of the fireplace, almost as tall as the room itself. Towards the left side was a chair covered by a gray dust-cloth, and on the right sat a simple twin-sized bed. You pulled the duvet off the bed and shook it out, watching as you made a cloud of dust dance in the air. As soon as you placed the comforter back on the bed, Grim jumped up and curled himself up in the center of the bed. You were too tired to do anything about that; you’d just have too try and sleep around him. After shaking any dust off of your pillow, you slid yourself under the covers, one leg dangerously close to sliding off the bed. You fell asleep in record time that night.

. . .

You had a rather rude awakening the next morning consisting of Grim yelling at you and pawing at your face because the ghosts were back. Streams of blazing blue fire almost singeing your face made this one of your worst morning experiences to date. With a final warning of there being a one-sided prank war, the ghosts phased away.

“We’ll get rid of you eventually!” Grim shouted after them, but there was nothing but thin air left.

“C’mon, bakeneko. Let’s go see if there’s any food in the kitchen,” You beckoned Grim with a small wave.

“Hmph. Fine. But there better be tuna!” Grim said with a harrumph and trotted out the door ahead of you.

As you went down the stair at the end of the hallway, you saw Crowley standing in the lounge room, waiting for you and Grim.

“Good morning, you two,” he greeted when he noticed you. “Did you sleep well?”

“I was sprawled out then fell out the bottom! Just how ramshackle did you let this place get?” Grim shouted, equally as upset about the state of the dorm as you were. “Then the ghosts woke me up, this is the worst!”

“Like the dead,” was your response.

“Even though you just got tossed from another world you can still be cheeky, wonderful!” Crowley was as upbeat as ever. “I came to speak to you about your work for today. Today you are to clean the campus, but campus is quite large. Cleaning it all without magic is impossible. So, I'd like you to clean Main Street to the main gate to the library, understood? Please watch Grim closely so he doesn't cause a scene like yesterday.”

“I’ll try best,” you said and shrugged. You didn’t know what you’d do if Grim went out of control; you’re not fireproof, after all.

“I'm counting on you. You have permission to have lunch in the school cafeteria. Take care of your work enthusiastically,” and with a flutter of his feathered cape, Crowley took his leave, presumably going back to campus.

“Tsk, no way I'm doing any cleaning,” Grim scrunched his nose at the thought. “I wanna go to class and, bang! Boom boom boom! Use a bunch of awesome spells!” He punched at the air with his ‘booms.’

“How ‘bout we just go to the library after we finish cleaning. Besides, libraries are where they keep all the old forbidden knowledge!” Yeah, under lock and key so no one can read them, but you weren’t about to tell Grim that. “Imagine just how much the other students will revere your power if you master ancient magic!”

“Well, what are you waiting for, human? Let’s get going!”

“Okay but let me collect my storm water first. If I wait too long, it’ll all evaporate.”

“Hmph, fine, but make it quick!”

You quickly jogged over to your bowls and jars that each held a good two inches/five centimeters worth of storm water. You poured all the water you collected into one of the jars before carrying everything back inside. You set them all down on the kitchen counter, then checked the cabinets for a lid to the jar. After finding a lid and sealing the storm water in the corresponding jar, you met back up with Grim in the lounge.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”

“About time,” Grim sauntered off, sass radiating from him with each step.

. . .

The campus was bustling with life, students with hair every color of the rainbow going every which way. After a couple minutes of walking towards what you hoped was Main Street, the crowds began to thin out, students having made it to their respective classes. It wasn’t all that hard to find Main Street, seeing as it was the busiest and largest street on campus. What you weren’t expecting was the street to be lined with seven statues of iconic Disney villains.

‘I thought… I thought I was supposed to be on another planet or world or something? Why are there Disney Villains? Are you telling me that Walt Disney himself was able to expand his franchise across all of time and space?! And maybe across dimensions and alternate universes too?! Hey Walt? You’re taking it too far, man.’

“Uwaaaah~ Amazing. So, this is Main Street. I didn't get a good look yesterday but what's with these statues? All seven of them look pretty scary. This granny looks especially snobby,” Grim said, making a face at the Queen of Hearts.

“You mean the Queen of Hearts? Yeah, she played croquet with flamingos as the mallets and hedgehogs as the balls. While they were alive. Not cool if you ask me. Or most people. Animal cruelty is bad.”

“Ehh?! Why would this lady do that?” Grim looked appropriately confused.

“Who knows? Besides, the Cheshire cat is way better. A true chaotic neutral, that one.”

“Who’s that? And what does a cat have to do with this granny?”

You were about to answer before you were cut off by a new challenger approaching. “You don’t know about the Queen of Hearts?” They had a boyish appearance with short, messy orange hair and a red heart stamped over their left eye.

‘Actually, we were just about to discuss the Cheshire cat, but go ahead and assume, I guess.’

“You know her too? Is she important?” Grim asked the redhead, his attention easily being grabbed by this newcomer.

“In the past, she was the queen who lived in the Rose Maze. She was someone who valued rules and discipline above all, strict in all things from the march of the Card Soldiers to the color of rose bushes. It was a land of madness where all submit to her rule. Why you ask? Because or else it was off with your head!” The heart-eye boy monologued with some dramatic flair.

“That's terrifying!” Grim shrieked, probably at the thought of someone chopping his head off.

“It's cool! I like it. Nobody would listen to a queen who's just nice all the time, right?”

‘Uhhhh, that queen is a tyrant, and tyrants are what lead to revolutions so… vive la révolution.’

“I suppose. A strong leader is better.” Oh, Grim, you sweet summer child who doesn’t know the difference between strength and fear.

“By the way, who are you?” Grim asked.

“I'm Ace, a fresh-faced first year. Nice to meetcha~” The boy, Ace, said with a musical lilt.

“I am Grim, a genius who'll become the greatest magician. The dimwit over here is (y/n). They're my henchmen.”

“Bakeneko, don’t you dare put me on the same level as a Scooby-Doo villain’s underling.” You glared at Grim who gave a sheepish chuckle in response.

“You've got an odd sounding name.”

“People from different places have different names. It’s called culture.” You said blandly, trying to cover up your growing anxiety.

Ace shrugged. “I guess. Just never heard your name before.”

“Hey, Ace,” Grim grabbed his attention; you could feel your shoulders sag in relief. “The lion over here with the scar, are they famous?”

Well, Ace seemed to have this handled, and you didn’t need to hear him summarize the Disney villains. Instead, you ignored him and went over to the statue of Hades and looked at him.

‘If this confirms that Hades also exists in this world, does that mean I can work with him? I know many witches back on Earth work with Greek deities, with Hades and Persephone usually being the best of them to work with. Hmm… I’ll have to do some more research.’

You then crouched down to read the stone plaque engraved in Hades’ pedestal. The large plaque read: “The lord of the underworld and guide to the wandering souls of the dead. He carried out his fearsome duties with diligence and care, m…ing even the de…t to offer their aid.” Some words had eroded away, becoming mostly unintelligible sans a few letters.* You tried to make out those two unknown words, tracing your fingers around the grooves in hopes that just maybe you’ll be able to figure out enough of the letters to piece the word together.

“No matter how long you stare at it, you’re not gonna get anything out of that, y’know,” Ace said from behind you.

You sighed and stood up, your momentary reprieve from your anxiety over. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to check.” The plaque didn’t have any information you didn’t already know, except for maybe the words you didn’t know.

“Anyway,” Ace cleared his throat, “He's the Lord of the Underworld! He rules a land crawling with evil spirit on his own. No doubt he is extremely skilled. Even though he's got a scary face, he did that detestable job without ever taking a vacation, and his sincerity won over Cerberus, the Hydra, even the Titans, to fight for him.”

“Hmmm, Hmmm. So having talent doesn't mean you get to be haughty.” Grim hummed in thought.

‘Oh, my sweet tiny bakeneko, you’re learning about manners; I’m so proud.’

“And the last one, with the horns?”

‘Oh hell yeah, Maleficent! We stan an absolute queen. Besides, who doesn’t love dragons?’

“That is the Witch of Thorns from the Magic Mountains,” Ace said, addressing Maleficent with a title rather than her name. “Noble and elegant, even within the Seven, she is top class in magic and curses! She can summon lightning and storms, cover an entire country in thorns; her magic is on a whole other level. There was even a time she transformed into a huge dragon!”

“Oooh! A dragon! All monsters look up to them!” Grim shouted excitedly.

“They're all so cool~” Ace spoke, almost dreamily, before his tone did a 180 and turned snide. “…Unlike a certain raccoon.”

“Pfft... Ahaha! I can't bear it anymore! Ahahahaha!” Ace broke out into laughter. “Aren't you the guys who went crazy at the entrance ceremony? You were summoned by the Dark Mirror even though you can't use magic, and you, a monster, weren't called but still trespassed. Yeahhh, it took everything I had not to lose it at the ceremony.”

“Whaaa!? You're a rude one!” Grim fumed, his ear fire growing in size.

You just stood there and narrowed your gaze, your anger and anxiety fighting each other for full reign. Anxiety won out in the end, keeping you silent when met with his jabs.

“And now you aren't allowed in and got regulated to be a janitor? Haha, how lame,” Ace continued mocking the both of you.

‘It’s not like I had a choice in the matter…’ You clenched your jaw while Grim growled. You could feeling the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, beginning to rise.

“On top of that, you don't even know about the Great Seven,” Ace just didn’t know when to stop. “How ignorant can you be? As I recommend you go back to kindergarten before coming to Night Raven College.”

Grim’s growls got louder as Ace continued. You, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to speak and defend either of you. You felt your throat begin to close up.

“I thought I'd just mess with you a bit, but you really blew my expectations away. Unlike you two, I actually have classes to attend. Keep this school squeaky clean, you two~” He gave you a patronizing wave before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

“This jerk! He's just gonna say that and leave! I'm ticked off!” Grim opened his mouth wide.

“Wait, don’t—” You weren’t fast enough to stop Grim from using flamethrower, for a lack of better terms, on Ace.

“Oh! Watch out! What're you doing!?” Ace angrily yelled at Grim, having just barely dodged in time.

“It's what you get for making fun of me! I'm going light up that fire-head of yours!” Grim matched Ace’s volume.

“Fire-head, huh? Heeeeee. You've really got guts picking a fight with me. I'll turn you into a puffy, little toy-poodle!”

Grim spewed more flames at Ace’s threat.

‘Nope, fuck this. Fuck this. I can’t breathe, dammit!’ You hid behind the nearest statue, which happened to be Maleficent, and kneeled on the ground, trying to steady yourself and calm down enough for your throat to reopen. You bent over to rest your head on the cool grass, closing your eyes and covering your ears, trying to block out the sources of your near attack. You focused on the feel of the grass against your forehead, feeling the separations between the different blades. They were still a bit damp from the morning dew. The more you distracted yourself from the thought of Ace: stressor of the century, the more your throat relaxed and allowed you to draw breath normally once more. You jumped when a shriek pierced through your ears, completely bypassing your hand barriers and reversing all the progress you made towards calming down. Worried that the shriek meant someone got hurt, you jumped out from behind the statue. Instead of someone being hurt, to your relief (you weren’t excited about being an accomplice to assault), the Queen of Hearts’ statue was blackened.

“Crap! The Queen of Hearts' statue is charred!” Ace yelled, the dread on his face matching the shriek you just heard from him.

“It's because you're blowing the fire around! Just let me fry you!” Grim shouted back at him.

“You really think someone is just gonna let you fry them?”

“Enough!!! Just what is going on here!” The voice of Crowley boomed at the three of you, making you flinch.

‘…Fuck,’ looks like you’re not going to be able to avoid an anxiety attack after all.

“Guh! Headmaster,” Ace went rigid.

“He's going to tie us up with the 'lash of love'!” Grim yelled. “Get outta here!”

Though they tried to run, both were caught by Crowley’s whip, foiling their escape plans and making them both yelp in pain.

“Hurts just as much the second day in a row!” Grim whined.

“This is my Lash of Love!” Crowley was furious, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon. “It'll be another hundred years before you can outrun me! I told you just yesterday to 'not cause any trouble', didn't I? Then you go and char the statues of the Great Seven!” He directed his words at Grim before turning to Ace. “I very much would like to see you expelled.”

“Wait! Not that!”

“And you,” Crowley looked at you, making you freeze in place. “This is not how you supervise Grim.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, unable to gather the breath to form a single word. How could you talk when you were struggling to even breathe?

“My goodness,” Crowley huffed in indignation before turning to Ace. “You, what's your grade and name?”

“Ace Trappola, first year.”

“Then, Trappola, Grim, and (y/n), as punishment, I order the three of you to wash 100 windows around campus!”

“Nyaaa!? It's all cause this joker was making fun of us!” Grim protested, his fur standing on end to make him look bigger and more intimidating. It didn’t work.

“Eeeh!? Me too?” Ace looked at the headmaster in disbelief.

“Most definitely! After school, meet in the cafeteria. Understood?”

“Fiiine…”

“Nothing but misery since yesterday!” Grim complained.

Soon, both Crowley and Ace left, and you felt your body slump in relief, your knees buckling under you.

“Wha—hey, human! What’re you doing?” Grim ran up to you, genuinely confused.

You held up a finger to say ‘gimme a minute’ while you caught your breath. “Sorry…Grim…” you said after a minute, panting between words.

“Why are you out of breath? It’s not like you were running or anything.”

“This…this just happens… sometimes…” you shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, leaning against the statue of Maleficent behind you. “I’m not very good with yelling… or with people, for that matter.”

“Hmmm,” Grim hummed in thought. “You humans are weird.”

You gave a soft chuckle at that, “that we are, Grim. That we are.” The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two as your attack gradually faded away. “Hey Grim? I have a proposition for you.”

“Hah? What do you mean human?”

“What if we skipped lunch so we can make Ace suffer a bit?”

“Heee! Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Grim grinned widely, showing of his shark-like teeth.

*That was all I could make out from the plaque you can see in the seven statues background image.

A/N: Life’s been pretty shit recently hasn’t it.

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

Text

We’re Outsiders

This is a re-upload, or a throwback (originally written back in 2018). I hope you guys enjoy it too! I’ve edited it a little bit as well, since it’s original posting on the ye old @calumh-excess.

Calum’s used to being the on the fringe and used to be the one that fucks it all up. Cookie’s always used to being on the outside. Happens most of the time and completely out of her control. Together, they remind each other it’s okay to be on the outside--all you need sometimes is a shot.

Greaser!AU. Black OC.

CW: Deals with racism (some mentions of racially charged words), mentions of violence.

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on Ko-fi!

_____________________________________

Calum’s used to the dark. Most nights it’s just him out too late, past the time the street lights turn on. He likes it, driving down streets in the blinking of the streetlights as he glides over asphalt. The roads lined with trees and houses. The roads are lined with life that moves all around him, but are not bothered by him. That brings him peace. He’s so often the outsider. He’s the one that everyone stares at, with soft whispers. He knows what they’re saying is never good. He’s built that reputation for himself, with his slicked back hair, cuffed jeans and leather jacket. He’s done it to himself, being other and further ostracizing himself.

It’s not the life he chose for himself. His parents kicked him out and he had nowhere else to go. So Ashton, a guy from the south side that Calum had grown comfortable with, offered his house. It kept him in the same school for his last year and off the streets, so he took it. His friend group expanded, but now he was getting himself in more trouble than usual. Originally not a Prep and not a Greaser, Calum had managed to keep under the radar for the first year of high school. But now that he was living with Ashton, a prominent Greaser and hanging with the likes of Michael and Luke. Calum made a new name for himself.

Calum’s parents weren’t a fan of his interest in boxing. Calum took to amateur boxing as a way to finally feel like someone. His stature made it easy for him to lie about his age in the beginning of it at barely fifteen and no one cared enough to double check. Calum knew he’d never really go anywhere ultimately. He knew he’d wind up somewhere local, knew he’d end up in overalls in the car shop, changing tires and oil. After coming home too many times, coming home bloody, his parents had had enough.

Now with the Greasers, it was becoming evident Calum wasn’t just some quiet guy in the corner. His interest was saving his ass. When people wanted to pin them into corners, get into their faces, he always had a backup plan in his pocket. Fighting wasn’t his first resort, not initially. He’d try to talk a situation down. It doesn’t last long for anyone trying to pick a fight. Just about any and every fight ended with Calum standing, sometimes wavering just a little over some poor boy’s sweater vest and plaid shirt, covered in blood droplets, his fists put up in front of his face.

“Maybe sometimes, I just ought to run away from a fight,” Calum huffs to himself as his bike putters to a halt in front of the diner. “And I ought to gas this up more often too.”

He knew before he got the school to tutor that he needed to grab some gas. But he definitely thought he’d make it to the station closer to the city line. Tutoring felt like a saving grace. After work Calum spent a few hours at the school helping kids. It reminded him that he wasn’t all bad. It made him realize there was still humanity to him.

The kids he tutored normally never cared about school. They were too busy trying to survive, not wanting to be the next Black body to wash up into a river or hanging like strange fruit from a tree. But they needed school, even though Calum empathized with them, he knew they needed the basics. They needed to write, do basic addition, needed to read just a little bit. So that’s how he worked with them. He’d level with them, You can’t take that girl out on a date if you don’t know how to count how much cash you have and how much it’s gonna cost you. And you definitely can’t be cool daddy-o, if you not reading well.

The thing about kids is that they always asked; they knew he was trying to survive too in a world that seemed like it was always trying to kill them. If he came back with a black eye, or a busted lip, they asked him if his addition got him out of that fight. Calum would try not to encourage this kind of behavior, but he had to admit, the joke would be funny. Calum would reply nearly the same way, “Yeah, I added one fist plus two fists and put his candy ass flat. I’ll try subtraction next time.”

Right now though, Calum’s gotta focus on getting gas. He passes this diner all the time. He’s just never stopped here. It’s a silent understanding that this is a Blacks only establishment. He’s given a few kids rides after tutoring here. The parking lot is always full of Black people hanging around the doors and in cars, laughing as they part from their full meals. Just a couple minutes past here by vehicle is his own town, mostly white, some Blacks sprinkled into the mix. City’s split into thirds. There’s the northern side, the southern quarter and the Western side. The Black part of town neighbors right on the edge of this town. He knows it’s done strategically. The edges have become blended over time. But it’s not by a lot. The divisions aren’t invisible.

Because of winter’s grip even though it’s only closing in on evening, the darkness keeps most people in their own homes. Booths are empty. A couple tables hold people sitting. The hostess looks up from wiping down counters, smiling. She looks vaguely familiar, he thinks, as she leans against the dry part of the counter. “What can I do ya for?”

“Gas. And maybe a shake too,” Calum counters.

Her grin widens. “I can help with the shake.”

Calum goes onto to explain, “Bike’s empty. I reckon I should pay more attention.”

He watches the way her full flips twist up, her coily hair pinned back and a dainty little white flower headband tied around the middle. She raps her fingers against the counter. “Charlie boy!” she hollers turning to the kitchen.

“He in the back gettin’ ready leave,” comes a booming voice.

“He got his gas can still in his car?” There’s a shout in return and she turns back around, voice returning to her normal sweet tone. “Give me just a second.”

Calum nods, sliding onto the barstool. She slips from the counters, running into the kitchen. He notes the lack of a skirt. Her pants are tight around her thighs and hitting her just below the knees. Wait a second, he knows those leopard print pants anywhere. Her father was the one that had a crossed burned in their front yard a couple years back. It was the only time they seemed to be targeted, but rocks were thrown their windows too.

Calum sat next to her in English in tenth grade. The last year they had together before her family moved. He heard rumors that her family owned this place. But he wasn’t sure how true those were. She was always nice to him in school. “It ain’t no white boy!” she huffs, the doors sway close behind her.

A dark skinned man, bald too, stares Calum down, lips pressed together. After a silent moment, the man speaks. His voice deep and gruff. “He da one fix Ma car. Why you ain’t tell me it was him?” It’s a playful scoff from the man as he bumps her with elbow. “I’ll be back.”

Calum recognizes him. The man scared the shit out of Calum when he walked into the car shop. He looked mean, but it was just the years wearing down his brow line. He has to put on a mean face because it keeps everyone from bothering him, as he explained to Calum. “Thank you,” Calum says, sliding down and fishing out his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“Oh, keep dat. Keep it,” the man waves his hand, turning away from him.

“At least something?” Cal asks. “For the trouble?” He holds out a five dollar bill.

“If you think it I can’t spare a couple bucks,” the man starts.

The girl cuts him off. “Charlie just go get the damn gas. Ain’t no one trying to say anything or start anything. Just go.”

Calum continues to hold out the bill even as the man disappears into the back. She slides behind the counter and Calum pushes the bill towards her. “Make sure he gets that.”

“You do realize he’s gonna raise hell. He’s too proud.”

“Please.” Calum continues to hold her gaze and all the time he’s trying to pull her name to the top of his brain. Was it Deborah? She had a nickname that she went by. Calum feels his tongue curling, but everything to the comes to the tip of it feels wrong.

With a sigh, she nods and slips the bill into the pocket of her apron. “I’ll make sure he gets it. Charlie not mean, just hardheaded. As I’m sure you know, Calum.”

He lets a small laugh escape him. “Yeah, yeah I do. Wait, you remember my name?”

She winks at him. “Course I do. I remember everyone’s name. Still want that shake?” Truth be told, she didn’t always remember everyone’s name. But she remembered his, couldn’t forget it really.

“Surprise me,” he grins.

She smiles with a shake of her head. She doesn’t go far, around the wall that separates the kitchen from the back of the counter seating. Her conversation with the cook is short. Calum leans into the counter.

When she turns back around, she notices his the silver chain around his neck as he plays with it. He looks like his mind is far away. She takes in his appearance, the golden skin, the bruises probably days old due to the coloration fading. He really hadn’t changed all that much since the last time she saw him. Maybe he got a little bit more handsome. Maybe it was a change in the cut of his jaw or the chub to his cheeks had slimmed just a hair. But it was still very much Calum in front of her.

“Been in trouble?” she asks, gently rubbing her fingers over the bruises along the back of his knuckles. Her eyes linger on the one on the top of his cheek. Her cousin had told her that he seemed to be on the straight for now, but his healing body says something different.

Calum tries to recover from the shiver running down his spine. His voice is shaky as he speaks. “I’ve been trouble.”

“Cats scared of you know, huh?” Calum hears the teasing lilt to her tone, trying to keep the subject light. He shrugs at her question in response. “I’m not. I seen you fight. You ain’t so big and bad.”

It was once. She wasn’t even sure what it was over, just happened to be turning the corner to the building to walk home and behind the school a group had gathered, Calum at the center. He was breathing heavy, fists clenched. It was he was the calm eye to the hurricane of people hollering and shouting at the fighting match happening.

“Miss stealing your English notes,” he offers. That’s not what he wants to be known for, that’s not what he wants to be remembered by as the guy that could fight. “And those tiny hearts as periods,” he chuckles. The first time he saw it, he wasn’t sure if it was a heart or not. But as he skimmed over her notes more, the clear it became that those oddly large periods were really hearts in disguise.

Totally a sore subject, so she won’t be prodding that bull anymore. “Everyone here hates ‘em.”

Calum shakes his head, a grin splitting his lips. “They were kinda cute. Hope you ain’t do it for all the cats needing your notes?”

“That’s just the way I write,” she laughs. “But for you, maybe for you they were a little bigger than most.”

“Don’t do that to me, doll,” Calum laughs. “Don’t go getting my hopes up.”

“I ain’t trying to do that. By no means.” They laugh, gazes falling from each other after a moment. He didn’t know this about her. The side that liked to dish out the jabs. They didn’t ever really interact a whole lot in class, or after school when he’d return her notes. But he likes this. He likes their back and forth.

“Did you know you used to tutor my cousin?” Calum tilts his head to the side, trying to go through the catalog of his kids. He’s trying to place her face with those that he knows. But he’s coming up short. She continues on though. “You remember Elijah? Always bettin’ somebody?”

As the grin overtakes his face, Calum laughs. “Yes, yeah, I remember that kid. Always squeezin’ me for fifty cent!”

She laughs, nodding. “That’s Elijah. He’s kept his grades up. Not all A’s. But he’s doing good. He never stopped talking about all the bets y’all made. He could bash ears about you.”

“He was a good kid. Tell ‘im I said hi, will ya?”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Cookie!” a voice bellows. That’s it! That’s the nickname. At the back of his brain, he kept trying to pull it to the surface. But just couldn’t for the life of him. She spins around, grabbing the plate and glass in the window. It’s a slice of pie as far as Calum can tell and a shake. She grabs some silverware and then slides the plate and glass in front of Calum.

“No need for you to be waitin’ and be starvin’.”

“Tell me, Cookie,” he grins as the nickname slides off his tongue, “care to split this slice with me? I remember what my momma taught me about eating dessert before dinner.”

She clicks her tongue against her teeth. “Hmm,” she considers, fingers tapping at her chin. “You can get away with the nickname. This time,” she adds on, watching Calum’s brows shooting up on his face. “You’re not the only one that can dish out a knuckle sandwich.”

Calum taps the heels of his boots together, the soft thuds echoing in the quiet air of the dinner. “I’m shakin’ in my boots.”

“You better be.”

They talk about their lives, Calum working at the shop and her finishing up school though it feels like for sure she’s spending too much time at the diner. She does it mostly to help out since her parents are short staffed at the moment. Tiny pieces are cut between laughs and shy glances up from between lashes. Without even realizing the last fork clinks against the empty plate as Charlie walks back into the diner, through the front doors. “That your bike out front?”

“Yes, sir,” Calum answer, sliding off the stool.

“C’mon, and I’ll fill her up.”

“Thank you again for helpin’ me.”

“You good people. Don’t sweat it.” He doesn’t wait around before stepping back into the dark of the now thickly settled in night.

“How much do I owe you?” He turns to Cookie and nods towards the half finished shake. She waves a hand before pulling out his five from earlier.

“Let’s just say it’s on the house.” Calum goes to speak and she shakes her head. “He won’t take the money. I’ll use it to cover the bill and give him extra on his tip,” she whispers. “Believe me, I’ve got things all worked out over here.”

It’s a fair enough system and Calum hurriedly slips into his jacket before his boots click against the floor. Charlie doesn’t seem like the kind of man to keep waiting. And Calum definitely doesn’t want to find out the hard way. But as his feet carry him closer and closer to the door, his gut keeps jumping. He doesn’t want to let this be the last time he sees Cookie.

And maybe it’s just the late night and the first time a girl looked at him that didn’t throw herself at him. Sure, Cookie flirted and he flirted back. But girls had two modes with him, they either ran away from him or they were just looking for a good time. Calum normally didn’t have anything against that. But that’s not what he wanted. He wanted someone he could laugh with, someone that saw behind the bruises.

With one hand still holding the door open, Calum turns just a bit. “Cookie,” he starts, turning around. He might be pushing it just a little with the nickname. But the way she smiles lets him know that maybe she likes it too. “Mind if I see you again?”

“My English notes are always available. You know where to find me.” It ends with a nod. The bright smile that makes Calum’s stomach knot up again.

“I’ll see ya ‘round, doll.”

__________________________________________

The dinner rush seems like it’s never going to end. The second she thinks she can keep up with her tables, someone’s asking for a refill on the drink, or needing extra condiments, or more napkins. But finally, she can see through the windows again. The parking lot doesn’t look like a party of it’s own. Cookie exhales, plopping down into the barstool. If her hair weren’t already pinned back, it would’ve fallen into her face. It’s only Friday. Tomorrow will be much worse. However, right now, she can take a deep breathe. She can take a moment for herself. Cookie presses her forehead into the cool counter.

The door chimes again. God, not someone else. Not another patron. However, no matter how much she wants to disappear into the ethos, she swallows the complaints back down and pops up off the stool. “Booth or table?” she asks, automatically reaching for some menus.

“Tellin’ me the counter’s not free?” Calum grins.

She places a menu down, gesturing with a sweeping motion to the spot she once sat. “All for you.”

Calum shrugs out of his coat, draping it over the seat next to him. He chews on his bottom lip. She’s grinning up at him and he knows it’s not the same grin everyone gets. Her eyes twinkle too though he can tell she’s tired. “Full of gas today?”

It’s been a week since he had to drop in after running out. He didn’t expect her to drop it. She probably would never drop it either. “All the to the tip top,” he exhales with a tuft of laughter. She’s leaning into the end of the counter, the little part that starts to turn into the two doors that tell customers to keep out.

“Charlie Boy says thanks for the tip.” A table across from her flags her down and they lock gazes for a second. The exchange of acknowledgement nods. “I’ll be right back to get your drink.”

Calum nods, watching her rush away. It’s a skirt today but the blue matches the decor inside and he concludes it’s the uniform. Why she wasn’t wearing on that fated Wednesday he’s not sure. But he liked that. Like that she didn’t always try to fit in.

Calum looks over the menu and everything looks to die for. But he’s not really ordering anything, didn’t even intend to. He only came by to see her. Money was getting tighter thanks to repairs needed for the house, but it’s nothing that he and Ashton can’t scrap the money together for. Though, Calum was sure Ashton was going to flip a lid if he had to pulled more money for his car funds.

Cookie darts around the counter, grabbing the coffee pot and smiles when she notices Calum watching her. “Didn’t forget. Promise I’m coming back.”

“No rush. You workin’.”

When she finally gets settled again, Calum leans his elbows onto the table and rests his chin on the flat of his knuckles. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Besides working my ass off here?”

“Cookie what I tell you about all that swearin’!” The voice is distinct but he can’t place who it belongs too. The whole diner is still pretty packed and with all the waitress in the same uniform, it’s almost like a blur happening around him.

She rolls her eyes, reaches into the pocket of her apron and drops a nickel into the tip jar. “I swore yesterday and never put my two pennies in. I’m just covering myself for the next one,” she explains with a small laugh.

“Besides workin’, what are your plans?”

She shrugs. “Don’t get off until 9. I should probably get some homework done.”

“Would you be interested in catchin’ a movie?”

“Askin’ for passion pit?” At first Calum thinks she’s serious. He didn’t think his reputation was going down like that. He was a gentleman. A fighter of course, but always a gentleman. He goes to defend himself and how he’d treat her like a lady until he sees the grin on her face.

“Oh, just keep yankin’ my leg, huh? So you dig?”

She nods. “My only question, where?”

“I’m not sure of places around here, besides I have a bike. Not really drive in material. But there’s one not too far just across the west line.”

He can feel the hesitation on her. He prays she doesn’t say no. He figured that one would be close enough to her old neighborhood, it won’t put her too far into dangerous spot. The North side of town is no place for her. Nor is any spot for him to be casually. He knows that. He’s not blind to the looks Black people get in groceries stores or walking down streets. He’s not blind to the news or the lack of news surrounding disappearances.

“How far across the line?”

“Minute. Two max. Close to your old neighborhood.”

She bites onto her lip, looking up to the ceiling. “I haven’t been on that side in a while. I know those people are cool with you. South siders are thick as thieves. I’m just, nervous. But I’ll go. If it gets too bad, we gotta go. No one’s gonna burn a cross, but, I just, I’m worried.”

Calum nods. “Of course. If ya want, we could go to the one over here.”

“You’ll get nasty looks too.”

“Don’t mean you gotta sacrifice yourself.”

Her laughter is sad and heavy as it falls from her throat. She opens her mouth to say something. She wants to joke that sometimes her entire existence feels like a sacrifice, that somehow her mere existence felt inherently politicized and a form of rebellion. She doesn’t let it cross her lips though. Instead, she swallows it back down and shakes her head. “Now, what’s cookin’ good lookin’? What can I do ya for?”

Calum reaches out for her hand. The touch is light, makes her insides tingle too, if she’s honest. “You already did it. See you tomorrow, Cookie.”

“I apologize if my father’s a bummer tomorrow. Keeps a tight ship. I’ll still be able to go. But that ain’t to say you won’t have to fight for it.”

Calum nods before taking his hands back and sliding into the jacket. He’ll keep that in mind. “I’ll break out my loafers,” he grins. “Get ‘em spit shined too.”

Her laughter follows Calum out the door and through his entire ride back to the house. When Calum walks in, Ashton immediately note the grin on his friend’s lip. “What you got up to?”

Calum shakes his head, pulling his jacket off. “Nothing.”

“Nothing surely looks like a hell of a lot like something. You cheesin’ too damn hard. That girl?”

“She’s nice.”

“Just be careful.” Ashton doesn’t miss the questioning glance of his friend. He holds his hands up. “Look, don’t shoot. I’m just saying, this town ain’t too fond of people like her. She moved for a reason.”

“You fond of people like her? They folks just like us.”

“I’m not saying that, and you know it.” Ashton retorts, his gaze firm and mouth twisted down into a scowl. Ashton knows he’s not like the rest of the town. But he doesn’t want to see his friend washed up and bloated from the river. “But you gotta be careful with her. The world’s inherently against her. And you could get caught in the middle.”

Calum understands the sentiment, but sees no issues. He’s not naive to think the world’s just gonna open their arms. But people aren’t that bad. He doesn’t believe that, even if it felt like he was constantly fighting. He had to believe that there are good people out there. If not, the rest of his life would be hard and full of more scraps. “I can handle if I get caught in the middle.”

“But do you want to handle getting caught in the middle?”

“C’mon, man, do you hear yourself? I like her. She’s nice. She don’t look at my bruises and think she has to run away from me.”

“That’s awesome. You know I’m rootin’ for y’all. But you are in just as much danger as she is. And you already got plenty of people who don’t like you. It’s all they need. They’d only need a reason.”

Calum knows Ashton is right. He knows that anyone that didn’t already like him would really like him now. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a chance. That doesn’t mean Calum can just run away.

“I like her.” It’s final as it falls from his lips.

He brushes shoulders with Ashton as he heads to his room. It’s not meant to be mean, Ashton just can’t bare the thought of something happening. The world can’t be all bad. But it can and very much did get pretty bad. An hour or two later, as Calum just starts to feel the grip of sleep, there’s a knock on his door. He snaps awake and walks to the door.

Ashton’s holding out a cookie, from the pack they bought last week from groceries. “It’s the last one. I didn’t want to take it without asking.”

Calum wipes at his face one last time, leaning into the molding of the door. His stomach growls and he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything yet. He takes hold of the chocolate chip cookie and chuckles. “Her nickname is Cookie, ya know?” He says taking a bite of the treat.

“Well, Daddy-O, you’ll be callin’ her baby real soon.”

Calum throws a weak, half-hearted punch to Ashton’s gut. “Fuck off,” he laughs.

Ashton curls up, blocking most of the blow. He laughs too. The tension from earlier disappears. Calum understands Ashton’s concerns, but he can handle himself. One date isn’t going to end the world. He knows it won’t make the world a less spiteful place, but he can’t let that predict every move he makes. He hasn’t let it yet and he can’t start now.

__________________________________

The diner’s parking lot is shockingly full when Calum walks his bike to a stop. He kicks down stand and straddles the bike before getting his leg around. He’s mindful not put the collar of his leather jacket back down. He didn’t put too much gel in his hair either. Good impressions. That’s what he’s gotta make right now. Though, one look at him immediately gives away his affiliation, but he tries to tone it back down. Calum even threw on one of his scarcely worn button up shirts. When he walks inside, he notices Cookie untying her apron. There’s a man, a little taller, with a neat short cropped cut, and a face just like hers, though he’s a tad lighter in complexion.

She smiles at Calum and he returns the gesture, exhaling as he walks over. He’s not used to having to meet the parents up front. But this isn’t his house, these aren’t his rules. He’ll still play the game though. Calum extends his hand. “How are you, sir?”

Her father shakes his hand, grip firm and eyes sharp. “I’m good, son. How are you?”

“I’m well.”

The quick once up and down is almost too fast to catch, but Calum knows the tactic well. “I don’t judge, son. I don’t. The world’s full of it already. Just treat her right, tonight.”

“Of course, sir. Is there any time I should have her back by?”

“As long as no one’s coming through my door at ungodly hours, I’m not too concerned.”

Cookie sighs, head falling on her neck as the sigh shrinks her shoulder. “He means midnight at the latest. I’ll save ya the time of walking through that maze of a riddle.”

With that, she leads him out of the diner. Calum can feel the eyes on him. Some whistle as they leave. Nothing menacing, all good teasing love. He laughs as Cookie groans in their departure.

Calum doesn’t miss the way his own body is warming though, the jitters almost making his teeth chatter. Her touch is so sure, but gentle against his hand. Cookie pauses at his bike and releases his hand, running her fingers gently over the handlebars.

“So, a couple friends of mine wanna tag along, is that okay? I can shake ‘em if not,” Calum warns.

She nods. “That’s fine.” There’s a moment where she’s gazing up at the skies and Calum’s watching her. “Honestly, I’m just glad to get away from the dinner even if it’s only for a couple hours. I graduate in June but I know where I’m going to wind up. I just need a way not to get stuck.”

Calum pulls out the helmet. “Well, let me unstick you.”

She huffs. “My hair is not going to fit into this.”

“You better make it fit, baby. Because I’m not leaving until it’s on your head.”

She cocks one of her hips out, the black blouse tied at her waist, paired with black pants too. Her red Keds tied perfectly around her feet. “Fine. But someone better have a mirror for me to fix this afterwards.”

“I’ve gotcha, doll.”

She wants to curse the way her heart flutters at the nickname ‘doll’ because there’s no good reason for her to almost melt at the way it curls off Calum’s tongue. But she does. Especially with the tiny shy smile he always pairs it with. It gets her every time and if she could curse him so it didn’t, she would.

He slides onto the bike first and she slips on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. Her hold is strong, even a little tense when he first takes off. But a few seconds later, after being on the road, she loosens her grip. The wind is great across her face. She’s only been a bike once before. She’s not necessarily the angel most people think her out to be and she enjoys the secondary persona. It gives her a break from her reality, that she will always be bashed because of her skin color. She will always be at a disadvantage, it feels. But it doesn’t means she can’t have her fun along the way.

As the stop at a light, she watches with blurred vision as the red light burns into her retina. Soon it turns orange, and she’s staring out of her bedroom window watching white clothed bodies lighting fire to a cross. All she can think about is how she covers her younger sister’s and brother’s eyes, tries to keep them preoccupied. But they still asked her why them. What did they do wrong? And the answer unfortunate truth is nothing but exists. She doesn’t tell them that, she instead tells them that some people are just mean and don’t understand the harm in their beliefs. She doesn’t have the heart to shatter their worlds. She doesn’t have the heart to use words like racist, and evil. They’re too young still. But they know for sure. They know about it, they just don’t have the words.

“Hey,” Calum says, gently, hands wrapping around hers around his waist.

She blinks and realizes they’re parked. “Sorry, just thinking.” Her arms slip from around him and she pulls the helmet off gently. The bright bulbs on the front of the building let her know it’s the theater. The spaces are a little empty, but there are some cars. Most people have probably opted for the drive in since the weather is starting to finally break. She pushes off the seat. He watches her, quickly wiping at her face. Why the tears now? The worst time possible.

“Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. I’m okay.”

“It don’t look like nothin’.”

“I-I’m okay.”

“We can skip the flick,” he offers, gingerly reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal.”

“Your friends would surely be disappointed.”

“They won’t be.”

“I just. I wish I could shake them. I can’t get that image out of my head sometimes. All of those men in my front yard. My sister and brother being scared. It’s not easy.”

He’s at a lost for words. He doesn’t know what’s that like and he probably will never. It’s not to say that he hasn’t gotten his fair share, nor Ashton. Ashton caught a lot of heat taking Cal in, but when everyone you know can keep up in a fight, people tend not to say much. But her family was prominent, and typically non-violent. “I know there’s probably not a lot I can say or do right now,” Calum starts, gently taking her chin between his fingers and tiling her head back. “But whatever you need, let me help.”

He swims in her vision for a moment and Cookie wishes she could just get over it. She wishes she could just take a sponge and wash it from memory. But it’s right there, right behind her eyelids some nights. Shutting her eyes for a moment, she lets the few tears falls, but she nods gently. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he breathes, “of course.” Calum pulls her in for just a moment, letting her compose herself. Cookie wishes she hadn’t, the smell of him now and the hint of nicotine is pressing into the hairs of her nose. She never wants to breathe out.

It takes a moment longer before she nods into his chest and they head inside. Ashton said he’d cover the tickets, if Calum covered a bit more on the groceries. So it works out. Inside, fingers threaded through each others, Calum spots, Ashton, Luke and Michael, leaning against the wall. A circle of Preps are eyeing them but their attention is immediately shifted when she and Calum walk in. Calum holds a little tighter to her hand. He prays they don’t start anything.

As they walks closer to his friends, Calum notices more people are watching them. Not just Preps, but everyone in the room. “Thought we scared you and your Daddy out of this town!” someone shouts.

Her grip tightens in response, but she doesn’t drop her gaze from the three boys in front of her, Calum’s friends. This is what she’s used to, at any march, at any speaking event. This is normal for her. It doesn’t hurt any less. It doesn’t stop making her heart jolt at every insult, but she can hide the flinches, she can hold back her tongue. For a moment.

“You know you don’t belong here!”

She’s waiting for one of them to use the word. She just need the lips to curl into the start of n sound and she can pounce. She’d rather not start a scene here, on the wrong side of town. But god, does she only need one reason, she only needs one of them to set her off. “Either cut the gas, or you’re gonna have a problem,” Calum warns, a single ring adorned digit signaling out the offender.

“Oh, she can’t talk, huh?” Joseph is always one to try and start any fire he can. It was like he almost got off on the humiliation.

“Drop dead,” Cookie hisses. “No one wants anything to do with you. Won’t no one thinking about you for two seconds, so now you gotta make yourself known.”

“Fream speaks!”

God, she wanted not to give in. She wanted to walk away. “I do. But you got a lot to say. So keep running your mouth, half way to a bruisin’ as it is.”

Calum looks back to her. He didn’t expect that from her, but something hits his chest. It’s a strange excitement and the adrenaline before a fight. Part of it definitely disbelief. Not Cookie, he hasn’t pegged her as the type. But maybe he had been more wrong about her than he thought. Maybe all the teasing and flirty wasn’t just her playing games. While Calum would rather not have a fight, he sure as hell wouldn’t leave her to a fight alone. “The lady spoke,” he grins, turning back to Joseph. “Shut it or we dance.”

Joseph, who once was surrounded by his posse, notices that only on a couple of his original boys still stand. No one really wants to get into a fight with Calum. And everyone can see the other three circling in close too. The odds are heavily on their favor and Joseph would definitely be the laugh of the town. “You’re not worth it anyway,” Joseph finally mutters. Though Calum can see the way he’s holding something in the back of his mouth.

Calum pushes her back behind him, just in time too before the spit lands on the floor at her feet. His hands are in fists before he realizes and he surges forward. Grabbing the collar of Joseph’s shirt, Calum lifts him from the ground. He can’t even get the word out before Joseph releases an ‘Oof’ doubling from a blow. Calum looks to his left to see her fist at her side. “Try me again,” she hisses. “Put him down and let him try me again. Just because my dad’s nonviolent, don’t mean I am all the time.”

Calum drops the boy from his grasp. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Ashton, Luke, and Michael who have been keeping to the back, watching, waiting for anyone to step in, finally move in towards them. Luke takes hold of Calum’s bicep. “Let’s go. We can’t afford any heat right now.” Luke’s taking in Cookie and the crowd. It can go south real fast for them.

Calum nods and reaches out, running his fingers from the top of her vein along her wrist to her fingers. Cookie’s hand unfolds and he intertwines their fingers. She takes a step back and while Joseph is still recovering, she spits on his shoes. “Need better aim next time!”

The five of them shuffle out of the theater, quickly, knowing any attendant that happened to see the heated argument could be dialing for the cops. Outside, Calum pushes her closer to Michael. Most people don’t suspect him. He’s good in a fight, but not overtly identifiable. “Ride with Michael.” Folks definitely saw Calum and Cookie walk in together. She can’t be on his bike, not with him. If he gets caught and pushed around by the cops, it’s fine. But if she’s caught with him, that’s bad news.

“Sorry for ruining our date,” she calls out to him.

Calum slips on the helmet, grinning. “You didn’t ruin it, Cookie. You made it a hell of a night. Michael, goose it. Got it? Burn fucking rubber.”

Michael nods with a grin. “You know how to pick ‘em, Cal.”

Cookie slides into the passenger seat of Michael’s car. And true to Calum’s instruction, Michael blares down the backroads. He laughs about halfway through the journey. “Got a solid jab,” he offers.

“Thanks. Dad taught me.”

“Cal boxes. You know that?”

“Heard something like it.”

“Yeah,” he hiccups as they bounce a deep hole in the road. “Maybe he knew deep down you could fight too.”

Soon they pull into the driveway of a decently upkeep house. The outside doesn’t have a lot done to it and she knows that the inside might be a little sparse too. But everyone does what they need to in order to survive. One car is already there. But not too soon after they climb out of the car, she can hear the rumble of Calum’s bike. She pauses near the front steps, one hand on the railing and watches him. The tires kick up dust and rocks as he swerves into the driveway. He continues on around the house, slowly creeping by. Soon the deep rumble ceases and instead she can hear the crunch of feet against the gravel and dirt.

Calum pulls the helmet up as he rounds the house. “No heat, as far as I could tell.” Everyone exhales. He walks up to her, grin on his cheeks, curls perfectly disheveled from the quick tug up from his helmet. “Jets and a mean jab, got it all don’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have. I just hate his guts. I’m sorry.”

With a shake of his head, Calum takes her hand. “You’re fine. He deserved it anyway.” Her hand trembles in his. “C’mon,” he urges, taking her into the house.

The decor isn’t as sparse as she thought it would be, the couch has a couple blankets draped over the back of it with end pillows. The cherry wood dining room table has four chairs that match and a small bowl in the center some fruit sits in it. There’s a big shelf with records on it, some books.

The walls a little bare minus some old photos. “It’s not a lot. But we get by,” Calum whispers.

She shakes her head. “Reminds me of the old house. Even the new one we have isn’t too packed. Half the time, money’s going to the diner. The other half, the time’s going there too. Just never seems worth trying to unearth everything.”

Calum soothes the skin of her hand with his hand. He never considered that, that her life on the outside looked one way. But on the inside it’s way different. It makes sense why she has so many hours at the diner. “What can I do ya for?” he grins.

She laughs. “That’s my line. You can’t go stealing that.”

“Too bad, doll. Looks like I just did. So what can I do ya for?”

“Honestly, at this point a smoke would be nice. But water will do.”

Almost way too sheepishly, Calum reached into his jacket pocket and dangles the pack between his fingers. “I try not to smoke often. It’s not a habit I’m proud of, but if you want one,” he trails off with a shrug.

It’s tempting. It’s very tempting. Her statement was mostly a joke. But she keeps eying it. So, Calum places the helmet on the couch and hands her the packet. He slips out of his jacket, finding the lighter. She knows she shouldn’t give in. She hasn’t had one in a few weeks. Mostly because her dad would kill her. “I’ll go get us some drinks. Then we can step outside.”

“So we’ve met,” Michael starts, cutting through the awkward silence as Calum shuffles into the kitchen. “I’m Michael.” He points to the blonde to his right. “That’s Luke. Watch out for his limbs.” He then motions to a brunette. “That’s Ashton. Calum and him live together here. I live a few houses down and Luke lives like a street over.”

She smiles at them, still playing at the carton top. “Sorry about missing the movie again.”

“You were way more entertainin’,” Luke laughs. “Besides, we hadn’t gotten tickets just yet, so win-win.”

Ashton’s stare freezes her. It’s somewhere teetering on the edge of the disappointment. “Scold me,” she starts. “You won’t be any worse than my father.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned,” Ashton answers truthfully. He’s impressed because he’s only never heard about her, seen her through others eyes. They all call her quiet, reserved, put together. He’s never really laid his own eyes on her. But now, she didn’t really go off the deep end until provoked. He can give her that. She didn’t throw the first punch. Though she made damn sure that she threw the last one though.

Ashton’s concerned because what does this mean for the rest of them. They already have enough of a target on their back. He doesn’t want to make her out to be a villain, but his world’s not easy on her and it won’t be easy on them if they associate with her. “This isn’t against you, it’s just, we’re already so…”

“Alienated. Greasers are low down, dirty, get into fights all the time. You guys are the scary people everyone should run from. And I’m the shit stain on this here great country. We’re both outsiders. I’m just further out of the circle than you. I get it.”

“But you’re sweet, got a little rattle snake in you, but you’re good people,” Ashton counters.He doesn’t want to discredit her by any means.

“I’m never going to have the best of both worlds. So you best decide now what world you want.”

Ashton watches Calum from the kitchen doorway, a beer in one hand and a coke in the other. “You ever think we could actually fit in Ash? Because if so, you’re a dip stick, the biggest one I’ve ever seen. If you thought just because I wasn’t Black, that you’d somehow could still skate into the white agenda, you were wrong. You can’t choose me and then accept her,” Calum counters. “Won’t ever work.:

“We’re outsiders, we live on the outskirts of town. We weren’t eva’ gonna fit in,” Michael says.

“But do we always have to be behind?” Ashton questions.

She places the pack down on the coffee table. “We will always be behind. And until you accept that, you’re never going to make it forward.”

It makes sense. They were always going to be pushed to the outskirts. They could never make it in. The door wouldn’t open for them. Ashton’s known this, but it was easier to be on the outside and still be white. He could still see the door, could still knock on it. She can’t even get a glance at it. “The world’s never gonna be fair to you,” Ashton sighs. “But the least I can do is be fair to you.”

“I hope it will be one day. Today’s just not the day.”

Ashton stands from the kitchen table, “Care for a beer? Coke? Water?”

“Coke’s fine, thanks.”

“You heard the lady, get her a coke,” he grins as Calum. He can be fair to her. The inside wasn’t meant for them anyhow. What would he gain? Status that all relied on following prescribed rules that meant nothing? That was his whole thing. Following who’s rules? Why follow them? What be the reason for it for him to break one and face backlash? It’s pointless that’s what it is.

“Bring that,” Calum urges, nodding to the pack. She grabs it and follows behind Calum to the back of the house. He points out bathrooms and bedroom. She pokes her head into Calum’s. Lots of posters cover the walls of various musicians.

“If I ain’t know better I’d say you might be into music.”

“Just a little,” Calum laughs.

“Too busy boxing now, huh?” She lands a few fake punches to his torso and Calum bows every so slightly at them. Their laughter is soft.

“I’m trying to keep it clean, legal.”

They settle onto the top step of the back porch and Calum sets the Coke near her feet. She hands him the pack. He taps it twice to his palm before pulling out a cigarette.

“Most people run when they know I fight, but not you.”

“Ain’t most people. And you ain’t the only one that can fight.”

He shakes his head, lips wrapped around the butt of the nicotine filled paper. Cookie’s got him there. She watches him flick the lighter and the way the flames lick at the paper. She watches the cut of his jaw, the way his hair falls in different directions around head now. “Shouldn’t grease it back so much,” she mutters, hand reaching up to play in it. She stops herself, asking him silently.

He nods. “Go ahead.” The cloud billows from his nose and mouth as he speaks. She drags her nails over his scalp, letting her fingers graze the soft strands. He holds the cigarette out to her. He grins when she hesitates. “I’m willing to share one. But if you’re afraid of cooties, I understand. I did get the shot though.”

She laughs, slapping his arm and takes the paper between her fingers before inhaling the nicotine. “Earlier,” she starts, passing the burning paper back to Calum, “that red light made me think of the cross in my front yard. I’ve got a brother and sister. Both younger than me. I’m terrified for them. They’re going to have same shitty world that I had. We march, we protest and we die. For what?”

“So the world’s not so shitty for them,” Calum exhales.”Maybe, hopefully.”

“Easier said than done.”

“No one said life was easy. Because if so, they’re a goddamn liar.” Calum holds out the cigarette for her, but she shakes her head, going for the bottle at her feet. “I’m sorry about Ashton. He means well. Just a worrier. Thought I had talked sense into him earlier.”

“I’m not upset.” It’s silent, the crickets sounding from the bushes. Calum thinks about all the hate she sees on a daily. How does she do it? He figures it’s not without trouble. They’re all burdened. No one in life gets through it untouched. Everyone has scars.

Calum’s comforted by the silence between them and before he’s realizing he’s talking. The words are just coming out of his mouth. “My parents kicked me out. I wasn’t always here. I mean, I was always other. I was always a fighter though I never liked it. I was always different. But I wasn’t always labeled different, outside.”

“You get by though.”

Calum nods, letting her take the last hit of the cigarette. “Car shop is good cash. How I got my bike. Tutor helps a little. Nearly dropped out, but Ash footed a lot of the expenses. I had to repeat a year, which ain’t the prettiest thing to admit. It took me a while to find a place to stay, wasn’t going to school all too often.”

“I bet that makes the kids feel better. The ones you tutor.” She figured Calum was older, figured that they had meet in English class by some repeat or calculation but she wasn’t sure.

“It does. They know it’s okay if things take them a bit longer.”

“Thanks. For coming to our side. For helping out. It helps more than you might now.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” There’s another pause. He watches the smoke float from her lips. “Can I see you again? Maybe actually have an actual date?”

“Telling me sharing a cigarette on your back porch isn’t a date?”

“Exactly,” Calum laughs. He hasn’t even touched his beer. He doesn’t really want it. He brought it just in case she didn’t want the fizzy drink. He’s not too upset about it. One of the other boys will take it no doubt.

They sit outside, way after all the nicotine is inhaled. She rests her head onto Calum’s shoulder. “I vote next date is food. Because every time I see you you not eating!”

“I eat I swear to it!”

“Picnic, my place. You’ll have to excuse the anklebiters if they’re around.”

“Next time, your place. I’ll excuse the anklebiters. If they’re around.”

The ride back to her house isn’t long. Feels much shorter this time around. The redlight doesn’t shock her system. The wind on her face is welcomed as it blows back Calum’s scent too. He pulls into the driveway and walks her up to the door.

“Thanks for tonight. Even though it didn’t turn out like we planned.”

Calum shrugs. He enjoys the way it turned out. “Clearly it well enough for me to get a second date.”

“Calum, if I didn’t know better I would say you’re trying to get jacketed.”

He laughs. “I know I want to see you again.” It’s direct and skirts around the going steady tease. Truth be told, he’s not sure about that. But he doesn’t want to completely ruin his chances with her.

The door creaks open a little. “Good night, Calum.”

“Good night, Cookie.” She steps into the house, sending him a small wave. He waves back and waits for the door to close. He had plenty of time, he thinks at his own place to kiss her. Or make some sort of move. But maybe it was better that they just talked, that they spilt guts to each other that they hadn’t let others see just yet.

Calum starts down the porch when the front door creaks open again. He’s not sure what’s wrong but before he can turn around fully to ask, lips are pressed gently to his cheek.

“You missed,” Calum teases. Cookie, still bent over, pushes into his cheek and Calum turns to face her completely. Her lips are soft against his and holy hell--it’s happening. Their shared breath is the slight sweet of her Coke and the bitterness of nicotine.

“Ain’t miss that time,” Cookie teases. Her lips brush against her as she speaks and they linger for what feels like an eternity, lips just centimeters from each other and breathing in the other’s exhales.

“Wasn’t a footballer, but you’re gunning for that jacket,” Calum whispers.

“I think I look good in leather,” she hums, brushing her nose over his.

“Bet you look gorgeous in it.” It leaves him in an exhale. Her chuckle is soft before she straightening back up. She slips into the dark of the house, waving one last time to Calum.

His boots nearly trip him as he heads down to his bike. Calum can still feel teh ghost of her lips on his. Her nails are still pressing into the flesh of his cheek to keep his head straight. Not like with a kiss like that he wouldn’t have followed her anyway she wanted him to go.

He’s gonna get in deep with her; he can feel it. And he doesn’t even care.

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moltenhair · 5 years ago

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Since I’d gotten a few asks asking about my continuation of the story.... I wrote a little more. I combined ideas for 2 different things into one long addition. Taking place after they get the Captain of the Guard back from Terapi Island and exploring more of the backstory I gave him and Cass.

Also I gave him a name.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Memories

Corona… A sickening saccharine symbol of corruption and greed. Where the every-man is tricked into believing their king cares for their needs and wants what is best for them. Where they are forced to love their ruler or face the consequences. Where anyone who dares shine a light on that ruler’s misdeeds is vilified and cast out.

Cassandra had seen it before. Seen it and stood by to let it happen. She’d been a part of the problem as much as anyone, hadn’t she? She had defended the beliefs of their king, had charged into battle in his name. Never realizing then how the system that cared so little for her had been exploiting her for its own gain.

She stood at the forest’s edge, looking out over those vibrant hills to where the castle towers stood proud against the sky. Those towers she once called home… And she would again soon. Once she cleared out all of the obsolete leaders and established a new order. One where people like herself could finally thrive.

But first…. She had a stop to make.

“Captain, I know this must be hard for you… Coming back without Cass..” Princess Rapunzel put a hand on the man’s shoulder as their balloon carried them across the sky and away from Terapi Island. The world beneath them peaceful despite what has happened. Blissfully unaware of the rising darkness. “But we’ll figure this out. We’ll stop Cass before anything else bad can happen. We’ll talk some sense into her-”

“Cassandra has never been the ‘do as she’s told’ type.” The captain spoke at last. His first words for the entire journey back to Corona. And he said them with a sorrowful laugh as he recalled his child. The fondness of a father in his eyes. “Even when I first found her she was a fighter.”

Rapunzel pulled back her hand slowly, glancing over to Eugene with a shared knowing look. This was the first time anyone had ever spoken of the day Cassandra was adopted. There had always been some understanding that they didn’t need to know.. It never mattered where she came from.. Until now, at least.

“I always assumed Cass got that from you.” Eugene moved to the Captain’s other side, leaning on the edge of the balloon’s basket. “No offense, but you seem like a dad with a lot of rules.”

The captain laughed brighter, looking sidelong at the former thief, “Haha- No, no. Cassandra was always a brave girl.. I just taught her to be brave for the right reasons. Why, when I first met her, I was amazed at the strength this sweet, little thing was hiding.”

A smile curled Rapunzel’s lip as she watched the Captain talk about his daughter. Her best friend before all this happened. It was a side of Cass’ life that the Princess had never gotten to know in the past. It wasn’t Cassandra’s style to reminisce like this. In fact, there were few things Rapunzel knew about her childhood at all.

“Captain.” She began, putting her petite hand over his as she smiled warmly up at him. “Would you… tell us that story?”

There was a pause, a thoughtful silence that hung in the air like their balloon. The Captain of the Guard hummed, his eyes locked on the horizon in contemplation… But soon enough he looked at the Princess and returned her smile.

“I’d be happy to.”

It was a dark and stormy night. Weren’t they always when something bad was doomed to happen to an innocent person? Lightning flashed and thunder boomed in the skies of Corona. Rain fell heavily on rooftops, cooling them from the harsh beating of the summer sun just hours before. Out in the streets bakers stowed their bread carts and women ran with their aprons held over their heads to keep themselves dry. But in short time the stone roads were empty.

The rain had a way of lulling Corona to sleep. The kingdom always seemed to fall with the sun. Soon enough the citizens were tucked in their beds to the rattling lullaby of the rain. All except the royal guards of course… And one curly haired little girl.

Cassandra stood tip-toed on her mattress, fingers curled around the high windowsill to pull herself over it. Her olive green eyes peeked out through the rain spattered glass at the kingdom beyond. At the castle she could always see from the orphanage windows. She wondered if everyone in the kingdom could see it from their houses or if she was just one of the lucky ones.

Beyond the rain and fog, Cassandra could see familiar armored shapes. A recognizable crest of a helmet she’d seen almost every day since she was brought to this place. A Guard on Patrol. It was raining cats and dogs but he was still out doing his job. The guards must have been really good people. They protected Corona even if it meant they had to get wet. Cassandra was only five and a quarter , but she already knew… She wanted to be just like them when she was big.

There was something else familiar about those Uniforms, too… Something she felt like she should remember but couldn’t.

The little girl let go of the window and dropped backward onto her bed to sit atop the covers. Around her the sparse other children slept comfortably. Dreaming of the parents they someday hoped to have. Or maybe of the parents they once had. In the next room, the director of the orphanage had drifted off, embracing a bottle of ‘mead’. Cassandra didn’t know what mead was, but she figured it was something that made grownups sleepy. The director drank it only after the children went to sleep. Nothing ever woke her in the middle of the night.

A sudden racket made Cassandra jump with a start. A thumping clatter like wood rattling against wood. The girl hopped up once more to look out the window. She could see that same guard as before but he was moving much faster. Frantic as he spoke to another guard before splitting off to run separately down the dark Corona alleys. But there was no one else in sight.

Then the sound came again. But, if there was no one outside, that sound had to come from inside. Cassandra climbed out of bed slowly and quietly. She reached under her bunk to pull out a wooden sword she’d won from one of the boys in a wrestling match. She held it high the way she’d seen the Guards do as she treaded carefully toward the hallway.

When she rounded the corner, she couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t very far with all the lanterns out. But there was a flickering of orange fire light from beneath the crack of the door of the director’s room. Cassandra walked toward that light on tip-toe, planning to pass it and go to the kitchen… But then she noticed a shadow crossing that orange light from inside the room. The shape of legs carrying a person back and forth.

Was the director actually still awake? Were they the one making noise?

Cassandra lowered herself to the floor to lay on her belly. With her hands pressed to the old floorboards she did her best to look under the door. What she saw almost made her gasp loudly, but she put a hand over her mouth to silence herself.

There was a stranger in there! A big ugly one. Looking through the director’s things while they slept! Taking her jewelry and coins and putting them in a bag. The child watched in horror as this person- this criminal- uncovered the safe where the director kept all the money she used to take care of the children.

He was gonna take the money for the kids!

Not on Cassandra’s watch, he wasn’t.

In moments she was back on her feet, sword in hand. She scurried quickly and quietly away and toward the kitchen where she’d originally heard the noise coming from. When she got there, she found the window left wide open, rain pouring in from the outside. Ew, and he’d tracked mud in from outside.

Think, Cassandra, think. What would a Guard do? A guard would keep the bad guy from escaping! The lock on the safe will only keep him busy for so long.

She ran to the window and jumped up to grab it and pull it closed.

As Cassandra climbed down she set her hand in something really GROSS! A bucket of cooking grease the director sometimes used to cook. It made her hands all slippery. Yuck! … Wait a second. She could use this. If only she also had some… string!

In the corner was a roll of thick twine used for preparing roasts. It wasn’t cuffs but it would do in a pinch. And to a child it was as good as rope.

Cassandra gathered her items and hurried back down the hall. She could hear the groaning of the safe’s iron door as this thief managed to finally break into it. All without the director stirring an inch. Not wasting any time, the little girl turned over the grease bucket and let it slop out down the hallway. It was thick and goopy, but it covered enough of the floor that there was no way this crook wasn’t going to step in it. Then, Cassandra took a length of the twine and strung it across the hallway a few inches from the ground. She’d seen the boys in the orphanage trip each other like this all the time. Hopefully it also worked on grown ups.

When the door began to open Cassandra ran behind it and hid against the wall. She held her breath as this larger person came into view, carrying a sack of things that didn’t belong to him. He didn’t even consider looking down at where she hid. He probably didn’t think anyone was awake. And why would he worry about a KID catching him?

He was about to learn to be worried.

Outside, the guards were searching the alleys high and low. They’d spotted him. A serial robber who had robbed five families in a week. Taken everything of value they owned in the dead of night. But he’d vanished from under their noses somehow.

Dammit!

Was this how the new Captain of the Guard was to be known? As the man who took over and couldn’t even catch a common thief? He was better than this… But he needed to prove that as the new captain he would take care of the people’s best interests while also fulfilling the will of his king. He inherited this position after a great tragedy. His first year as captain had been nothing but struggles.

Captain Roland wiped the rain from his face as he glowered through the fog. His crossbow hung in his hands, relaxed. His boots creaked as he crept quietly behind the businesses and homes of Corona. His eyes, piercing and narrow, flicked high and low.. He was getting closer. He could feel it.

The sole of his boot slipped against the wet stone and he looked down. Muddy footprints. Headed down a second alley and behind the orphanage. He followed the steps and found they led to a window. Shut. But he could see the mud trail ended inside.

Gods… No. Roland shuddered to think about a criminal breaking into a building full of children. Children who had already lost so much.

The Captain tried to yank the window open to pursue the criminal inside. But it must have latched when it was shut. It wouldn’t budge. And the captain wasn’t about to break the window of an orphanage.

Instead he ran as fast as he could around to the front door. He took the handle in his hands and pulled. Locked. Of course it was. He rattled the door, he hammered his fist against the hard wood.

“Open up! This is the Captain of the Guard!”

There was.. Some kind of sound inside. Then the smallest of footsteps drawing near to the door. He raised his crossbow as he heard the lock click. He was prepared for anything when that door opened… Everything but a curly haired little girl. She was smiling up at him so brightly. His crossbow lowered immediately as he glanced around. There was no one else, just this child.

“You’re finally here!” she grinned, bouncing on her little legs before grabbing him by the hand to pull him inside. “C’mon, c’mon!”

Roland followed, hunched over with his hand in hers. He looked about as this child led him towards a back hallway. Nothing looked damaged. He could see children peeking out of their bedrooms, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Woken up by whatever had happened. Same as the director who seemed far less coherent. And then… the Captain found his criminal.

Laid out on the floor, feet tied together. He was covered in what looked like… lard. And it appeared that he’d slipped in it quite a bit while trying to make his get away. Beside him his bag of stolen goods was spilled across the floor. Everything that was taken from the Orphanage and more. The man himself… was unconscious. Out cold from what looked like a blow to the head from a wooden toy sword. He was going to have a bump, but he’d be fine.

“I made sure he didn’t get away. All by myself!” The little girl proudly boasted before moving around the Captain to push on his legs from behind. Urging him on, “Now you can arrest him!”

Roland was… impressed! He’d never seen a child stand up to a criminal like this and come out unscathed. It would have been so much easier for her to hide and wait for an adult to show up. The Captain would have shown up regardless… But it might have been too late if she hadn’t acted like she did.

“You did very well, little one.” He praised, kneeling down and putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And you’re not hurt?”

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, her mess of dark curls bouncing.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. This was one special kid.

“You acted very bravely tonight.. What’s your name?”

“Cassandra.”

The corner’s of Roland’s eyes wrinkled as he warmly smiled down at her. He held out a hand to the child. Her small hand landed in his, gripping his fingers tightly as they shook hands.

“Thank you for your help... Cassandra.”

Rubble.

All that remained was rubble.

No one had even come to claim the land in the twenty years since Cassandra and her Mother left it. It wasn’t rich enough soil, or a big enough plot for anyone to want it. They hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess.

Fractions of walls remained of what once was a farmhouse. Cass’ farmhouse. The home she had forgotten. The home she knew before her mother was given no choice but to leave her at an orphanage. In the hopes that someone, anyone, would find her and be able to afford to give the child a better life. A happier life.

Where her mother went after that… Cass wasn’t sure she’d ever know.

But someone had found her, just like Mother planned, hadn’t they? At least one of their dreams came true.

Cass could vividly remember each visit he made to get to know her. She remembered the moment he walked back through those doors to tell her she was going to be living with him from now on. At the moment she never wanted anything more in her whole life… Because she’d made herself forget the life she’d had before… She never even realized she was adopted by the newest leader of the guards that chose their king’s orders over her mother… The people responsible for the way her life turned out.

Cass scowled and stomped at an old plank of wood, breaking it into splinters. She kicked the remains aside then paused at what she found beneath.. A little wooden cup. Somehow it survived the fire and all these years in the elements..

The woman bent to pick it up, holding it in her armored palm. It was so tiny compared to how it once looked in a four year old’s hands.

She stood in somber silence, her eyes prickling with tears she stubbornly refused to share.

Without a word, Cass walked to what remained of her mother’s old dinner table. The cup was set at its center neatly and then… Cass picked one of the purple wildflowers that had overtaken the homestead. Grown healthy and strong in the ashes of her life…The only good thing to come out of this mess...

Cass left the flower and the cup in the center of the table….

And left to finally fulfill her destiny.

#rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #Cassandra #the captain of the #season 3 minus gothel #my art #fanfic

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wendip-week · 4 years ago

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What If: Quicksand

It had been roughly seven years since that fateful summer in Gravity Falls when the second-generation of the appropriately-named Mystery Twins visited the town for the first time. For the next couple of summers, Dipper and Mabel Pines would visit their true-home at their Grunkle Stan’s infamous Mystery Shack and have plenty of grand and minor adventures.

A few years after the events of Bill Cipher being annihilated, Dipper and Mabel would come to an arrangement with their parents, allowing them to live and continue their education in Gravity Falls (an arrangement the two had kind of wished they had thought of on their first summer). They could live with the people and weird-elements that really helped them to thrive. After graduating high-school, the extended-family would continue their fun, dangerous adventures while pursuing their futures. Mabel would become a growing social-media personality. Dipper would finally begin his full-time apprenticeship under his great-uncle Ford. But before that, he’d make another endeavor, arguably harder than his pursuit of paranormal-science: Dipper would ask out his best friend and long-time crush, Wendy.

Yes, she shot him down when he was twelve, making it clear she wanted a platonic-relationship. However, over the years, things began to change. Puberty had been good to Dipper, making him much taller and far less scrawny than he had been. At the age of sixteen, having grown closer to the girl he never completely got over, he finally found the confidence to officially ask her on a real date. That time, she agreed. They’d been an item since.

Now, Dipper and Mabel were nineteen, Wendy was twenty-two, Soos was twenty-nine, and the Stans were old (they refused to give an exact-age at this point). Mabel was an online-college student and making a few bucks online, as well, while Dipper was in the middle of his studies. Wendy was enjoying being out of college, having gotten an Associate’s Degree in General Studies, and free to offer her assistance to the Pines-family whenever adventure called (or anything fun in general).

Currently, the family was doing a little of both. After the events of Weirdmageddon, Stan and Ford took to traveling across the globe and investigating paranormal mysteries outside of the valley surrounding Gravity Falls. If at all possible, they liked to travel by sea, like they’d planned on since they were young. Besides their investigations, it also presented opportunities to look for lost treasure or check out sea-babes (though they were cautious to avoid Sirens…).

Through some contacts of theirs, Stan and Ford had found out of a small, unmarked pocket of weirdness out somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. While they typically took a couple months of planning, this seemed doable without such extra preparations, especially since they had quite a few extra hands who were more than willing to come along. Of course, some only volunteered after they found out a certain arrangement had been made.

One enemy-turned-ally of the Mystery Crew (and a member of the failed Zodiac) was Pacifica Northwest, rich heiress of the semi-disgraced Northwest-family. After graduating high-school, she was immediately called to help her family restore their currently-meager fortune. Inexperienced though she was, she was still a Northwest, so she had some innate-talent for finding lucrative business-opportunities. In this case, she found out about this little trip from her ex-boyfriend, Dipper Pines, with whom she was still on good terms. Knowing that there was a small island in that area that was going to be explored, Pacifica saw an opportunity.

Her family had been forced to liquidate a number of assets (property, business-shares, etc.) to still live in relative-comfort, invest in the future, and not have to get day-jobs like most of their neighbors. One particular asset was that island that they had originally used as both a summer-home and a potential-means of business (if there was any oil or valuable-minerals). Unfortunately, they had not been able to sell or rent it for some odd reason. Most interested parties never even really got back to them after going to check it out. However, seeing as though she had connections in the form of paranormal-scientists and investigators, she might be able to turn this around.

That’s why the Mystery Crew were currently on an island. Pacifica offered to let them use it as a base-of-operations in exchange for a quick sweep of the area, just to check if there was anything wrong with it. Of course, there was other uses for it. It did, after all, have a beach and a well-furnished house (with plenty of natural power-sources for electric-appliances) not far from it. It would be an opportunity for a mini-vacation for both sets of twins, Wendy, and even Soos, who left the Mystery Shack in the capable-hands of his Abuelita.

Back at in Gravity Falls, the Mystery Shack was currently open, and boy, was business booming! Melody and her grandmother-in-law were at the register, making sales left-and-right while trying to keep the seemingly endless crowd of customers in order.

“Wow, Abuelita!” Melody stated, handing a customer the Shack’s newest piece of merchandise. “Who would have guessed tourists were such fans of your hand-made doilies?”

“Is gift of mine,” Abuelita replied. “Tomorrow, we sell pot-holders.”

For Dipper, however, this presented another opportunity…

Now, here they all were, relaxing on a small beach far from human-civilation. Soos was building a sandcastle, or rather, a sand-replica of the Mystery Shack. Stan and Ford were making plans near their anchored boat. Mabel and Wendy were hitting a beach ball back-and-forth in the water (and staying withing reasonable distance, as there was no lifeguards). And Dipper was recording their fun on his phone.

Well, he was mostly video-recording Wendy’s fun. He had always been crazy about her. How could he resist when she was clad in a bikini? After watching her splash a bit, the nerd decided he should probably make it look like he was interested in other things going on (which wasn’t entirely untrue). He came over to Stan and Ford, sporting tropical shirts and sun hats.

“Hey, guys,” Dipper said, pointing the camera to face his great-uncles. “So how are things looking?”

“Great!” Stan replied with a grin. “According to Pointdexter, the source of weirdness might actually be sunken treasure, after all. We’re gonna be rich!”

“Perhaps, Stanley. But bear in mind that we might not yet have the resources to retrieve such an item (if it is, in fact, treasure). It could require a submarine, of all things. And there’s the possibility of it being cursed. However, we can for sure locate it. And depending on the circumstances, even if we can’t clear out the weirdness here right now, we can still establish a safe travel-route for sailors everywhere.”

Stan groaned. “I’m just gonna say that it’s treasure,” he muttered.

After a bit of back-and-forth, Dipper decided he wanted to check out more of his girlfriend, who was laying back on an innertube, floating around with a pair of sunglasses (and an extra coat of sunscreen, considering she was a pale-redhead and a bit easier to burn). Dipper stood back at a reasonable distance, watching and recording. He was so fixated that he didn’t notice a body just beneath the surface of the water approach and slowly rise out of the water.

Before he could sense another presence, the young adventurer suddenly found himself splashed hard from behind. He turned and shouted in surprise: “MABEL!”

His excitable twin gasped in faux-shock. “My goodness! Do my ears deceive me? Does my doofus-brother realize there’s other people on the island besides him and his not-subtle crush?” she asked with a smirk.

“Mabel, you made me drop my phone!” Dipper said in irritation. He looked around for a second before finally finding it in the water. He groaned, before turning back to Mabel, eyes rather cross. “And she’s my girlfriend. I don’t have to be subtle!” As he said this, he subtly patted the pocket on his trunks, making sure a certain object was still there.

“Yeah, Mabes,” Wendy said, as she approached, now out of her tube. “He doesn’t have to insert how much he loves me under his breath in our conversations. Now he can just say it in his normal voice.” Dipper blushed. “Hey, is your phone okay?”

Dipper looked at his wet phone. “I… think it still works? Oh, better turn off that recording!”

Wendy whistled. “You’re lucky, dude. I so hate waiting for my phones to dry in rice! It takes forever and there’s no guarantee it solves the problem.”

Dipper nodded. “True.”

“Hey, I’m kind of thirsty. Let’s go back to the house. I think we forgot the cooler,” Wendy told her boyfriend.

“Sounds good.” The young-adult couple, leaving Mabel behind. “Hey, I’m still here, you know!”

“Leave them be, Hambone,” Soos said, walking over to Mabel. “Let them enjoy this while they can. One day, they’ll probably be married. And after the honeymoon, it’s work-work-work.”

“… You say this from experience, don’t you?” Mabel asked.

“Yes, I do,” Soos told her. “And it’s totally worth it.”

Mabel just blew a raspberry. “Oh, Soos! That doesn’t make any sense.”

Sure enough, Dipper and Wendy found the large cooler on the porch. After lugging it to the beach, the two cracked open a couple of cold Pitt Colas.

“Mmm… I pity the rest of the world. They don’t have access to this kind of soda,” Wendy said with a burp. “Excuse me.”

“Tell me about it,” Dipper agreed. “Of course, the occasional pit inside the can might be a bit of a turn-off for some people.”

The tall redheaded adult shrugged. “Whatever. So, what do you wanna do now?” she asked after finishing her soda.

Dipper smiled. This was his chance. “Want to go on a walk along the beach; just the two of us?”

“That sounds awesome, dude. Let’s just dump our trash first.”

The young couple dropped their now-empty cans into the trash bag the family brought along, and let Stan and Ford know what they were doing.

“Okay, but be careful,” Ford told them. “We haven’t scanned for potential threats like Ms. Northwest requested. Don’t go out too far.”

Wendy nodded. “You got it, Professor Pines. We’ll keep our eyes peeled. Come on, man,” she said, leading Dipper away.

Stan chuckled. “Ah, to be young and in love, then cheated out of your winnings… Think we still got a chance in such a game, Sixer?”

Ford looked at his brother. “I’d say our chances are very slim, Stanley (at least in this dimension). Even more unlikely is the possibility of kids. On the other hand, I don’t think that’s ever stopped you before…”

“Darn right, it hasn’t!”

Dipper and Wendy walked slowly along the beach’s shoreline, just enjoying the scenery around them, as well as each other’s company.

Wendy sighed. “I tell you, between twelve and fifteen, I would never have seen myself somewhere like this, at best, maybe a dirty, local beach. And between fifteen to eighteen, I could only see myself getting somewhere this nice by running away from home and hopping cars and trains for a while. I love how life surprises us…”

“I know,” Dipper replied, putting his arm around her. “I always imagined myself as an adventurer, but before Gravity Falls, I thought that would just stay a fun daydream. Now here I am, on a mysterious island with my family and the coolest, most-beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

“Oh, dude!” Wendy made a face. “That’s so mushy!”

“Sorry…”

“I didn’t say stop, though,” she said, grinning.

Dipper returned that expression, albeit blushing as he did so. After a moment he got bashful and looked forward. “Man, that is such a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?” he said, trying to change the subject.

“Hold it. Are you going to go with the ‘not as beautiful as you’ line? Okay, as much as I love cheesy romantic-talk in an ironic way, please don’t say that, of all things.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Dipper replied. “Even though it’s true. I was going to say that it reminds me of the moment I first really realized I was crushing on you. It was on the Mystery Shack roof.”

“That sounds about right, dude,” Wendy said thoughtfully. “Points for that line.” Wendy looked at the horizon, with the sun’s reflection across the water, the clouds and light across the sky making resemble an abstract canvas of orange and purple. “It is beautiful, though.” Wendy laid her head on her dork’s shoulder, admiring the view.

“We shouldn’t waste this opportunity,” Dipper said after a few minutes.

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” Wendy responded.

Dipper smiled. “Let’s get some selfies. We want to remember this moment, don’t we?”

“Yeah, let’s do it. And if Tambry reposts it online, practically half-the-world can see us and be totally jealous.”

Dipper pulled his phone back out and turned on the camera. He and Wendy got into position and Dipper started snapping away as they made various poses ranging from classic romance to fun summer-cruise themed ones.

They had just gotten into snuggle position and were about to take another pic when they felt the sand under their feet shift.

Dipper looked down, finding his feet had sunk beneath the sand. “What the-”

The couple let out a yelp as they suddenly began to sink rapidly beneath the sand. They were now up to their knees. It was so quick that Dipper lost his balance and dropped his phone. He was about to fall over into the sinking sand, too. Fortunately, Wendy was there.

“I’ve got you!” she shouted, holding his arm. “What is this? Quicksand?”

“I don’t know! The ground was relatively steady a second ago! I don’t think we moved too much while taking pictures!” he replied, rather worried.

“Dude, can you move your legs?” Wendy asked.

“No, I’m stuck!” He said, wiggling about. “What about you?”

“No good!” she told him. They were now nearly at their waists. “Wait! What if I-?” Wendy reached out (holding onto Dipper to avoid falling and going under), trying grab a stable patch of sand. Everywhere she reached, her hand just sank. “Drat! Dipper, you try!”

The young academic tried what his girlfriend did. He got about the same result. “This isn’t working. I don’t get it! What’s going on here?!”

“I’m what’s going on here!” a deep voice said out of nowhere.

Dipper and Wendy turned and discovered a humanoid-figure rising out of the sand… and was made out of sand, apparently.

“Who the heck are you?” Wendy asked the newcomer.

“Who am I? Why, I’m the Sandman! What else would I be called?”

“The guy who comes when people try to sleep?” Dipper asked.

The two of them, now up to their stomachs in sand, suddenly stopped sinking.

“No! (Why does everyone guess that)? I’m not that Sandman!”

“Oh, so you’re the bad guy from that movie with the Spider-guy, right?” Wendy asked.

“I remember that,” Dipper interjected. “It was like one of our B-movies, but with half-decent effects.”

“I know, right?”

“Yeah. Come to think of it, I wish there’d be a movie or show with the guy with the gas mask. He was a cool hero,” Dipper thought out loud.

“Huh?” Wendy replied. “What’s that got to do with sand?”

“I’m not either of those guys!” the so-called Sandman shouted. “I hide in the sand, waiting for creatures to come to my island. Then I slowly drag them under and feed on them slowly over the course of a thousand years! Of course, I don’t know that it’s a thousand years, but that sounds pretty ominous.”

“So, it’s like that monster from that movie?” Dipper asked.

“The one with the blind worms, dude? As far as PG-13 horror-flicks go, I kind of hate that series.”

“No-no! The scif-fi one. Remember? The third one from the original trilogy?”

“Eh, kind of…?”

“Hey, I’m talking here!” that monster yelled, grabbing their attention again. “Look, bottom-line: I’m the Sandman! I’m gonna suck you into the sand, and I’m gonna eat you slowly! Now, let’s get it over with before you start rambling again.”

Before Dipper and Wendy could respond, they found themselves sinking much faster than before.

“AAAAHHHH!!!” they shouted.

“BLEHEHEHEHEAUGH!!!” the Sandman cackled.

The young man and woman were now at their necks, looking utterly terrified. Dipper turned to look at the love of his life. It was now or never. “Wendy, I was planning on asking you this after we finished taking pictures, but if we happen to survive somehow… WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

“Yes! Dude, yes! I will… if we don’t get eaten, anyway!” Tears were in the girls’ eyes. They were happy tears, mostly.

“Wendy! I love-” Dipper didn’t get to finish his sentence, as they had finally gone under…

“Well, that was fun,” the Sandman said. “Time to sample the fresh stuff.”

He didn’t get a chance to do so. A concentrated blast of energy suddenly hit the Sandman square in the chest, leaving a gaping hole in his chest.

“Augh!” the Sandman cried out. “Was that from a gun? Those aren’t supposed to hurt me-AUGH!” Another blast hit, taking most of his sandy-shoulder. “Where is that coming fro-?” This time, a heavy-volley of laser-blast hit the Sandman in rapid-succession, reducing him to a pile of sand before he could think of way to escape.

In the distance, an angry Stan and Ford were holding smoking proton-rifles and pistols, waiting for the Sandman to move again. When they saw no sign, Stan shouted back behind himself: “NOW! HURRY!”

Mabel raced past them, holding a shovel tied to a rope. Soos wasn’t far behind. He was holding the majority of said rope. When she got close enough, she threw the shovel into the loose sand where Dipper and Wendy just were. It sank in fairly quickly as Soos approached.

Not long after, he felt a strong tug on the rope and began pulling it back up. After a few hand-over-hands, the shovel came back up. Attached to it was a very dirty Dipper, who was desperately trying to suck in air. A moment later, it was revealed that in his other hand was his redheaded beloved. With one more tug, Soos pulled the gasping and coughing couple from out of the sand-pit.

The two were laid flat on their backs as Stan and Ford approached. Mabel hugged the two of them. “You guys are alive!”

“Yeah… Thanks to you all,” Dipper said between coughs.

“Got that… right,” Wendy added. “How’d you… find us?”

“Didn’t you guys know you were live-streaming?” Mabel asked them.

“Wait, what?” Dipper asked.

“Soos was looking at hilarious cat-videos when he saw you guys post.”

Soos nodded. “Good thing I wasn’t looking at one of the better ones.”

Stan chuckled. “We saw you lovebirds making all kinds of weird poses before you dropped your phone.”

“EEEE!” Mabel squealed. “I’m gonna have a sister soon!”

“And then we saw what might have been the reason nobody ever comes to this island come after you,” Ford added. “Kind of a shame we had to destroy it (or him?); I would have liked to have studied such a creature. I’m just glad my assumption about these guns against it was accurate.”

“Nah. I’m glad he’s gone-for-good. I mean, he was eating people,” Stan replied to his twin.

“Ergh…” Some of the sand started coming together, reforming parts of what vaguely resembled a human.

“AH!” Stan shouted, shooting his laser-pistol in response. The Sandman disintegrated again, and this time, he didn’t reform.

“Uh, back on topic…” Dipper started. “…Since when are we live-streaming?”

Soos brought Dipper his phone. “You still are, dawg,” he said in response.

“Seriously?” Dipper pressed a couple of buttons on his touch screen, only to get no response. “What’s going on?”

“Let me see,” Wendy took Dipper’s phone and tried to fiddle with it. “Oh… Here’s the problem: there’s water behind the screen. It must have actually been messed up after Mabel splashed you earlier.”

Dipper thought for a moment. “… So, when I tried to press the camera-app, it must not have registered right.”

Wendy shrugged. “Could be.”

Ford looked thoughtful for a moment. “Say, Stanley. Didn’t the Sandman say on the video that he devours living people over the course of a thousand years? I think the Northwests have had people on this island over the last half-decade or so. You know what that means?”

Stan groaned. “We have more work to do than a routine-sweep? That’s just great…”

Back at the beach-house, Dipper and Wendy were cleaned and patched up; now sitting together on the porch.

“Some day, huh?” Wendy asked.

“Tell me about it. It was not how I was hoping the afternoon would go,” Dipper said, shaking his head. “Still up for marrying me? I know it was kind of sudden, but…”

“Dude, I said yes twice. I think I’m sure,” Wendy replied with a smirk.

“Well, in that case…” Dipper reached into his pocket and produced a ring with a large diamond. Bordering the diamond was some kind of stone that resembled flannel.

“Wow… Dip! It’s beautiful! Where did you get this?” Wendy exclaimed.

“The, uh, diamond was from some time-travel adventure Mabel and I had with Blendin. Suffice to say, we’re secretly kind of rich… Oh, and the ring was actually crafted by some goblins that sort of owed me a favor.”

“Well, I love it. And not just because it’s unique.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“By the way, that reminds me…” Wendy punched Dipper on the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” Dipper asked, rubbing his shoulder.

“For choosing a life-or-death situation to propose. I’d prefer a fancy restaurant, personally. It was also for proposing to me on your ex-girlfriend’s island, dude. Did you ever check to see who all saw that live-recording?”

“I… didn’t. Oh, boy…” Dipper rubbed his temple, realizing the worst-case-scenario.

“Ah, cheer up. You still got a fiancé, don’t you? Now, do me a favor and put that ring on my finger.”

“With pleasure.” Dipper took Wendy’s hand and slid it down her ring finger. He looked up, only to get a mouthful of his beautiful bride-to-be’s own mouth.

They stayed like that for a while.

#wendip #Wendy Corduroy #Dipper Pines #Gravity Falls #WenDipWeek #fanfic #older!Wendip #older!Dipper #older!Wendy #quicksand #submission

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sweetiecelin · 6 years ago

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The Hunter’s Girl (Sam x Reader)

Chapter 1

“Sam?” A familiar voice spoke from behind the brothers.

“(Y/n), thank god you still-” Sam started but was cut off.

“Get the hell away from here. You got the hell outta Dodge the first time, do it again.”

(Y/n) shoved through the brothers and made a beeline for the door, but Sam jogged after her and grabbed a tight hold on her wrist,”Please, just listen, I just wanna talk.”

“You just wanna talk? Get your hand the hell off of me before I break it, Samuel.” (Y/n) spoke intending to keep her promise.

Sam quickly let go,” Please (Y/n), let me and my brother help- talk to you. We’re gonna try and save lives, bare with us.”

(Y/n) met his pleading eyes with a glare that could kill him, “ No. If you don’t get off my property, you and your dear brother will get arrested.”

She leaned close to his ear,” Don’t forget that I have friends in high places, Sam. I don’t like you, so they don’t like you; Don’t forget it.”

She turned on her heel and unlocked the door, “Oh and Dean, hope your brother told you about me.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Sam turned facing his brother with a sour face, “Don’t tell me… she’s a werewolf?”

“No, close human raised with the wolves.”

Dean looked at his brother, “Like Tarzan?” Sam nodded his direction of the car. Dean took the hint and started on his way, “So definitely like Tarzan.”

“No, No, she isn’t like Tarzan. She’s like a werewolf, she is going to protect the leader with everything she’s got.”

“So did you two…?” Dean questioned once the car doors closed.

“Almost, one night. The night you called.”

“Did I y’know, interrupt?” Dean asked, suddenly more interested.

“Not that it matt-” Sam started coughing, what came up made Dean chuckled.

“So, I did interrupt, man I-” Dean started.

Sam rolled his eyes, “It doesn’t matter okay? She’s moved on with her life, probably.”

Dean started the car and pulled out, heading to the local diner, “There’s always a chance that she didn’t. How knows Sammy, she could be your true love.”

“Shut up, Dean. She and I are too different to even make it work; She was raised by werewolves and they respect her, I’m a hunter and- and it just won’t work.”

“It worked before didn’t it?”

(Y/n) was in the kitchen dancing to the radio as she cooked breakfast, she wanted to make sure that Sam’s morning was better than the past few. He looked like he had been to Hell and back a few times, she decided that Mama Maggie’s famous hangover breakfast can help his nightmares. She had heard him crying out for a man named Dean in his sleep.

Sam had walked in on (Y/n) dancing in the kitchen in a thin tank top and men's boxer shorts, “Is this your morning ritual?”

(Y/n) squeaked and jumped out of her skin, “Fuck! Jesus, you scared me, Sam!”

Sam raised his hands in a defensive manner and chuckled, “Heh, sorry it’s a habit to move around quietly.”

“So…. how’d you sleep last night? You’ve woken me up if you needed anything, you know that right?” (Y/n) quickly said trying to make her guest comfortable, but failing miserably.

“I slept fine. Um, thanks for letting me sleep here for now.”

(Y/n) offered Sam a gentle smile “It’s fine. Going through a loss can be tough of people. Even the strongest tend to break.”

“So, if you want I can try and get a job and pay rent as much as I can to help out you know?”

“Decided you’re going to stay?” (Y/n)’s smile never changing,

“Heh, yeah, I’m thinking about stay settling down for a few months.” He confessed, looking at her.

“What are you good at?” She spoke trying to help him.

“Um, I’m good at manual labor, people, I guess. Nothing else comes to mind.”

“Ya like books?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I kind’ve got a love for reading..”

“My buddy who owns the best bookstore in town is looking for some help around the store. Look I know this sounds like something a teenager would accept but he pays well.”

“I guess, I’ll look into.”

“My bar also has an opening- Well it isn’t really my bar it’s owned by a kind woman, I just help manage it.”

Sam got taken out of his daydream, with Dean snapping his fingers in front of his face.

“Dude, snap out of it. You good? Because we’re at the diner.”

Sam sighed, ”Can’t you just go in and get the food? I’ll wait here.”

“No. C’mon Sammy, we’re not going to have you spun out of whack by some chick.” Dean hopped out of the car and waited by the front of it until Sam hopped out.

“Fine, Dean! Let’s just get this over with.” Sam got out of the car and entered the diner and the whole place fell silent.

Tracy, one of the pack members, walked up to the brothers with a fake smile plastered on her lips, “If you could kindly pick a seat, one of our staff with shortly assist you, hunters.”

Once that word left her tongue, the older male, members of the pack started growling lowly at the men. Sam sent a pleading look in Tracy’s direction.

“C’mon Tracy, don’t do this.”

“Do what? Make sure you hurt, just like (Y/n) did once you left without a trace? I think I’ll keep doing this, you son of a-”

“Tracy!” Henry’s alpha voice boomed through the diner, ”We don’t treat people like this, no matter how many times they hurt us.”

“But, Hen- Alpha, he hu-”

“He hurt (Y/n) I know, but she isn’t pack of the pack. The rules don’t apply to her.”

Tracy rolled her eyes, then glared at the brothers, “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Including hunters and Pack Alpha. We respectfully ask you to leave our establishment.”

Henry placed a hand on Sam’s back,”Don’t worry, we can dine at the bar. Like old times, Sam.”

(Y/n) and Sam had strolled into the bar. (Y/n) smiled at the bartender and the barflies that had been there since opening.

“Hey, Josie. You know that favor that you owe me?” (Y/n) smiled widely at the bartender.

“You finally calling it in?” The older women teased.

“Well, I thought it was about time, after what.. Fourteen years? My friend Sam here needs a job.”

Josie sighed “Not hiring at the moment hun.”

“C’mon Jos, Kathy ain’t gonna be lifting the heavy packages with that baby of hers, then her maternity leave.”

“You good at bartending, child?” Josie questioned skeptically.

Sam nodded,” Yes, ma’am, A family friend used to run a bar a few years ago, my brother and I used to help out when it got to busy.”

“Mmm, I guess you’re qualified enough. You start tomorrow night.”

Henry and the Winchester Brothers entered the bar and the normal buzz of Joe’s was almost nonexistent. Josie glanced at the large men.

“What can I get you, boys?” She asked in an easy-going manner.

“Hey Mama Jo, could we get three home-grill burgers and three beers?”

“Of course… coming right up.” Josie turned around and gave the simple order to the cook and gave the men the beers.

“Now, Samuel Winchester, why did you decide to come back?”

Sam choked on his beer “A case… the mur-” Dean had kicked his brother's leg “What the hell man?”

“What? I did nothing.”

“Now, Y'all working a murder case in our town? Now that I think of it some patrons the past couple of weeks gave me a weird feeling.” Josie continued.

Dean glanced at the woman “What did you mean?”

“A couple of rough looking guys gave me an odd feeling. They felt like they had a certain motive.”

“(Y/n) say anything to you about it?”

“No, now that you say that, they were stalking her and a few other humans like they were prey. If anything those are-”

Henry cut her off “New members of the pack. Came here a few weeks ago, asked if they could join, some hunters killed their pack.”

Josie rolled her eyes “And you believe them? They looked like brutes, I doubt that their pack got easily killed by hunters.”

Dean couldn’t believe what was going on, a couple of werewolves were talking open werewolf business in front of two hunters, and his brother knew about this.

“You guys, uh know that Sammy here and myself are a couple of hunters, right?”

Josie and Henry looked at Dean, with a sarcastic look on their faces.

“Dean and Sam Winchester; saved the world a couple of times, sons of John Winchester, civilian-turned-hunter, and Mary Campbell, raised-hunter. I’ve known who you two are before Sam first sat down here.”

Sam chuckled “She’s like Bobby and Ellen, mixed into one minus the paranoia and hunter thing. She helps whoever needs to be helped.”

(Y/n) entered the bar and sighed “Look what I found. A mutt and a couple of hunters.”

Henry flipped her off without even looking at her “Sucking dick is the only thing you’re good at sweetheart.”

The younger female smiled “I’m also very good at pouring shots, Alpha.”

Josie sighed “(Y/n) apologize, now.”

“You’re not my mother.” (Y/n) snapped back.

“Shut up, I raised you that should be close enough.” Josie teased.

“I’m sorry Samuel.”

Josie sighed “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

“Now, Sam apologize.” Henry and Dean both laughed.

Sam blew a raspberry “I shouldn’t apologize.”

Josie reached over the counter and smack the back of Sam’s head “You left her high and dry while you were going steady.”

“Woah, Woah, Woah. We were never going steady.”

“My bad, Y'all were courting each other.”

Henry and Dean just continued laughing. (Y/n) and Sam both looked at them and hit them.

Sam spoke up “Listen, me and (y/n) never gonna happen.”

(Y/n) chuckled “Not what you said the night you left. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’ ‘I don’t care what others think’ ‘We should be together’.“

“He was only saying those things to get into your pant sweetheart,” Dean spoke while he nursed his beer.

“No duh. No one could ever love a hunter.”

“(Y/n) (M/n) (L/n), take that back.” Josie harshly commanded.

(Y/n) chugged the rest of her beer and got up “No, he doesn’t deserve any apologies, everything he touches gets destroyed.” She stormed out of the establishment and Henry went after her to calm her down.

Sam sighed “I knew we shouldn’t have come back. This is just a mistake, the pack will handle this like they always do.”

He started to get up when Josie spoke up “Sit your ass down, Sam. She’s just being overdramatic. But you are too.”

“How the hell am I being dramatic?” Sam tried to understand.

“Dude, you should’ve tried talking to her reasonably, tried to have understood how she felt after you left,” Dean said without thinking twice. “She must've been heartbroken after the fact that you up and left her leaving only a note behind.”

“Sam, my boy, you’re fucking stupid.” Josie disappointedly sighed.

#sam x reader #supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x y/n #sam x you #dean winchester #oc

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torannosaurusrexy · 6 years ago

Text

Beautiful Demise

Chapter 1: “White Roses”

➝ Genre: Fic

➝ Pairing: Park Jimin | Reader (Potentially Others as the Story Progresses)

{Assassin!AU} {Dom!Jimin} {Sub!Reader} {Alcohol Consumption} {Kissing} {Neck Kissing} {Interrupted Sex} {Blood} {Death} {Hospitilization of Relative}

WARNING: This AU is explicit, contains dark themes, violence, and language some readers may find unsettling, please take caution when reading.

➝ Word Count: 8080

➝ Summary: Beautiful white roses are, aren’t they? So pure, deprived of color. And yet, some would find them even more breathtaking drenched in red. Crimson red, the most beautiful of all concealed within those harboring a beating heart. All the more eye-catching when spilled in an amorphous puddle though, but they’re trained not to leave a mess.

Park Jimin, an assassin built purely on stealth alone, is finding every way possible to sneak up on and steal your heart from under you.

Next | (Ch. 2)

Snip

Snip Snip

“They sure have come in beautifully this year.” A soft voice calls from the door, the familiar chime of the old copper bell hanging above urging you to turn.

Your mouth curls into an equally gentle smile, “It’s hard to disagree, the petals are even softer than last years.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, with your delicate hands tending to them.” The woman responds, she visits often, being a regular customer and supporter of your small but well-known flower boutique.

“Oh please, Mrs. Herondale. The flowers make their own beauty, I merely water them.” You tuck away your scissors, giving them a quick pat once settled into your pocket. “Would you like a bouquet? They’re sure to fly off the shelves, I recommend you buy them now instead of later…” You twiddle your fingers, hoping to make a sale, “That’s only if you came in here for that…”

“Silly girl, One does usually enter a flower shop in the search of flowers.” Her bright eyes and cherub cheeks supply a sense of bliss, similar to the feeling arranging bouquets gives you. It’s as if she belonged surrounded by beautiful things. “I’ll take an arrangement please, white roses and lilacs if you don’t mind.”

“Buying for someone? That’s a wonderful arrangement you’ve decided on... I’m sure they’ll be beyond grateful.” You let a pair of gloves cover your scraped and cut up hands, who knew something so beautiful could also prove ruthless and sharp.

The woman sighs, her short stature appearing even shorter as she leans against the large windowsill to smell some of the flowers on display. “I’m sure she would’ve loved them.”

A chill rides the length of your spine, shit, “I’m sorry?” The soft mirth filled tone in her voice has been replaced by a much harder dry sound, one you almost don’t recognize.

“My sister, you see, loved white roses and lilacs. When she passed I knew no place better to get them from than here.” No tears leave her eyes, but judging by the expression on her face, the salty droplets could cascade her cheeks with one quick blink.

A moment of silence floods the airy room, a dreary silence that has no business in a flower boutique. “I’ll tend to them with extra care then.” She nods a thank you, blinking slowly at your words of comfort. Even if you were speechless at the mention of the reason for the flowers. Sadly, exchanges like this one were often routine. Families and friends of the passed on ordered extravagant arrangements frequently. Even so, the number of happy events where flowers were needed was much higher. Weddings were beautiful, but death was equally breathtaking.

“Your grandmother is a lucky woman,” She says, “To have her beautiful granddaughter taking such good care of the shop.”

You blush, not many people call you beautiful on a daily basis, “It’s no walk in the park, but Nana deserves the world, with her being so sick...I can’t help but want to take away some of the burden she bore for so long. Tending to the shop is the least I could do.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips, chapped and in desperate need of lip balm. You really were peeling at the seams.

“Well with your father missing…” She stops herself. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to speak so openly about such a tender subject…” You continue arranging the flowers, trying with all your might not to yell and explain how your father was a lying asshole that left you and your feeble grandmother in a time of need...surely he did leave you. Right? “Bless you girl...for being so strong.” She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, it’s been so long since motherly affection graced you so effortlessly.

You gulp, handing her the bouquet, “Have a wonderful day, enjoy the flowers...and my condolences.” The bouquet she paid for and now held was without a doubt one of the prettiest you’d ever made. The purple lilacs gave that most intoxicating pop of color every gloomy setting needed, for intricacy, you added some forest green grape leaves amongst petals of the arrangement; but by far, the most beautiful accent had to be the white roses. Serene, pure, and full of a mystery that for years no one could solve. To speak of white roses cruelly was a curse in itself.

God, you loved white roses.

“Goodbye dear.”

“Goodbye Mrs. Herondale…”

[15:14] Tessa Hey girl! Thinking about going out tonight! You’re coming so don’t even try to wiggle out of it!

Ugh.

[15:16] Hey! Can we reschedule? I have a new shipment to unload, some help from my bestest best friend in the world would be greatly appreciated…

Please, please, take the bait...

[15:17] Tessa Well those peonies will have the wait! We’re going out, no questions asked!

You sigh, knowing that fighting her on something so trivial and fun to most would prove exhausting, not to mention you’d lose and end up right back here, with evening plans and a dozen thorn cuts.

[15:19] I was tending to daffodils...but fine.

The drawer used for storing scissors and gloves glides effortlessly open when you pull at it, carefully placing down your dirty - in need of a beating - garden gloves next to your grandmother's pristine pair. You eye the little white roses on them, their original angelic white replaced with an eggshell sort from all the gardening she used to do...You lift the glove, leaving the opposite to remain amongst the others. You crumple the tough material in the palm of your hand, holding it up to your nose as you start to sob.

It smells of her, mint, fresh mulch, and of course, the faint lingering smell of daisies and hydrangea...all scents she wore well. You’ve counted the days in which they’ve sat in that ugly top drawer, not consciously knowing that their wearer would never again put on gardening gloves…

Ding.

You wipe your eyes.

[15:22] Tessa My bad your highness, and good! We’re gonna have a blast. I’ll see you later ;)

Sure…

Pounding bass echoed from inside the one club in this city Tessa had yet to step into. Tessa is quite the unruly party animal. Countless times have you had to drag her away from guys leaning towards taking advantage of her outrageous acts of gyrating her hips to every song that blasts through the speakers. She read amazing reviews apparently, at least that’s what she told you. “According to the reviews on this place, the guys here are always stupid hot.” She chimes, grabbing your wrist and running her thumb back and forth ferociously over the top of your palm. Not that any of what she had said really pertained to you as much more than a passing comment.

“______? You in there?” She asks, her gorgeous blonde curls bouncing just as her breasts do when she continuously jumps up and down on the balls of her feet with excitement.

You nod, looking through her rather than at the bold eyeshadow she wears with gold flecks gracing her lids. “Maybe we should go, we’ve been standing here forever, they’re probably full…” You suddenly say, turning on your heel and moving past one gaggle or overly giddy french whores that we’re in no way getting into this establishment. Tessa knows full well that the club scene wasn’t yours, hers perhaps but definitely the opposite of what you’d prefer to be doing. Sitting home with a gallon of ice cream and a cringy romantic love story that ends with the guy getting the girl and living happily ever after, something that rarely happens in regular human society.

“Woah woah woah!” Tessa drags you back, grabbing you at the waist and shuffling you backward into the same crowded space you took a step away from. “Where do you think you’re going huh? C’mon, there’s only a few people ahead of us.” Her hands fall from your hips, the booming bass making your head pound, even from out on the bustling street. “You look way too hot to turn your back on this outing. It would be a waste of an outfit.” She smiles, her blushed cheeks bunching beautifully.

“Ladies?” A broad, deep-voiced man asks in a tone more chilling than stone. When you look away from Tessa she realizes the small crowd ahead of you had been admitted to the club and it was your turn for entry. “Step up and show some ID, I’d hate to turn two lovely ladies like yourselves away.”

“Oh stop it you big lug!” Tipsy Tessa, the flirtatious beast has come out to play, and you aren’t even inside yet. Those few tequila shots she had really got her going, you were more of a wine and champagne kinda gal yourself, but you weren’t opposed to something as intense as tequila.

The bouncer smiles, a straight line of a smile that just barely curves up at the corners. “ID, please.” He answers to Tessa’s flirtation, holding out his large palm. You hand him yours immediately, prepared ahead of time and ready to come out of the tiny rat purse known as a clutch. Tessa...on the other hand...put the card in her bra. Of course. She reaches down the front of her short cocktail dress and pulls out her driver’s license. The bouncer remains stoic, even so you feel as if you might puke with embarrassment for your best friend. “Looks good ladies.” He hands back the cards, one warm with body heat, the other cold as plastic should be. “Enjoy.” Pulling back the dipping navy blue velvet entrance rope, he grants the two of you entry.

A sharply dressed man, close to but not equally as broad as the bouncer outside opens one of the two large main doors, flooding the busy streets with the sounds of a heavy crescendo, booming music that forces your heart to pound against your rib cage. He winks as you pass, your heart making a beeline for your throat. “Damn look at all those fresh pieces of ass!” Tessa practically screams when the main room, where dozens of sweaty people are gathered, comes into view.

“Tess! Don’t just scream stuff like that!” You yell into her ear. She waves you off.

“Who cares?! No one was gonna hear it anyway!” She skips off towards the bar, leaving you to sluggishly trail behind like a lost puppy.

“I did…” You mumble.

Tessa perches herself on one of the many bar stools, puffing her chest out at the attractive barkeep. “Two cosmopolitans love…” She coos, earning a ‘You got it’ from the dark dressed man. She taps her nails against the hardwood of the bar, swaying with the bass. She looks to you, taking in your odd behavior. “What is up with you?” Her eyes, unlike her voice, are soft, caring and, full of an undeniable curiosity. “You haven’t talked much all night.”

“The night just started.” You answer quickly, staring at the brightly lit wall of various types and kinds of liquor encased in illuminated glass bottles diverse in color.

Tessa grins, spinning to face the dance floor, legs crossed. “Bingo.” She pokes your arm. “God I love this song!” She suddenly bursts, throwing her hands up and leaping off her stool in recognition to the familiar beat. Thankfully, it remains standing, you worried her exuberant behavior would force the stool to the ground, that's when you notice the screws pinning it to the concrete.

“Tess!” You yell after her, “The drinks! Dammit.” She’s out of earshot, or more like her ears will be bleeding in a matter of seconds, blocking any sound from protruding. So much for attempting to put your lungs to good use.

The bartender soon returns, two brilliantly made cosmopolitan’s in hand. With the arrival of drinks comes your groveling best friend, her hair less put together than it was when you arrived and a number of thirsty eyes following her. “Woo!” She shouts, picking up her cocktail and throwing back at least half of it. “Did you see me out there?” You can’t help but smile at the utter joy written on her face.

“How could I not? You practically dominated the dance floor. All eyes were on you.” You sip the cosmo, smiling as you swallow, but internally cringing at the overpowering sour taste gliding the plain of your taste buds, surely burning them as it goes. Tessa’s long silence has you growing nervous, never ever, especially with alcohol flowing through her system, is Tessa quiet.

“Not all eyes.” She gestures to the far end of the bar with a tip of her chin. You follow her gaze, looking at the various bar-goers. She must be talking about a man sitting at the bend in the bar, no young man. His hair is dark, nearly black, with orange highlights along the ends. He nurses a brown liquor from a short glass, his eyes are hard, but not frightening. Even when his cover is blown, the sharply dressed man refuses to look away, his blade like gaze entranced by something about you. “Go talk to him.” Tessa orders, giving you an encouraging push forward.

You whip your head around to face her, fast enough to hurt your neck and to make your eyesight go white for a second. “What? Are you crazy?!”

She rolls her eyes, “If you don’t I will, and I think we both know that’s not what he wants.” She winks, “Now gulp that liquid courage and grow a pair!” You shake your head no, looking from her to your drink, only to land your eyes on the ethereal stranger at the curve in the bar.

Wow.

Without looking back at Tessa you swallow your pride and the cosmo for good measure. You slide off the barstool and begin to close the distance between you and the eye candy. “That’s my girl!” You hear Tessa yell before she swallows her own liquid courage and heads for the dance floor, definitely keeping you within watching distance.

“This seat taken?” You ask, caressing the barstool as if it were a prized jewel. Your hand shaking nervously due to the way his copper brown eyes meet yours, the softness they portray reminding you of the delicacy flower petals withhold.

“Not at all, although, you won’t be sitting long.” His words baffle you, a gentle smirk riding the thick mass of his lips. “I was about to ask you for a dance.” He explains, rising off his barstool. He snaps his fingers, the barkeep rushing to his beck and call. He points to the glass he left in his wake, barely drank from, practically untouched. “Shall we?”

“You didn’t want that?” You fold your arms over your torso, pushing up the swell of each breast all to attract his eyes, something Tessa taught you to do, but the motion doesn’t suit you and you fear he’ll pick up on that. Besides the slight cocking of an eyebrow, he remains unphased, not even giving those parts of you a second glance.

“I don’t think i’ll need it, you’re pretty enough without the influence of alcohol.” He takes your hand, gently encasing your fingers in his palm. “Besides, it hadn’t been that fine a year, barely worth my time.”

“Unlike me?” He hesitates, turning to face you once he reaches the lit dance floor.

“Yes, unlike you.” The mysterious young man smiles, a genuine smile that has his eyes crinkling and straightening out in delight. Something about him is frightening, intimidating, and confident. Despite all those factors, he gives you an adrenaline rush. Not knowing his name nor anything about him other than his high-end pallet and infatuation with only the finest years of alcohol fueling that fire underneath you.

He continues to hold your hand, pulling you close enough where your chest hits his. “Who did I see you with?” He asks, gesturing back to the bar where he had first seen you. His one hand resting on the curve of your side just above your hip.

You look up, into his eyes trying to drown out the loud bumping music that for some reason the two of you sway to slowly. “Tessa?”

“Tall? Blonde? Looked like she had a bit too much of this places cheap liquor?” You giggle, the sound drowned out by the crowds' screams and cheers.

“That would be her…” You loll your head with amusement, hanging it low before lifting it to face him again when you inhale. “She’s my best friend.” You see him ‘ah’ in response, not hearing the sound of realization that was sure to pour from his gaping mouth. “She dragged me here tonight, thought I needed some time away from the stressful life I live.”

“Well, I’m sure glad she did. It seems I happen to be in town at the perfect time.” His fingers twitch against your side, sending chills fleeing from the area. You blush, averting your eyes to prevent it from becoming readable.

“You said you enjoy fine tastes, and that you’re only visiting town.”

“Did I?” He answers cockily.

“I assumed, based on your earlier words.” One of your hands moves closer to his neck, the longer dark strands of hair brushing your still coarse and rough fingertips.

He exhales an amused breath. “You assumed correctly-” A rather rude shove from the tipsy crowd moves the two of you, your dance partner takes the brunt of the brute force, steadying himself while gripping you tightly at the waist. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed to prevent a contuse from forming after being hit; upon reopening you spot a woman, perhaps your age although her worn face and tough features hint she may be older. She grips the material of your company’s opulent suit jacket tightly, her eyes fixed firmly on his face. She’s clearly drunk without reason and appears to be alone, unless her own group of inebriated friends is gathered around here somewhere.

“Why you’re rather handsome...where are you staying tonight? I’d love to go back there with the likes of you on my arm.” She giggles, tugging him toward her.

He releases your hip, shifting you behind him as he turns to face the woman making moves on him. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m staying with my grandparents. I doubt they’d appreciate the unwanted company.” You bite your lip to keep from laughing, to see him dismiss her so smoothly and without a second thought is astonishing...and hot. The girl mumbles something under her breath as she walks away, eyeing you up and down all while stumbling off to meet the unappreciative gaze of the barkeep, one you’re sure to remember later. “Let’s go outside, I’d rather that not happen again.”

You snicker, “Are you really staying with your grandparents?” He guides you by the waist through the rowdy crowd, his fingers whispering against the tight back of your one nightly clubbing dress. You spot Tessa who dances in tune to the beat, her hair no longer pinned half back; all her gorgeous ringlets free to unravel themselves at will, coming from the coil that holds them in a death grip to fall gracefully around her sweat-drenched neck. You take note of her positioning in the club and catch her eye. She slows her movements to smile, dropping her jaw to mouth a ‘damn’ that you roll your eyes at. She returns to ogling at the DJ and you to the conversation started with your mystery man.

“God no, I’m here on business,” He starts, “Once I complete the few things that need my attention here…” He pauses, gulping, “I’ll be heading home.” You lick your lips as a means to capture his attention, stretching your neck to one side and rubbing the exposed skin he can see. Upon looking back at his bright pearlesque smile and seeing it melt as he spots what you’re playing at, you see the tip of his tongue snake over the corner of his mouth, poking and prodding before moistening his lips with ferocity. You can’t help but stare, his features depict a completely new and welcomed feeling inside you, a feeling you’ve never experienced. One that even now, as you register it coursing through you, you can’t figure out. Similar to the mystery behind white roses and their beauty.

He looks away when cool air breezes past from the door leading to a back patio just briefly seen when a stumbling man opens it and walks through, turning away from you to occupy the space of another hallway. The man scoffs, grumbling to himself before trying to evacuate the phlegm that’s gathered in the back of his throat. The carob eyed young man whose continued to treat you as a gentleman should, holds the door open for you, ignoring the unpleasant greeting from the man who walked through the door previously; following with generously sized strides after you. You stop, taking in the new aura surrounding this open space. Wicker seating surrounds a lit fire pit, and a table with chairs graces the outer area that must be used for parties and summer entertainment. A greeting nod comes from a separate barkeep that polishes the inside of a glass with a delicate hand wrapped in a cream-colored cloth, one damp with moisture surely from the bars granite top.

You turn on your heel.

“You still have yet to tell me your name,” You grin, straightening the open collar of his dress shirt tucked politely into his black denim jeans.

He sets his jaw, a smirk snaring the breathtaking pair of lips he teases you with. “I can say the same for you.” His amusement grows when he gestures to the bartender, his attention squeezed tightly by the unsettling confidence your acquaintance bears. “Two glasses of Dom Perignon 2009, if you have it.” He turns back to you, his hands linking behind his waist.

“We only sell that by the bottle sir.” The barkeep announces, his straight face knowingly distressed when he absorbs the intoxicating aura your generous associate exudes, a class you can only hope and pray to one day give off. One that quickly dragged you in by the throat down into this pit of ardent stoicism.

Your company scoffs, running a hand through his dark brown and orange dusted locks. It pains you to sit next to something, no, someone, so beautiful.

Like white roses.

“A bottle then.” He retorts, sending you aghast with a raise of your eyebrows.

“You’re kidding,” You blurt belatedly, “That’s going to cost you a pretty penny.” Champagne, and the finest of breeds. It’s not whose ordered it that shocks you, it’s that he’s willing to drop so much on a girl he’s just met. You know you’re bottom of the barrel, scraped off the floor of the full vat, one filled with plenty of unsuspecting and much prettier girls.

Who is this man?

He guides you to the bar, waiting for you to sit before he does. Even when still, his body grasps firmly to a grace and unearthly elegance. “You know your alcohol.” He smiles, pivoting to face you; his one arm resting on the granite bartop with his fingers loosely folded into a fist.

“Yes,” You nod, “What I don’t know, is your name.” He moves his eyes back and forth between yours, an almost nefarious air to him now.

“Jimin,” He bequeaths, “Park Jimin.” The bartender returns with an elegant bottle of sparkling Dom Perignon, peeling back the black encasement and untwisting the wire preventing the cork from flying free. Once unwound, he removes the cork delicately. You yelp, expecting a loud pop that ceases to come. They chuckle, “We’ll manage.” Jimin says, reaching for the bottle from the bartender who nods his head approvingly before leaving the two of you alone.

“Park Jimin.” You repeat. He flinches at the sound of his name, clearly admiring the way you speak it. “Foreign?” You ask, suddenly feeling the weight your heart takes on at the thought of never again seeing the man ahead of you all thanks to distance.

He nods, “I was born in Busan, South Korea.” You clench your jaw, “But my close friends and I moved just a few hours away all to expand our working range.”

You sigh, relief flooding you from head to toe. He pours you a glass all while smiling at the way you melt into your seat when he reveals that he doesn’t live in a foreign country any longer. “They’re more like my brothers actually.” You bat your eyelashes when the cool temperature of the tall glass glazes over the tips of your fingers. He holds it up, “To your health, happiness, and beauty.” You blush scarlet, your eyes twinkling just as the stars trapped within the champagne do.

Clink.

The sound echoes, finding the crackling of the firepit, dancing hand and hand across the solid brick wall of the building still bumping with life. Of course, the distant murmur of city bustling and alcohol-induced giggles leak through into your ears. “So,” You swallow, “Is this expensive bottle of Dom Perignon your way of saying you want to be my sugar daddy now?” You joke, the words jet-propelled from your lips, the usual filter at the back of your throat now disintegrated by his dashing good looks and smooth gulps of champagne. Jimin nearly chokes on his mouthful, pausing the swirling of his glass with a sudden lock of his wrist.

“No,” He swallows, hitting his chest gently to get the rest of the bubbles down. “Although you are a great candidate.” He smiles, setting down his champagne, “Perhaps I just enjoy splurging on beautiful woman.”

You roll your eyes, “And how often does that happen?”

A long silent beat.

“Rarely.” He finally relinquishes, his voice so impossibly full and yet so dry.

You bite your lip.

The movement of your mouth causes Jimin to look down, eyeing your lips like a stalking house cat, no, a tiger prowling the open fields towards its unsuspecting prey. With a force only known to those desperate souls roaming the Earth, Jimin leans forward and kisses you. Despite the intensity behind the impact, the kiss itself is impeccably soft, the swell of his lips moving in perfect harmony to your own. The empty courtyard seems even emptier when the viciously precise man stands, never separating your lips as his hands lift you off the barstool to instead fastidiously place you against the cool bar top.

“J-Jimin…” You stutter, spreading your legs around him and pulling his hips closer. His breath hitches as the sound of his name pours from your lipstick smudged mouth, the length of your neck now peppered with kisses broken only by the steady desperate breaths leaving Jimin’s lungs in the form of low, Earth rumbling moans. He grabs at your dress ardently, belatedly skidding the tips of his fingers across the smooth interior of your thighs, which contrary to yours are soft, well cared for, and not covered in thick calluses formed by years of tending to flower beds instead of your nail beds. His short nails provide indelible pleasure by laying out the playing field and sending fleet upon fleet of chills burning themselves into your skin.

He doesn't stop to comment in tune, just stealing your mouth back and away from the deep breath of air you were taking, halted completely when his soft pillow-like lips crash onto yours. His fingers progress closer and closer to the spot you swear you can already feel him. It isn’t until they make contact underneath the hastily forgotten dress you wear, that you gasp, filling your lungs with cold, smog-filled city air.

“Is this alright?” He asks, considerate of your feelings and oh so aware of the intimate place his fingers brush with care.

You nod vigorously.

“Say it,” He pants, the pure details of his features now hard and lust pumped. “Say what I want to hear.” He whispers, the sound so low that the muffled music almost prevents you from hearing it all together.

You gulp, moistening your dry throat. “Jimin, touch me more...p-please.” You implore, feeling powerful and brave with adrenaline pumping through your veins. “I-” You choke, throwing your head back in delight when Jimin’s fingers brush you harder, this time pressing and running back and forth. You still squirm from the lack of skin to skin contact, his pleasure providing fingertips denied your warmth thanks to your pastel pink - definitely not meant for a hookup - panties. Nothing seems to be phasing Jimin though.

With the faint lingering scent of champagne on the tip of your tongues, and the overwhelming fear of being discovered, you say the words lingering restlessly at the back of your throat, the space where your usual filter resides. “I want your fingers Jimin,” He slows his movements, breathing heavily when he hears your pleading. “In-inside me.” Your hands grab at his clothed shoulders, pulling and leaving marks with your nails in the back of his neck from the force.

He hisses with pleasure, pulling the core of your panties towards him with the intent of moving them aside, however, as all good things do...your lust induced libido shuts down completely when a ringing replaces the echoing pants and moans coming from the two of you. Jimin looks up slowly, sighing with frustration and shaking his head while wearing a weak smile of amusement that you return. “Now there’s a first.” You chuckle, earning a sympathetic glance from Jimin.

In one swift movement, Jimin’s pressing his smartphone to the blushed red curve of his ear. He clears his throat, no doubt removing the lingering arousal present in his prior words, “Hello?” He asks, his voice oddly stern and timid compared to the soft lilt it captured so well during previous conversation between you. His fingers now moving back and forth over your knee. Ignored, and hot enough to boil a sitting pot, you take his hand in yours and impatiently peel yourself from the bartop, taking one last sip from your champagne glass before moving close enough to Jimin and weaving your arm through his, hugging closely to the well-carved muscles hidden underneath. “Yes, I know.” He says dryly, “Wait, now?” His eyes shift to look away from the wall of ivy and instead at you, your glimmering eyes glazed over with unfulfilled pleasure and alcoholic haze. The person on the other end must have questioned Jimins silence because he answers with, “Yeah, I’m here.” He looks away again, a sense of worry and a flash of anger cascade his immaculate features that glimmer in the moonlight.

Silence creeps over the already eerie setting, Jimins eyes slim with frustration all while his jaw clenches and delivers a sense of fear within you. His intimidating aura has had you apprehensive all night, not that you can say it was for long given the way his hands roved and explored you just mere minutes prior to the interrupting phone call. “I’ll leave now, there is no need to get angry Jay. He won’t find out.”

Jay?

He hangs up the phone before this Jay can insert another word of scolding. He sighs, his face heavy with regret, no doubt your doing. “Don’t feel like you owe me anything.” You suddenly say, blurring the words into a sentence slowly without looking him in the eye. Jimins head whips around to find you, his eyes landing on your leg-crossed form as you relax onto the barstool again. “Go, I think both you and I know you wanted nothing more than to have your way with me.” You swallow the rest of the expensive brew gracing your cup, standing afterward only to walk up to Jimin and pull him down by the tie. “Thanks for the champagne.” You kiss his cheek, leaving him baffled as you start to walk past him, opening the door to the club.

“Wait!” He yells, spinning to face you. “Your name. I don’t know your name.” He looks beaten, completely shot down and twisting one of the many rings on his fingers.

“______.” You smile, your first name manifesting into a coherent sound, feeling just as weak and defeated as he does. “________ ________.” Jimin opens his mouth to say something in return, probably a compliment that would make you even weaker in the knees, an attack so precise and perfunctory that you doubt he’d even realize its effect on you. The actual words themselves, however, are never heard when you enter the swallowing melody swirling through the club and shut the door behind you.

You lean against the solid door when it clicks shut, the loud bumping bass pounding at your heart and joints, making you want to retreat back into the arms of the beyond gorgeous man you now know as Park Jimin. His beautiful eyes, his full lips, his fingers that glided effortlessly between your legs, as if they had been there before a million times.

Maybe just one peek…

You push the door handle down, expecting to find Jimin on the other side still shocked and possibly looking longingly towards where you walked off. To your dismay, an empty courtyard greets you on the other side of the large dark wood door. Cool air filters into the hot building, blowing back the tresses of hair loosely hanging around your neck. The Dom Perignon is recorked, placed next to your glasses, one empty, the other still half full.

Where could he have gone…?

There was no other exit from the protected patio area, a door to the kitchen perhaps, but if you are, then Jimin is most definitely smart enough to know going through there would be disruptive and challenging. He would have had to go through you, and yet, he hadn’t.

Two hands clapping onto your shoulders jolts you away from the sense of lacking and sadness threatening to arise tears in your eyes. “So when’s the wedding?” Tessa asks, her features blushed pink from her over-consumption of the dishwasher detergent this place serves.

That’s what Jimin would say.

“Marked on my calendar as the day after he doesn’t get a mysterious phone call and ditches me.” You take her by the arm, walking into the ladies room, a small intimate setting bathed in a much brighter light compared to the dark seductive aroma that surrounds the dance floor and bar. A feeling you’ve just exuded to a man you just met and enjoyed the company of.

“You mean...he just...left?” Tessa asks walking up to the mirror and painting on another layer of lipstick.

You nod.

“It couldn't have been that he didn’t like you,” She taps her finger to her chin repeatedly, looking at you, suddenly seeing your smudged lipstick and how you’re desperately trying to subdue its color from overtaking your face. “It definitely couldn’t have been that.” She teases, turning and rotating your face towards her. “Oh wow.”

“What? We just kissed that’s all-“

“Just kissed?!” She interrupts, leaning in and smelling you.

“Did you just sniff me?!” You jump back, amusement and annoyance following your words.

“Damn he was wearing some good calonge,” She continues, “What’d he do? Prop you up on the bartop and take you right then and there?” She bursts out into laughter, your face brightening to a sunset pink. You look away too quickly for her to realize what she said is almost true.

“Yeah well, I knew from the beginning that all he wanted from me was just that. I’m not that kind of girl.” You continue removing the smudges of color from around your cheeks and neck where some of the residual was left behind by his lingering sucks and kisses.

Just skimming the area burns with a remembrance of him.

Tessa crosses her arms, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, “Those hickies say otherwise.” She shakes back the frizzy strands of hair tickling at her neck.

“Tess!” You yell, a shush sounding from a bargoer who sits in one of the stalls you forgot to check for an audience upon entry.

Tessa snorts, her aching belly laugh earning an eye roll and exuberant exhale through your nose. “I think I’m gonna head home. I’ll call you a cab.” You start, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts in search of the overused cab service number.

“Fair enough, the drinks here kinda suck, and the guys weren’t worth my time either.” It’s your turn to laugh, smiling at your phone screen at Tessa’s critical words.

“Are you going to write a review?” You ask, locking your phone after sending information to the cab service.

Tessa hums, “A strongly worded review.” The two of you laugh.

You bid Tessa farewell and gave the driver her address, no doubt that she wouldn’t be able to once the night caught up with her. Tessa was already half asleep in the backseat, peeling a piece of gum from the crappy interior of the guys' cab. “Text me when you get home.” You order, wiggling a finger her way.

“I will, say hi to Nana for me.” She responds.

“How’d you-”

“You visit her almost every day, a nightly outing wasn’t gonna change that.” The piece of gum she was thronging finally falls from above her, landing on one of the dirty floor mats.

“Ladies, the meter’s runnin’,” Says the driver, a young man wearing a grey sweatshirt with a toothpick between his lips.

“Bye Tessie.” You back away from the car with a smile, knowing how much Tessa despised being called ‘Tessie’.

She sticks her arm out the window, holding up a manicured middle finger as a token of her gratitude and love.

“Miss ______!” The receptionist calls, a surprised expression riding the long length of her face. “It’s awful late, I can only allow you a minute or so with your grandmother...the hospital’s turning in.” She explains, a look of pain clearly shining in her eyes.

“I thought hospitals didn’t turn in.” You say half joking.

“The hospital may not, but the staff sure does. You have five minutes.” She jots down a quick note, handing it to you.

“‘Miss ______ has been granted access to her grandmother’s room until 24:00, Please allow her to remain until then.’”

“Just in case a nurse comes along.” A warm smile graced her lips, one filled with pity.

You nod, not another word exchanged between you. The same solid door you’ve opened multiple times looks the same as you approach it for the...god you’ve lost count. No matter, this visit is just another amongst hundreds. You don’t bother knocking, entering quietly. “Hi, Nana.” You say cheerfully, a genuine smile on your face.

No answer.

“I’m sorry for visiting so late.” You stare at the floor, refusing to look at her. “You always were a night owl anyway.” The repetitive beep of machines connected to your grandmother are just background noise to you now, barely audible and oddly comforting to know her heart is still beating. “Today was different compared to my average day of leftovers and mulch lined fingernails.” You chuckle. “That must be news to you.”

Your grandmother, known by you as Nana, has been in a coma for roughly two years. She was struck by a bus while on one of her daily walks, something she did every afternoon for as long as you’d known her. To see her be so inactive and still was almost insulting. Nonetheless, she had always been a good listener, on and off life support.

“I met someone.” You start, pulling up a cushioned chair that smelled distinctly of death and sterile plastic, a scent that lingered everywhere here. “I know i’ll never see him again, but I thought you should know.” You hold her hand, it’s smooth digits cold as ice from weak circulation. “His name was Park Jimin.” You sigh, blushing with embarrassment at how even saying his name gives you butterflies.

“Nana, he was so handsome...you’d melt at the sight of him.” You bite your lip, gnawing on it, silently wishing it was Jimin who would tug at the plump skin. A flower petal falls off her bouquet of white roses you’d left just a few days before, your attention drawn to the minute movement. The room was always stagnant, like a pond absent of life and insects swarming the surrounding marsh, so any movement inside quickly drew your eye. As for the flowers themselves, Nana always judged the bouquets before they went on display or were sold, not that she would have been against selling white roses, they were her favorite after all.

They are her favorite.

Now though, the flowers were beginning to wilt, their color draining from a pure white into a mold like yellow, some even brown with death, something that seemed to spread like wildfire here.

“Dear?” A voice sounds, one so familiar you almost cry.

Nana.

You look up at your grandmother to find her still unconscious, her eyes sitting back in their sockets, her skin almost a pale white, and her hair grey with lighter streaks amongst the charcoal strands. “My good lord, sweetheart.” The voice, belonging to Mrs. Brackenbury, was so uncomfortably similar to your sickly grandmothers. She worked here as a nurse. “Her door was ajar, I was worried something was wrong, but dear, what are you doing here so late? It’s nearly tomorrow!” She holds her palm flatly over her midsection, supporting herself from the front with worry for you.

You pull the sweater - usually kept in your car - tightly around your torso, worried some of your scarcely covered skin might show and earn looks of confusion and disgust from the older woman. “I was out and figured I’d stop by, see how she’s doing.”

Mrs. Brackenbury sighs, taking a step into the room and picking up Nana’s chart, reading it over with a bored expression, as if she’s seen the same stats for the past two years your grandmother has resided here. “She’s doing great, her stats steady.” She reassures, “And constantly dreaming I’m sure.” She jokes, closing the chart and placing it back where it belongs, tucked away in its cubby at the end of the hospital bed. “Come sweety, she needs her rest.”

Doesn’t she get enough rest as it is? You wanted to say, desperately yearning for the sound of her voice and the warmth to once again inhabit her hands. “Sure.” You answer dryly, standing from the chair smelling of death and instead heading towards the door.

“Perhaps new flowers are in order.” Mrs. Brackenbury speaks, her voice cheerful and yet melancholy despite the smile on her face. She picks the flowers up and out of the clear vase.

“Noted. I’ll bring her favorites. Goodnight Mrs. Brackenbury.”

“Goodnight Dear.”

You hear the flowers hit the bottom of the trash can as you walk out.

The streets were cold and empty, driving along them was odd, for a city so often engulfed in nightlife this eerie silence was bone-chillingly nerve-wracking. Pop music flowed like silk through the speakers, entering your ears just as the sounds of Jimins kissing escapades did.

God.

You parked in front of the flower shop, the lights off and door fully closed, just as you had left it. Brightly displayed flowers shown in the large front window, illuminated by dim display lights. You pick up your heels, no longer wanting to deal with them pinching and assaulting your feet. Avoiding stepping anywhere that may prove painful if descended upon, you work your way closer to the door, the sounds of insects, the mew of a stray tabby cat, and a breeze that seemed to whip through the city only to arrive at the outskirts, where your Nana’s flower boutique laid. You hum along to the song previously blasting through your car, shaking your keys to the beat. That all stops when you finally get to the door.

It wasn’t closed at all.

The breeze causes it to sway slightly, moving inwards only to be sucked back against the doorframe with each passing brush of wind. Hastily, you push it open with a creak, the copper bell above jingling quietly and without full force. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary, everything that you can see has been undisturbed. Then again, the darkness enveloping the usually bright boutique prevents much of anything from being seen.

With a flick of your finger, you hit the light switch, finding it futile as the click proves useless when nothing changes. You flip them again.

Again.

Nothing; your breathing becomes heavy, you can see the outline of the cash register, it appears to be closed, but from what you remember, you forgot to lock it this afternoon. The money lying in that box all goes towards Nana’s medical bills, since your father is no help.

Dad.

You step forward, taking courageous broad strided steps all in the hopes of being able to protect yourself if suddenly jumped or attacked.

Squish.

You stop, feeling something thick and slippery like oil beneath your bare foot. It’s warm, and when you look down you see the spitting image of your father, lying lifelessly face down with your trimming scissors delved deep between his shoulder blades.

“D-dad?” You wince, your voice loud and shaky compared to the quiet, even peaceful, sounds that make themselves known around you.

There’s no answer, of course, just the silent drips of scarlet blood off the hilt of the scissors which are now concealed by thick plasma. Your delicately raised white roses, tended to be the most beautiful of any rose are now crushed beneath the dead weight of your father. Your lungs provide you no air for words, short staggered breaths being the only fuel for your shocked silence.

Dropping to your knees, you hover your hands around your father’s face, wanting to, but not being able to bring yourself to touch him. Instead, you lift a rose, raising it to your cheek and brushing its drenched petals over your cheekbone. Thorns catch the soft skin of your profile, tugging and tearing a long thin cut down the flesh. Tears smear under your eyes, shadows formed by watery eyeliner and mascara that regrettably was not waterproof.

Before you can call out to your father again, a sudden, strangled frequency erupts from some unknown source, “Shhhht.” It sounds, freezing you into a solid brick of stone. The sound itself is similar to that of a radio or static driven TV, but what chills you to the core...is that the sound was near, too near.

The sound came from in the room.

You swallow, still crouched down in the pool of blood; warm liquid seeping between your toes. With shaking hands, you wipe away warm salty tears from the sullen trenches under your eyes. “J…n...ssi.” The sound remains staticy, your ears and shielded eyes attentive to the deep shadows that somehow holds an even blacker black than that of the already dark depths enveloping the boutique.

A sharp intake of stale air, one that smells of copper enters your lungs when you somehow muster the courage to breathe out words. “You,” You start, gulping in the hopes of moistening your throat fighting for lubrication. “You killed my father,” Your legs shake, your lips quiver, and the fire within you that was just fighting for reignition is now flaring. “And you have the audacity to hide in the shadows?!” Whoever stands still alive in this room with you is just as nervous as you are, you can practically smell the stress hormones exuding off them. Moonlight has begun to trickle through the display window, illuminating your father's corpse and the pool of blood continuing to grow around him.

Static rises again.

“Jimin~ssi!” The voice is panicked, filled with a desperation so familiar that it makes your heart ache. The words the panicked mouth spit, however, those few letters sent chills riding up your spine.

You clutch the flower close to your heart, dropping it when he emerges into the descending moonlight. “Jimin?”

God you hated white roses.

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nightmareonfilmstreet · 7 years ago

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Review: BLACK MIRROR Season 4 (Part I - Episodes 1 & 2)

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/review-black-mirror-season-4-part-episodes-1-2/

Review: BLACK MIRROR Season 4 (Part I - Episodes 1 & 2)

Black Mirror Season 4 dropped on December 29th, on Netflix.

SPOILER-FREE REVIEW:

Watch it. Oh my God, watch it. Now, then; Spoilers ahead.

EPISODE 1: USS CALLISTER

The aspect ratio of the opening sequence matches the aspect ratio of the old Star Trek television show. It’s little things like that keep my coffee hot and get me up in the morning.

“USS Callister” really tells two stories: the first is the tale of a loser computer programmer named Robert Daly, who’s created a groundbreaking Virtual-Reality-based game that lets people fly around the universe in spaceships, explore planets, battle each other trade, etcetera. The guy he started the company with is a dick who doesn’t appreciate his contributions to the company. His coworkers think he’s weird and awkward and kinda creepy sometimes.

The second story is that of a sadistic and cruel God named Robert Daly. Daly has created a parallel Virtual Reality that allows him to play out his fantasies of being a Hero in Charge, based on a retro science-fiction television show he loves. (Think Star Trek.)

The twist of the knife is that he has peopled this game with digital copies of coworkers he dislikes, generated by stolen samples of their DNA. They have all their memories and personalities from the real world. They are sentient, thinking and feeling as their real-world selves.

What “USS Callister” asks us is (among many other things), are they alive?

Not that episode one is all scowling and torment. Brooker mentioned that Black Mirror would ‘explore a little more comedy in this season’, and there is certainly a strong heartbeat of humor here. It’s the best kind of laughter, too, for the series: black humor. Hangman’s jokes. The dry British chuckle in the face of the abyss.

Watching the tortured, terrified digital clones of the USS Callister unwind while Daly is logged out of the game reminds one of London in the Blitz. Sure, there are bombs and blood and rubble everywhere, and things are pretty awful, but at least the bottles behind the bar survived.

When the newest digital clone, Cristin (played by Nanette Cole) finds out that nobody has genitals in Daly’s digital world, her battle cry is priceless:

Okay. Stealing my pussy is a red. Fucking. Line.

“USS Callister” is like a great Doctor Who episode that just happens to be Rated R.

When the trailers for Season 4 dropped, the teaser for “USS Callister” left out the real world entirely. It was a move of twofold genius. First, it saves the surprise of our first, bleak glimpse of the real world. Our introduction to neurotic weirdo Daly (an absolutely stunning performance by Jesse Plemons) feels like a nihilistic sigh of relief. It doesn’t have to be full dark 24/7, but there’s something in the uncompromising, unblinking hardness of Black Mirror that has always set it apart. A certain bleak jouissance that no other show delivers.

Second, it works as a commentary on the episode itself. In our little taste of “USS Callister,” the real world isn’t there at all. The trailer promises pure sci-fi. Pure escapism. Fun. Adventure. There’s no trace of the sinister sadism of Daly, or the suffering of his comrades. There’s no sense of true tragedy or actual stakes.

Just like the immersive, next-gen VR in the episode.

“Callister” examines the more disturbing elements of the AI and VR booms we’re seeing right now. Ten years from now, if we have a bad day, put on our VR headsets, and kill a hundred digital people in Call of Duty online, what will that mean? In a world where code is ever-improving, at what point is a program as nuanced and multifaceted as us? We don’t feel anything drowning Sims or making them wet themselves…but should we? If not today, when? At what point does simulated suffering cease to be Catharsis and become Sadism?

With the advent of technology like CRISPR, perhaps we aren’t so far from Daly’s nightmare after all.

EPISODE 2: ARKANGEL

The obvious big-gun episode of the season is “Arkangel.” There’re no scrubs in the directorial talent of Black Mirror, but Jodie Foster (four Oscar nominations, two wins, Silence of the Lambs, ‘nuff said) is clearly the Heavy Hitter.

She swung for the fences.

She knocked it out of the park.

I don’t even like baseball.

“Arkangel” tells the story of a mother and daughter. When her daughter Sara (Aniya Hodge, Sara Abbot, and Brenna Harding) goes missing, Marie (Rosemarie DeWitt, Cinderella Man, Mad Men) has a monitoring system implanted in Sara’s head. It’s called “Arkangel,” and gives Marie access to Sara’s location, biological vitals, and even a direct feed from her optic nerve. Marie can see what Sara sees.

But “Arkangel” isn’t really about the creepy sci-fi stuff. None of the best episodes of Black Mirror are, and this is one of the best in the series. No. “Arkangel” is about what happens as Sara grows up. It’s about the Helicopter Parents of the future. About how far Marie will go to keep her safe, and how much of herself she’ll compromise to do it.

And the inevitable price to be paid.

The brilliance of Foster’s episode is (to borrow from Blake), its fearful symmetry. Its balance. Each element dances with another, each character reflected darkly in the actions of others. Sara and the all-seeing eye in her head are like a weight in the center of the episode. On one side is Marie and her Orwellian baby monitor. On the other is Trick (a superb performance by Own Teague), the Cute Drug Dealer from the Wrong Side of the Tracks, and all the rebellion and danger he represents.

Every line, every interaction in the episode shifts that weight, tilts the precarious position of the scale. Structurally, it’s breathtakingly beautiful. There is no wasted moment.

I don’t know whether to give the nod to Brooker (who has sole writing credit on the episode) or Foster for the delicate dance of these threads. The interplay between the writing and directing style is an elegant pas de deux, each word and element circling the others, and pulling the weave ever tighter.

Brooker understands Irony in a way that few shows do, and utilizes it like the keen, heartrending edge that it can be. And he knows Tragedy. The Capital-T kind that the Greeks told us so much about, all those years ago. He knows it intimately. Knows that the key to Tragedy is Hamaratia: the Fatal Flaw.

There are several Fatal Flaws in “Arkangel.” They run (appropriately) in arcs through the episode. Tracing those threads back reveals the subtlety and nuance Foster and Brooker actually manage.

Almost everything Marie does throughout the episode is countered or echoed elsewhere: when she reactivates the Arkangel unit in Sara’s teens, she sees her having sex with Trick, the “Dangerous Bad Boy.” Yet, that same night, she met up with one of her patients from physical therapy: a devil-may-care biker who injured himself driving his motorcycle recklessly, and shows no signs of slowing down.

Marie sees Sara experimenting with cocaine in Trick’s van. The effect of the drug is that it raises Sara’s heart rate. A few days later, Marie grinds some drugs into Sara’s morning smoothie. The effect of drugging her daughter is the spontaneous abortion of a pregnancy Sara didn’t even know about.

It’s ironic that Marie should confront Trick, condemning him as “a junkie.” Throughout the episode, Marie treats the Arkangel parent unit as a junkie treats drugs. She hides the unit upstairs, laments over whether to use it or not. Okay, just this one more time. Uses it just a little. Just a few functions. Starts carrying it with her. It’s clear that she’s addicted to it.

There’s even a brilliant reversal of the classic “Parent finds drugs in the kid’s room” scene, where Sara rifles her mother’s room and discovers that she’s still using the Arkangel parent unit. Sara is horrified and tosses it down, the perfect picture of a parent discovering their child’s dangerous addiction.

Marie is the first victim of Arkangel, and in her victimhood, she stands for all of us. I don’t mean the program itself. I’m talking about the sentiment behind it. Beneath the eerie veneer of the invasive surveillance of tomorrow, “Arkangel” is quietly commenting on something we’re experiencing today.

Safety. In excess. In extremis.

The opening scene of the episode doesn’t just establish the characters and set the stage. It holds up a mirror. Marie is giving birth: after complications during natural birth, the doctor is performing a C-section. “Arkangel” opens with Marie looking away from the things that frighten her: the doctors, the nurse, the procedure she’s undergoing. When Sara is finally born, the doctors whisk her away to a table nearby. There is no sound. No cry. Other doctors gather, and Marie becomes afraid: afraid her baby is dead, that she’s lost her little girl, and is powerless to help.

“Tell me she’s alright,” she says.

The nurse holds her hand, tells her to calm down. Comforts her. Then Sara cries and is brought over, and she’s fine, and everything is fine. We get the sort of close-up maternal scene we’re accustomed to seeing when babies are born on television. Lots of nuzzling and happy tears and lifelong bonds being wound between mother and child.

And then, brilliantly, brutally, honestly, Foster shows us what we seldom see these days, too busy cooing over the microcosm and the close-up.

She shows us the big picture.

On one side of the curtain, Marie is bonding with her little girl. Her daughter is alive and well. Everything is fine. Nurses smile and nod and congratulate her. And on the other side of the curtain, her body is open and bloody. Doctors work quietly to stop the bleeding and make her whole again. Though a routine procedure, Marie has experienced massive trauma, could conceivably die if things go wrong…but she’ll never know. The sheet protects her. She doesn’t feel a thing: the doctors have numbed her to the trauma she’s experiencing. All that’s left is bliss.

(By the by, I’m not suggesting we force new mothers to watch surgeries performed on them without anesthetic. I’m not a monster. I am an observer of metaphors.)

The “parental control” of the Arkangel unit is obviously the darkest, most troubling of the sci-fi elements of the episode, but it raises some interesting questions about what safety might mean, in the long-term.

When Sara’s grandfather has a heart attack, she can’t see what’s happening to him, and can’t hear his pleas for her to get help. She’s shielded from the trauma by the unit. But there’s a parallel in our world, here: if we crumble in the face of fear and trauma, shutting down and closing it out, refusing to look, what are the consequences of that willful blind eye?

Later, as Marie grieves over her father’s grave, Sara can’t see her mother’s face. Grief is uncomfortable. It has been censored out.

Again, there are real considerations for us in the real world. If we turn our backs on grief and powerful, negative human emotions because they make us uncomfortable, what does that mean? The end of empathy? A society that must grieve alone and uncomforted, with no community to feel and grieve with us, no strength to be lent to us because we are, in our sadness, upsetting?

Just something to think about.

Sara’s grandfather speaks for some us, after Marie has the Arkangel implanted in Sara’s head:

“I remember when we used to open up the door and let the kids be.”

It provokes an interesting thought. The difference between opening a door and a locked one can be the difference between a home and a prison. Between a conversation and a censure is the difference between a parent and a warden.

And once you’ve escaped a prison, why would you ever go back?

Overall

There’s a common thread between “USS Callister” and “Arkangel.”

Hope.

When Cristin and company break out of Daly’s digital world, they have a whole new universe to explore. They’re in charge of their own destinies again. They have free will, and the will to live.

Once Sara escapes her mother’s smothering safety, she has a whole world to explore. She’s free, finally, with her whole life ahead of her.

Watching these two episodes, I noticed something for the first time. In the opening credits of Black Mirror, just before the screen goes dark, and we stare into the black possibilities of the onrushing technological age…

The Black Mirror always cracks. The mirror Brooker holds up is not impervious. We can escape.

There’s always hope.

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kieiron · 6 years ago

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Affirmation (18+)

Chapters: 1/1 (Completed)

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: Mature

Fandom: The Brodiac

Pairings, Characters: Archibald Kieron/Srinu Tinia

Tags: Established relationship, Urban fantasy, Werewolf Sag, Vampire Aqua, Couple banter

Warnings: Alcohol, Blood, Death mention

Still an hour until midnight. And yet there it is; another howl, unnecessarily followed by a whole bunch of others booming through the dampness of the bar illuminated in distractingly painful strobe lights, and even more distracting mixture of scents in the air. But even between all the elves gossiping, angels pushing their oh-so-mighty wings in everyone’s faces and werewolves all hooting excitedly at every little drinking game round passing, Srinu can point him out in the crowd.

Of course he can. It’s not like he Didn’t remember his scent better than the vampire’s own death. It’s not like he Didn’t just start the latest round of howling within his wolf pack. It’s not like he Didn’t see his face every time he wakes up and plus just made love to him this morning.

And it’s not like Srinu Didn’t spend his entire time being here tonight lazily sipping on the cocktail that provides him little satisfaction while closely watching him having the time of his life, dancing wildly like a fool with his pack, trying to impress him.

If it weren’t for him wanting to spend the New Years Eve here, Srinu would have been out the door faster than he can see another human giving him the stink eye for being the only vampire out tonight (he’s happily taken, thank you very much). They could’ve gone to that siren-owned restaurant he’s been suggesting all month for them to try, for fuck’s sake.

Ah, speak of the devil. Here comes the wolfman, with that signature smug smile and ear twitches. Srinu liked the subtle punk rock look he’s got going on tonight, not in spite of the fact that the choice of style is in complementary to the high collar leather jacket to hide the Vampire Biting Post he’s got underneath.

“Hey”, Archibald slurred. Srinu observed him before he give a reply. Not drunk just yet, but the warmth of the alcohol and the bonding session with his friends must’ve left him too cozy.

“You”, was the reply Srinu settled with.

“Me!” His boyfriend took another swig of his cheap beer. He finished with a loud satisfied exhale, wiped his mouth, and gave the vampire some good ol’ eyelash batting. “So, like… What’s a hottie like you doing out here alone?”

Srinu snorted, but the creeping endeared grin was futile. He leaned back to the wall behind him. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend to finish up wrestling out his friends on the dance floor.”

“Oh”, Archibald took a moment to think of an in-character reply. “Maybe your boyfriend had, you know, an event planned out in mind in like, uhhh… an hour?”

“Like a New Year’s Eve kiss?”

“Yes… Wink, wink.”

“In this dingy old bar and not at home?”

“It’s not dingy! Just old. Probably as old as you, so shut it, old man.”

“Just because you took me out here on our first date doesn’t mean we have to do everything here.” The place was so much nicer in that memory, or maybe it was the early-relationship-lovesickness talking in his place.

“You’re right, we haven’t had sex in the small ass bathroom stall yet.”

Srinu laughed. “Maybe next time. But babe, come on.”

Archibald pouted. “Can’t I show you off in front of my friends for once?”

“Is that what this is about?”

“Sorry. No good?”

“No, it’s okay, it’s just—“ The vampire glanced back between him and his wolf pack in the background, still busy with a drinking game. “I’m surprised. You aren’t usually that big for PDA in front of people you know.”

The man in front of him rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s because you seem like you just want to keep it to ourselves until, you know, last fullmoon. The one where you kissed me in my stinky wolf form.”

Ah. Right, that night. That night spent in Leander’s family’s ranch out of the city, where packs of wolves more than he can imagine celebrated the act of just fucking shit up; chasing each other through the fields and forests and hills, wrestling in the dirt and howling impossibly ten times more frequently than they already do in public.

Srinu had been hesitant to come, but did anyway to look out for his man (and witness at least once what he’s like exactly at his wolf fullest). Archibald happily gave him what was certainly the world’s most enthusiastic blowjob the day Srinu told him he’d come, and it’s not like he’d be the only non-werewolf present — but the event was still a mess. He couldn’t keep up with his overexcited boyfriend even when he reluctantly used his vampire speed, and ended up kissing him in front of everyone in both exasperation and relief.

Archibald is grinning at the memory. “So you’re weird. But that really made me happy and that— that was so sweet. And you were so opposed to coming at first too! Honestly I’ve... Always wanted to be mushy with you and show you off, because you’re like so great and amazing and”, he took a deep breath. “I’m like, so into you, dude.”

“Dude”, Srinu echoed.

“Is that all you got from that?!” he bellowed with a laugh. Srinu laughed along, resting a hand on his lover’s arm.

“For the record, I didn’t hate it”, he assured. “Both the event and the kiss. And I get you. You’re a softie. You were just waiting for my approval. And now we’ll perform the sexiest kiss your friends will ever get the pleasure to see.”

“Right! A very hot kiss, produced by two very hot people.”

“Ooh, self confidence. I like that.”

“Thanks, I grew it myself!” Archibald paused. “No wolf form, though. Be weird at home. Well— that goes without saying, is it...”

“Mhmm”, Srinu’s eyes settle on a bruise peeking out from under his collar. “Can I bite your neck?”

“Y—… You’re gonna feed on me in front of this whole crowd?”

Srinu glanced at the crowd again. Still no other vampires in the bar, no need to tell anyone to back off his man. Okay, not like it was necessary to begin with, since Archibald can intimidate off anyone himself if he really wants to. And the thought of showing off how committed his boyfriend is from how much he’s been marked up to everyone else is kind of a turn on.

The blue-haired man glanced back to him with a smirk after the self-reassurance. “You were begging for it last night, so I assume it’s pretty sex.”

“I—“ A flustered laugh followed. “Yeah, it is pretty sex but”, The werewolf chewed on his lips, his voice suddenly softening. “I see it as a… Special us thing, you know?…”

“Oh”, even though he’s dead, Srinu felt warm. He set their glasses aside quietly and closed the distance between them. “That’s… Really sweet, actually.”

“I hope the invitation still stands when we get home, though?” Archibald’s smile was just as warm, but his eyes were clearly suggestive as he wraps his arms around the vampire’s waist. Srinu returned the gaze.

“I’ll make you bleed hard, wolfboy.”

“Ominous, but thank God, I thought you were about to use the usual cheesy ‘suck you dry’ line.”

Srinu laughed, giving his boyfriend a light peck on the lips which was returned with peppers of kisses on his face, the wolf’s tail wagging rapidly. He received them gladly, but playfully turned away with a grin on his face when Archibald clearly got too excited as his kisses evolved into the usual slobbery ones.

“Alright, alright! Let’s save the dog kisses for your friends.”

With a smile, he was pulled to the pack of wolves Archibald associate with. Srinu could name two at best — Finlay, the guy who usually win all the wrestling despite his height (or lackthereof) and Leander, the one that knows everyone and know of their relationship first. The group raised their glasses at them, barking welcomes and scooted to give them a spot to sit on the sharing booth. The seats were cramped enough to force the couple’s thighs to fully press against each other, but you know what? It works in Srinu’s favor. As his boyfriend re-introduced him to the gang, the vampire shamelessly ran his fingers through his inner thigh as little promises of tonight.

He can feel Archibald shudder beneath his touch, and snuggled against the side of Srinu’s face in response.

The time leading up to the final countdown was a blur, as his attention were only on his boyfriend — Srinu faintly hears the group talking about plans for the next fullmoon, and then everyone at the bar were screaming out numbers, and the next thing he knew the man he loves pulled him even closer and pressed their lips together as the visitors around them cheers, screams and howls.

The wolf crowd in particular was hooting at them as Srinu’s hands wandered over his lover under the jacket and the man in question tugged gently on his hair, earning welcomed moans. Maybe Srinu couldn’t taste the cheap beer in Archibald’s mouth, but the warmth and gasping he offered him was enough. When they pulled away for a second, he tugged on his lower lip with his usually well-hidden fangs, drawing blood before proceeding to suck on it as Archibald moaned. It wasn’t enough for Srinu, but it’d help him cope for now.

“Sorry”, he had to say when they pulled back for real, glad to see how spent the werewolf looks. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Srinu would’ve been happy to do another round of one of this, but it didn’t even take Archibald hearing his pack cheering for the two to get a room for him to drag them out of there.

Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find where Archibald parked his motorbike with his night vision. He was quiet (albeit a little panting), waiting for Srinu to climb on and strap his helmet to reach for his wrists and wrap his arms around Archibald’s own waist to hold on.

The very faint scent of the violet-haired man’s blood seems to hit right at Srinu’s nose through the breeze of the bike running through the night, and he inhaled all of it, contentedly pressing his cheek against his lover’s back. Around them, the city sprung to life with life with blurring bright lights they passed, muffled cheering from every direction and a heightened waft of faerie dust that seems to engulf them.

Maybe Srinu would’ve liked that magical, coming-of-age-movie kind of scene to last longer, but as they reached into the confines of their shared dark apartment, he couldn’t complain.

“You’re eager to bleed”, was breathed out as he was pressed against the door. He notes that his partner is already hard, and yep, feeding may not be the last thing on their to-do list on this first day of the year.

The reply he received was another deep kiss. This, too, works in Srinu’s favor. Archibald grinds against him like a dog in heat, messing up even more of the vampire’s longer locks.

“Baby, please”, the werewolf pleaded, frantically slipping off his jacket and unbuttoning his first few buttons before pulling at his collars, widely exposing his neck and chest area, where a number of marks were visibly still healing. “Take it all.”

If there’s one thing Archibald should know the most about their relationship, is that he could trust that Srinu would never hurt him. No matter how intense the tension is. No matter how much he begs to be sucked off completely in the heat of the moment. No matter whether or not they are climbing up to their orgasm. He knows Srinu would still hold back, as careful as he always is, and make it as pleasurable as possible for him as well.

Including now.

Thankfully, their bedroom isn’t too far from the entrance. Alternating between kissing around the area and licking at the bite spot within his inner thighs, Srinu slowly jerked off his lover, just enough to tease him. Archibald, laid on the bed all for him, kept himself busy stroking at his hair, sighing softly here and there, offering a couple encouraging words in between. Srinu had no idea how feeding must’ve felt good to a werewolf, but hey, he’s happy.

Srinu himself, especially, is currently at his happiest as the taste of the familiar blood is lapped and sucked. What was a flavorless alcohol to him can now be tasted through Archibald’s system, and oh,... That’s pretty satisfying, actually.

Some vampires may argue that the blood of non-humans including werewolves doesn’t taste as good in terms of flavor due to lifestyle and diet and whatnot, but Srinu would like to call bullshit on that. As sappy as it sounds, their love makes Archibald’s blood the best he’s ever tasted.

And thank whatever higher power made them exist in such a way — lovemaking even multiplied that.

So even as he prepped himself with his own fingers and sank down on his loved one’s lubed length, his lips stayed on the new biting spot on Archibald’s neck. And as he heard the two of them groan simultaneously, he knows he’d go through the trouble of hanging out in that dingy bar all over again if it means the moment will lead up to this.

Even if it means postponing the restaurant reservations he’d made earlier that month for the proposal plans.

#t: brodiac #t: sagaqua #t: archibald kieron #t: srinu tinia #sagaqua urban fantasy au

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ebizworldwide · 7 years ago

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8 Hiring Tips to Prevent Burning Down Your Startup

For start-ups, success is merely another method to claim 'brand-new obstacles.' The most significant of those obstacles: working with the ideal people.

Very couple of points could do as much damage to your recently established operation as hiring the wrong employee. If your business hasn't been around long enough to have ideal hiring techniques, right here are some hard-learned startup working with tips to aid you.

1 - Don’t snap hire

About 15 years back, when my start-up was obtaining its legs under it, among my employees aimed to dry chemical-soaked rags in a gas industrial clothes dryer and also blew up a laundromat. Oh, we told him to hand-dry the cloths, that they had to be maintained much from open flame, also flames as little as the pilot burner of gas dryer. However he really did not listen, as well as ... BOOM!

That staff member was a snap hire during a time when I required a guy to take some work off my plate. The adhering to clinical costs, legal action hazards, and also, naturally, the extra crunchy laundromat I had to pay for, didn't fix anywhere near as swiftly. The lesson below is, feeding your little company fire excels. Spraying gas as well as money around wantonly at the initial indication of success, nonetheless, could send your procedure up in smoke.

2 - Understand what a prospective hire wants

Some people think they are too good for a certain job, and that sentiment could be just as harmful, if not , than an individual that does not have an education and learning however follows directions well. It's your obligation to find the distinction in each potential startup hire. Even a profoundly intelligent employee could become a liability if you don't match them with engaging work.

More as well as more employees want to do just what they are enthusiastic concerning. When I was young and also entering the labor force, it was good sufficient merely to have a safe paycheck. Currently individuals desire to discover gratification and purpose in their work. After you employ, can you keep a worker's passion, or will it only be an issue of months before you're planning to load that position once more? Bear in mind, it's not simply laundromats that get melted out.

3 - Pick the correct amount of scrutiny

Try as well as match your job opening with the appropriate degree of hiring examination. If you're a young, no-name start-up searching for leading ability, you will not have the ability to demand candidates to sustain the kind of vetting that Google could demand. If you're looking to fill an entry level duty, accepting MENSA members only is counterproductive.

Before you post a job opening, ask yourself, would you go with an onslaught of checks, tests, and also double checks to do this task? Applying for jobs can be a task in as well as of itself. You want fantastic candidates, however you also don't desire absolutely no applicants. Casting the best dimension mesh assists you extract laundromat demolitionists, but also ensures you get sufficient certified candidates making a notified hire for your startup.

4 - Inspect what you expect

If you're hiring for a technical field, make certain you have screening in place to ensure the skills you need appear. Resumes can deceive. Worse, you could trick on your own. You may like a return to greater than you need to if you really require the abilities and talents provided on it. My company, Patriot Software, does payroll and accounting in the cloud. We (like every other software program business nowadays), can not obtain sufficient excellent programmers. Employing a programmer that writes careless or broken code could establish the whole group back weeks. If you're hiring for a position in which screening makes excellent feeling, use it. A lot better yet, let the department the possible employee will be working in create an examination that reflects the nature of job they do. Nevertheless, the only point that's much better than a test based upon best techniques is an examination based on your practices.

5 - Know how to interview

During my initial hiring experiences, I was exceedingly great to my prospects. I wanted them to like me and my company and wish to deal with me. I'm a good adequate man, but I'm additionally a CEO with a business to run. I can be candid. I usually tell people to keep responses brief and also present their info on my terms. Whether it's an innate component of my personality or simply a byproduct of beginning so lots of jobs on small budget plans, I'm not always the sweetheart that prospects met in their interviews.

After collaborating with me for a few months, my start-up hires began to see my personality difference. I saw talent turnover not for more money or even more responsibility-I made up well as well as equipped my employees-but due to the fact that they really did not such as the fit. The comments from workers did 2 things: It made me more conscious of myself throughout the daily, and tested me to reveal more of my real globe personality in job interviews. When I started releasing the very same ambiance in my interviews along with an exact evaluation of what the task involves, more high-quality prospects made it through the onboarding encounter and stuck.

6 - Interview multiple times

Perfectly regular. You may have done multiple interviews on your own before landing a task. It could be demanding as an applicant, yet it's an essential way for a company owner to obtain a feeling for a candidate, as well as they for you.

Bring in brand-new participants as well as get 2nd point of views. Ask the very same questions, just in various means. The more chats you have with an applicant the more possibilities you have for them to tell you that they actually are. There are more applicant coaching devices and also how-to's around compared to I like count, so added interviews that damage down polished as well as scripted "finest version of me" responses can be greatly helpful.

7 - You get what you pay for

Yes, the old saying is real: You truly do get just what you spend for (particularly if you examination as well as meeting well). The Society for Personnel Management (SHRM) states a bad hire can cost a business as a lot as five times their yearly salaries as a result of their absence of performance as well as time shed to training. For that reason, exactly how much value does the ideal hire bring?

Not many startups have the time required to onboard young, inexperienced talent for mission-critical job features. Whatever cash you'll conserve in salary, you'll lose by pulling among your older workers off task to assist the brand-new worker. As you expand as well as create finest practices as well as treatments, onboarding will certainly come to be easier. Until then, don't allow sticker label shock afraid you away from hiring an effect gamer, as long as they're the right social fit.

8 - Know when to fire.

Short answer: rapidly. Who you employ right into your start-up is often the most impactful decision you make. Your staff members' intellectual capital will help shape your business's future in terms of instructions, believed leadership, and social structure.

I understand that firing is never ever simple, and if you truly care regarding people it never will certainly be. Think it or not, I employed and also fired my initial employee at Patriot Software program Inc., on the very same day! She took it so badly she locked herself in a washroom and also howled inconsolably for over a hr until her family members can come get her! Suffice to say, it was a hard day for all.

Firing belongs of developing the finest firm feasible. If you discover you have to do it, take solace in knowing that your core values are just as good as the individuals who represent them, as well as you are the protector of those worths.

#business #marketing #marketing strategy

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nightmareonfilmstreet · 7 years ago

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Review: BLACK MIRROR Season 4 (Part I - Episodes 1 & 2)

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/review-black-mirror-season-4-part-episodes-1-2/

Review: BLACK MIRROR Season 4 (Part I - Episodes 1 & 2)

Black Mirror Season 4 dropped on December 29th, on Netflix.

SPOILER-FREE REVIEW:

Watch it. Oh my God, watch it. Now, then; Spoilers ahead.

EPISODE 1: USS CALLISTER

The aspect ratio of the opening sequence matches the aspect ratio of the old Star Trek television show. It’s little things like that keep my coffee hot and get me up in the morning.

What “USS Callister” asks us is (among many other things), are they alive?

When the newest digital clone, Nanette Cole (played by Cristin Milioti) finds out that nobody has genitals in Daly’s digital world, her battle cry is priceless:

Okay. Stealing my pussy is a red. Fucking. Line.

“USS Callister” is like a great Doctor Who episode that just happens to be Rated R.

Just like the immersive, next-gen VR in the episode.

With the advent of technology like CRISPR, perhaps we aren’t so far from Daly’s nightmare after all.

EPISODE 2: ARKANGEL

She swung for the fences.

She knocked it out of the park.

I don’t even like baseball.

And the inevitable price to be paid.

Every line, every interaction in the episode shifts that weight, tilts the precarious position of the scale. Structurally, it’s breathtakingly beautiful. There is no wasted moment.

There are several Fatal Flaws in “Arkangel.” They run (appropriately) in arcs through the episode. Tracing those threads back reveals the subtlety and nuance Foster and Brooker actually manage.

Safety. In excess. In extremis.

“Tell me she’s alright,” she says.

And then, brilliantly, brutally, honestly, Foster shows us what we seldom see these days, too busy cooing over the microcosm and the close-up.

She shows us the big picture.

(By the by, I’m not suggesting we force new mothers to watch surgeries performed on them without anesthetic. I’m not a monster. I am an observer of metaphors.)

Later, as Marie grieves over her father’s grave, Sara can’t see her mother’s face. Grief is uncomfortable. It has been censored out.

Just something to think about.

Sara’s grandfather speaks for some us, after Marie has the Arkangel implanted in Sara’s head:

“I remember when we used to open up the door and let the kids be.”

And once you’ve escaped a prison, why would you ever go back?

Overall

There’s a common thread between “USS Callister” and “Arkangel.”

Hope.

When Cristin and company break out of Daly’s digital world, they have a whole new universe to explore. They’re in charge of their own destinies again. They have free will, and the will to live.

Once Sara escapes her mother’s smothering safety, she has a whole world to explore. She’s free, finally, with her whole life ahead of her.

The Black Mirror always cracks. The mirror Brooker holds up is not impervious. We can escape.

There’s always hope.

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