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octalove · 4 years ago

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VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I��m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

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beck-a-leck · 3 years ago

Note

since you did kindly offer... arthur frey no. 12 (please)

Welcome back Nonny! As you asked, here's some in-game canon Frey/Arthur Smooches!

Send me a Smooch Prompt and some characters and half all your self-indulgent wishes come true!

#12 Sneaking away to a hidden place for a secretive kiss

The summer sun was out in all its glory and strength for the first day of the season, and the residents of Selphia were more than happy to flock to their lake to spend a day relaxing and playing and cooling off with the first swim of the season.

The young adults in town had set up camp about halfway down the shore, spreading out a motley collection of blankets and towels and a couple large umbrellas to offer a bit of shade. They were close enough to the lake to made a quick run to the water for a dip to cool down, but far enough that even the rowdiest splash fight wouldn’t wet their belongings. For a while, they had been divided, the boys and the girls, but as the day crept on their groups mixed more and they shared snacks and drinks and sunscreen and towels got hopelessly mixed up.

Arthur sat with Forte and Clorica in the shade of an umbrella, watching the game of chicken that was taking place in the lake. They were the only three sitting out. Forte still didn’t swim very well and refused to go in deeper than waist-deep. Arthur needed to take a break from the sun, he burned far too easily, despite the copious amounts of sunscreen applied, and his shoulders were already starting to look a little pink. Clorica was fast asleep with her head resting in Forte’s lap.

There was a chorus of shouts and giggles as men picked their battle partner and hoisted her up on their shoulders. Arthur scanned the pairs with amusement. Kiel and Amber had teamed up – the smallest girl on the thinnest shoulders, he didn’t think they would last long, but he knew Amber could and would employ her wings if it gave them an advantage. Xaio Pai was trying to clamber onto Vishnal’s shoulders with as much grace as she could manage, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. Vishnal got a foot in the face a couple times before she settled unsteadily. Doug and Dolce were snapping at each other over the best strategy for winning chicken, and Pico wasn’t helping cement their team-up as she was buzzing around the two of them probably whispering threats to poor Doug or teasing poor Dolce – most likely both. Dylas and Margaret had partnered, the two of them looking rather focused as they prepared for battle and sized up their only real opponents, Frey and Leon.

Arthur’s heart gave a funny lurch was he watch Leon lift Frey up onto his shoulders and he laughed and pulled gently at his ears. It was just a game. The two of them teaming up for chicken didn’t mean anything. Frey was dating Arthur, and quite happily so. She and Leon were friends, but really that was in between them.

Forte nudged Arthur with her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to join in?”

He laughed, “No, I think if the two of us paired up we would be the shortest-lived team.”

Forte nodded and laughed in agreement. “Probably true. Those weak things you call shoulders wouldn’t hold me for very long.”

“And it’s a little too deep for you.”

Forte nodded, still smiling as the competitors squared up. “Wanna take bets though? Bet Vishnal and Xaio Pai don’t last five seconds.”

“There’s no contest there.” Arthur scanned the others again. “Hmmm last groups will probably be Dylas and Meg, and Leon and Frey.”

“I don’t know, I think Amber and Kiel might have some tricks up their sleeves. They might make it to the final two.”

The Chicken Fight began. As predicted, Xaio Pai tumbled off Vishnal’s shoulders before she really even had a chance to try and shove anyone else. Doug and Dolce didn’t last much longer, though Arthur suspected there might have been some Pico-interference in that regard. The other three couples grappled for a bit, and Amber and Kiel put up a rather good fight, but in the end, they were upended and eliminated from the competition. The final two couples were left, Dylas and Leon circled each other, saying nothing, while the girls on their shoulders traded taunts. Their former competitors were watching, egging on whoever they decided was more worthy of a win. Then with a battle cry, they charged at each other, locking into a grapple as both the boys and the girls tried their best to send the other topping into the water. The fighting may have gotten a little dirty under the water, Arthur was certain Leon and Dylas were kicking each other, but as neither of them were complaining, nobody was going to call foul play.

Then with a yell and a surge of power, Frey gut the upper hand on Meg and sent the elf tumbling off Dylas’ back and into the water with a splash. The winners hooted and howled in victory to a chorus of cheers or jeers. Then with a grin, Leon let go of Frey’s legs and she let herself fall off his back and into the water. Leon scooped Frey from the water, loudly declaring them the champions, while she laughed, and then, in true Leon fashion he unceremoniously threw the Princess back into the water. Frey reemerged laughing and wiping hair and water from her eyes. She playfully shoved the guardian, making half an effort to dunk the much taller man beneath the water. When he didn’t budge, the other men in the water saw fit to ‘avenge’ their princess and they piled onto Leon. A scuffle broke out and a lone figure quickly retreated, stumbling on laughter-shaken legs into shallower water as she wrung out her long green hair.

The men’s wrestling match continued as the women decided it was time to take a break and get a drink or have a snack. They migrated back to the blankets and settled in the sun or under the shade of the umbrellas.

Frey plopped down right next to Arthur, pressing her cool, wet body against him. She pecked him on the cheek. “Enjoying the shade?”

“Actually, it’s quite lovely.”

“Hmm,” she poked his shoulder, watching a white mark appear and then fade quickly. “You are looking a little pink. Let me put more sunscreen on your back.”

She turned to dig through the collection of bags and supplies and said with a small huff, sitting back on her heels, “Huh, it looks like we’ve used up what we brought.” She grinned at Arthur. “I do have more back at the castle. Come with me.”

Arthur opened his mouth to inform her that actually he had a bottle in his bag, but Frey was on the move before he could get a word out.

She took his hands and pulled him to his feet. They both stepped into their sandals and promised the others that they would be back soon, they just needed more sunscreen. Then they were hurrying away from the lake, back into town, and towards the castle. While most of the townsfolk were at the lake today, not everyone was, and Frey looked distinctly disappointed each time they rounded a corner and saw someone outside enjoying the beautiful summer day.

They did end up all the way back at the castle, slipping through the door into Frey’s quarters and finding it blessedly empty.

“Finally,” she sighed, spinning around and pulling Arthur close. “I love Beach Day, but it gives us so little time to spend together.” Frey leaned in close and brushed her lips against Arthur’s once, then twice before stepping back a little.

Completely unnecessarily, Arthur said, “Something tells me you didn’t actually drag me back here for sunscreen.”

Frey grinned impishly. “I mean, you’re inside, technically you’re protected from the sun.”

“Ah, well my complexion thanks you then, darling.” Arthur put his hands on Frey’s waist and pulled her close to him. She twined her arms around his shoulders as he leaned in for another kiss. Her bare skin was warm under his hands, and smooth, though he felt goosebumps erupt from where his fingers grazed. Frey pressed against him; her still damp swimsuit was cool against his flush skin.

They broke apart just for a moment to breathe, and Frey whispered, “I thought you would prefer this to me throwing myself at you on the beach. I know how much you value your privacy.”

Arthur chuckled. The whole town knew they were dating, but sometimes, being a Prince, there were certain rules of conduct he was expected to follow. And making out in public was on the no-no list. In private, though, hidden away from prying eyes…

He bowed his head to plant a kiss on Frey’s neck before whispering in her ear, “Well, we all know how much you love a public spectacle.”

He could feel Frey grinning before she said, “Let’s save that for the firefly festival, shall we?Really blow this town away.”

She hated public spectacles almost as much as Arthur did.

He pressed another kiss to her lips. “As you wish, darling.”

#replies #anonymous #becky writes things #rune factory 4 #rf4 #rune factory #smooch prompt #if you squint maybe there's a little crack shipping with the chicken team dynamics. or maybe I was just making pairs for funsies

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trojantoast · 4 years ago

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Cold is the Night (Day One: Reunion)

Zutara Week 2020

@zutaraweek

AO3

“Once he's gazed upon her, a man is forever changed

The bravest men return with darkened hearts and phantom pain

Ages come and go, but her life goes on the same

She lives to see the sun and feel the wind and drink the rain

Her colors change to mark the passing of the days

No Earthly sight can match the beauty she displays

And when I die I want her lying by my side

In my grave, in my grave”

- La Belle Fleur Sauvage (Lord Huron)

___

The arctic wind was bitter cold, but the sight of the Southern Water Tribe as he rounded the iceberg filled him with warmth. Unlike its northern sister, with its white, impenetrable walls. Only a wide harbor filled with ships and sea birds, separated the frigid ocean from the village.

No great citadel greeted him, no sparkling palace. Yet, it was not the same tribe as years past. Gone were the huts and animal skin tents. A broad path in the snow led from the port to a neat cluster of igloos nestled at the snow covered foot of the mountains, cradled by a low wall. The only permanent settlement was the low rotunda of sculpted ice and snow that crowned the village. The home of the Southern Tribe winked with fire light in the eternal dawn.

Fire Lord Zuko breathed in the crisp, familiar scent of brine and metallic snow, as his cruiser dropped anchor in the harbor. In minutes his motor boat reached the shore, and his breath of fire was the only thing keeping him from shivering right out of his parka. Summer or not, Zuko was chilled to the bone.

Three figures greeted him on the docks of ice. All were male, tall and broad. One broke away and as he grew closer his voice carried over the arctic wind, until he was only a few feet away.

“Gran Gran will be happy to see you wearing the parka she made you, though… the matching toboggan seems to be missing.”

Zuko smiled as he was enveloped into an embrace, “Hello, to you too, Sokka.”

The warrior gave him a quick squeeze and pulled back, his characteristic grin plastered on his face. Zuko looked down at his previously mentioned navy blue parka. It was cut in the Fire Nation style, and lined with white fur. “Well, I couldn't refuse a gift from a foreign dignitary, especially one that was handmade for me.”

“Certainly not, parkas of that quality can take an entire winter to hand stitch. To have one made for you is a declaration of trust and allyship, sacred to our tribe.” Zuko looked up to the second Warrior, taller than Sokka, but narrower in the shoulders. The firebender bowed formally,

“General Bato,”

There was a bark of laughter, and the third man joined the group, “General... that’s a good one.”

The tall warrior rolled his eyes, “What would you prefer, Hakoda, ‘Igloo-maker in Chief’?”

The leader of the southern Water Tribe threw his arm around the warriors shoulders and smiled, “As long as it's not my igloo.”

There was another round of chuckles, and Hakoda grasped Zuko’s forearm in a formal greeting.

“You really should take care of that parka. Bato’s not kidding, they do take all winter and you know how long those are around here.”

“I’ll be sure to express my gratitude to Kanna when I see her.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hakoda smiled softly, but his eyes turned more earnest, and he placed a strong hand on Zuko’s shoulder. The Fire Lord’s guards didn't even flinch. Snow swirled absentmindedly around the group in the moments before the chief spoke, “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Zuko nodded, his hand dipping unconsciously into the pocket of his parka, “yes, we do.”

___

Talking could wait, apparently, as Zuko and the rest of his crew were loaded up into sleds (recently reintroduced to the tribe's way of life, after they finally had enough food to feed arctic dogs as well as themselves) and taken to the village. It was bigger up close, but barely larger than the smallest of villages in his home country. Children trailed after them, and Zuko smiled as Captain Jee sent little spirals of sparks, like fireworks, towards their awed faces.

Sokka was giving him a very speedy tour, pointing out new landmarks and trying to explain who lived in what igloo, before they passed by in a shower of kicked up snow. The main gathering building of the tribe was circular and sprawling. Multiple branches and bubbles of different rooms peaked out of the drifts of snow. The ship's crew was taken to the temporary barracks to get cleaned up before the feast that the tribe's women had prepared. Zuko was led to the guest house he usually occupied on his visits.

Zuko tried to refuse any big ta-do about his arrival. It wasn't even an official visit. He knew that even if the tribe was quickly bouncing back after the war, that there wasn't much food to spare. However, the tribe members had been insistent, and he couldn't really argue.

He followed Sokka around the backside of the rotunda to the igloos and huts that Chief Hakoda’s family and visitors used.

He tried not to let his eyes drift to the home nestled between his and the chief’s. It’s doorway was dark, no smoke curled from its chimney, and from the snow drifted against the door, it had not been entered in a while.

That’s a good thing, he said to himself.

He wasn’t very convincing.

“You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked about her yet.”

Zuko stilled at the door of his igloo, a now familiar place. He let his eyes linger on the other home.

“I know she’s not here, and that’s how I wanted it to be, so…” he trailed off.

“What has it been? Six months?” Sokka continued past him carrying Zuko’s trunk with little effort. He set it down by the large cot and bed roll. Zuko sighed and followed suit. The space was immediately warmer than the outside air. The curtain of a door settled behind him.

“Seven… and three quarters.” He grabbed a tea kettle and set it on the small cooking fire at the center of the single room house. Sokka plopped down on the cushions around the pit, arranging them so he could comfortable lounge back.

“Hey, I haven't seen Suki in almost five months. I mean,” there was a grunt as Sokka removed his boots, “It's not quite the same, since me and Suki are technically married and you guys…” Sokka seemed to struggle for the right thing to say. In the meantime Zuko removed his own boots and parka, which had grown hot, and ran a hand through his unbound hair. He had kept it roughly the same length for the past five years.

“We agreed that this was the best thing for everyone. Katara’s where she's needed, and so am I.” Sokka raised a critical brow, but just shrugged.

“And, I'm sure your visit here has nothing to do with ‘being where you're needed’” Zuko shot him a withering look. Sokka had the decency to look sheepish.

“Hey,” the warrior raised his hands in surrender, “I only speaking the truth.”

Zuko wasn’t quite ready to face the truth.

He wasn’t ready, because the truth frightened him. It kept him up at night. It made him lose focus in meetings and it made him count the days between every time he saw her. He knew the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it.

“Well, buddy, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Zuko looked up from inspecting the tea pot, and smiled, ever so slightly,

“Me too.”

___

The meal was no feast or ball, but the entire village gathered in the largest and center-most room of the rotunda. The tribe’s numbers, with it’s warriors returned, and half a decade of peace, had grown to nearly 200. Yet, the room didn’t seem cramped as everyone piled onto cushions around low dining tables. Even when Zuko’s crew and personal guards (who where only there on principle, Zuko had never felt safer than among the Southern Water Tribe), joined the company, the crowded space felt comfortable and warm.

Zuko had been placed in the seat of honor, at the left hand of chief Hakoda, and the right hand of Kanna, the chief's mother, and the village’s elder. As per tradition, the youngest of the group and the unmarried women served the rest of the tribe before eating. Sokka told him once, that the action was to reinforce loyalty and represent how they serve their tribe first, until they marry, or become adults.

The food was traditional water tribe cuisine, made by collective effort of the women, both married and unmarried, of the tribe.

Platters of roasted fish, and savory rein-caribou meat was served, alongside various stews and cooked greens. sea prunes, clams, and other crustaceans were also distributed. The food, like the tribe who made it, was hearty. It was salty, and fatty, and so unlike the hot spices and complicated recipes of his Zuko’s homeland. The Fire Lord hadn’t had a meal as delicious in a long time.

The room was filled with chattering voices and laughing children, muffled by the animal pelts and cushions they all lounged on. Everyone had striped their outer clothes off, and the parkas joined the piles of furs surrounding the group. People moved from table to table, catching up on the day's activities and trading jokes and stories. The older warriors took special interest in comparing notes with his crew on sailing techniques. Every member of the tribe, from the oldest widow, to the mother’s with their tiny babies, came to Zuko’s table and greeted him formally. Zuko gave them a warriors handshake or a bow, according to their age. Some of the children brought him tiny, crude, carvings of bone, made in the shapes of animals or people. In return, he bestowed a carefully wrapped cake from the satchel at his side into their tiny hands. The pastries were crunchy on the outside and impossibly soft on the inside; shaped like lotus flowers. They were straight from the royal kitchens, and Zuko pretended not to notice when they came back for seconds.

Zuko barely had time to eat the food that had been piled onto his plate, between greeting the tribe, and joining into the discussions at his own table, but he made do.

“So, young man,” Zuko turned from giving a little girl her third pastry, to Kanna. The older woman had finished her bowl of stew, and was now working on the delicate and complex embroidery on a deep blue parka. “What is it you plan to do with all those carvings the children are giving you?”

Zuko smiled, and turned to look at the small army of animals he had absentmindedly arranged in rows next to his table setting.

“I’ll probably put them with the others. I have a glass bureau in my office that holds some of the gifts I’ve received from other dignitaries. The children’s carvings have their own shelf.” The carvings had become a sort of tradition every time he came to visit.

She chuckled, it was a rumbling, gravelly sound, “I can’t imagine these next to the rich items you must get.”

Zuko picked up the carving closest to him. It was a black wolf-whale. The little boy who had given it to him, had charred the bone to mimic the pattern of black and white splotches of the animal in real life.

“Yeah, but these are my favorite.”

He ran his hands along the upright fin on its back.

Kanna smiled quietly to herself and returned to her embroidery.

Slowly, as the night went on, the children grew tired, and their parents bid last goodbyes to the members of Zuko’s table. And as the kids were rebundled up and carried, sleepily, back to their own homes, the rest of the village filed out as well. The younger men and women left in groups, or pairs, laughing heartily together, to spend time among themselves. The widows and widowed warriors bore their own farewells. Soon, even the village elders grew sore of sitting and talking and eating, and went their own ways, wishing the guidance and protection of the spirits in the dreams of their chief, his family, and the Fire Lord.

The dishes had been cleared away much earlier in the night, so when Hakoda led them into a hall toward a small study, they left the gathering room quiet and empty.

Zuko rose from his seat, and extended his elbow to Kanna, who excepted it with a pat to his for arm and a smile.

“Such good manners.” She praised. Zuko felt himself blush.

The adjacent room was furnished with low couches and a stone fireplace that peaked out of the white ice walls. More thick pelts lined the floor. Zuko recognized the large maple shelves and desk as those he gifted Hakoda himself, made of the finest Fire Nation lumber.

Sokka, Kanna, Bato, and Zuko all settled into the couches, as the Chief pulled out a dark blue glass bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. He poured each member of the group a drink of the clear liquid, before he sat another one of the couches, instead of his high backed desk chair.

Zuko took a sip, and tried not to wince as the alcohol burned his throat. Immediately, he was warmer than before. He watched the others. Zuko knew what was coming.

Hakoda took a very slow sip of his drink, and turned to the firebender.

“I’m assuming you didn't sail all the way down to the South Pole to take in the scenery.”

Zuko swallowed, as they all turned their attention to him.

“No, no I didn't.” he took another drink, stealing his nerves, then placed the glass down.

“Me and Katara have discussed it, at length.” Zuko found that Kanna’s stare was level and calm, he felt reassured. “She thinks it’s the best thing for us, and I agree.” Zuko looked around the room.

“We want, no… we're going to get married.”

Zuko didn’t know what reaction he would receive. He had been obsessing over what Katara’s family would say, what they would do, since the idea of marriage first entered his mind. He expected it would involve being forcefully thrown into the arctic ocean. The sensible part of his mind knew there was nothing to worry about, since almost immediately after him and Katara had announced their courtship her family, and her tribe, had taken him in as one of their own (Bato had even teased them about step-grand children). Yet, the other voice in his head still haunted him with fears of rejection. But, Hakoda only sat up, placed his glass down, looked into Zuko’s eyes, and waited for him to continue.

So Zuko did.

“We know that it’s not going to be easy. We know that it will be dangerous. We know that we each have responsibilities and duties, and I respect hers and she respects mine. We’ve been considering it for a while now, and it's what we both want. I know that relations between my nation and yours, are...tense, but they're getting better, and there's people where I’m from that won’t like it, but I think that together, we can show that the four nations can coexist and that the Fire Nation cares about reperatio-”

Hakoda held up a hand, Zuko went silent, he swallowed again.

The chief looked deep into his eyes, Zuko didn't break the contact.

“I don’t care what your union means politically. I don’t care what message it will send to the other nations, what message it will send for your people, son. I just want to know one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Do you love her?”

Immediately, he answered, “Yes,” his hand settled on his chest, between his two lungs, where he knew the scar sat, “with all my heart.”

Zuko looked around the room, each pair of bright blue eyes were fixed on him.

“I don’t know when I started to, maybe it was the day of the comet, maybe before, maybe after, but when I asked her to come with me to fight my sister and regain my throne, I knew it had to be her that came. I love Katara, but before that, I trust her. I trust her with my life. I trust her with my people and my country. I would die for her.”

Zuko felt it then, the ghost of the pain, the exhilaration, the fear as he watched Azula take aim. “Taking that lightning was the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I would do it again, ten thousand times over.”

Bato spoke next, “And she feels the same way?”

Zuko thought, for a second, replaying the last five years in his mind. The image that lingered in his mind was the flashes of blue fire through clear water as she battled Azula, risking her life to defeat the most dangerous firebender in the world, just to save him.

He smiled, gently, “Yes, I know she does.”

Kanna’s face was stone, “You swore an oath to serve your people and your country? Is that correct Fire Lord Zuko?”

He nodded. The elder looked him in the eye. He felt like she was looking deep into his soul.

“In our culture, the marriage vow outweighs any oath to lord or land. Katara must come first, before your throne, before your crown. The binding of two souls is far more ancient than any border or king, as old as the very first marriage of the spirits Tui and La. The promise you will make to each other trumps any other loyalty, and will last beyond your last breath, into the next life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” he instinctively reached into his pocket, “The only reason Katara doesn't know I’m here is because she would say that asking for permission from the bride's family was an outdated tradition” Sokka smirked at that, “but I also know how much your good opinion means to her, and I don’t want to hide anything from you.

“I want to do this by the book, so I’m here, to ask you personally,” he looked from person to person, “do me and Katara have your blessing for our union?”

There was silence in the room. No one moved. Zuko barely breathed.

Then Kanna rose, slowly. Instinctively Zuko moved to help her but she held up a withered hand and crossed over to him.

“Kneel, and close your eyes.”

Zuko did.

He felt her brush her fingers across his forehead.

“Now,” he looked up, “I, Kanna, matriarch of the Southern Water Tribe, mother to Hakoda, grandmother to Sokka and Katara, grant you my blessing, and the blessings of the spirits for your union.” She looked behind her, “Does anyone present of the bride's family object to the bestoying of the blessing?”

The only response was Sokka’s wide grin. Kanna nodded, and returned to her seat. Zuko stood, he couldnt hid the joy on his face, he bowed, low, to each person in the room.

“So,” Hakoda dawned a smile for himself, “have you carved the necklace?”

___

Later that night, Sokka walked Zuko back to his igloo. After Zuko’s announcement there were multiple rounds of celebratory drinks, and the pair was distinctly drunk. The southern warrior threw his arm around the other man’s shoulders as they neared the entrance.

“You know, Zuko…” He burped, “we all knew it was a matter of time before you asked her. Dad just put you through all those formalities to make you sweat.”

Zuko chuckled, “Well, it worked.”

His friend, and soon to be brother-in-law, turned to him, seriously, "You also have to know Zuko, that if Katara was here she would object to you asking us not just because it's and 'outdated tradition' but because there's no question that our answer would be 'yes'."

The Fire Lord looked at the ground, "I just... wanted to be sure."

Sokka shook his head, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, "We love you, Zuko. Everyone does. Honestly, I think Gran-gran likes you more than me, which hurts, but whatever," he shrugged, "bottom line, your an important part of this family, and you were long before you an Katara started sucking face." Zuko couldn't hold back a snort of laughter,

"I know, but sometimes it's hard, I'm not used to the whole 'unconditional love' stuff." he looked back, across the shining tops of the tribe, "you all just make it look so...easy."

Sokka laughed, "Yeah, tell that to dad the next time I loose blueprints."

He ruffled Zuko's hair, and returned to his position leaning on him.

“So, when are you formally popping the question?”

Zuko’s eyes traveled over to Katara’s igloo next door, then to the lights of the harbor beyond, and the twinkling stars and moon reflected in the still water.

“She comes back from Ba Sing Se in three weeks, so I figured as soon as she got home.”

Katara’s brother nodded, then grasped each of Zuko’s shoulders, making him look into his eyes, “That means you're staying long enough for bro time?” his brow was furrowed in absolute seriousness.

“I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

___

!!PLEASE REBLOG WITH THOUGHTS AND CRITICISMS!!

You guuuuuuys... it’s officially Zutara Week!!! YEE HAW!!!

Anyway, I’m sorry there was only indirect Katara in today’s submission. That will be rectified tomorrow. My plan for this year (though I haven't followed any plan for Zutara Week yet) is that all of my submissions will be apart of a linear narrative. It starts with today’s prompt, five years after the war, and goes from there. All of the submissions can be stand alone, but thay can also all be tied together. The only day that won’t follow this is Day Three: Celestial. I really love that particular one so its special. All of this could change, so don’t quote me on that. I hope you enjoyed :D

P.S. I’ll be tagging all my Zutara Week submissions for this year #ems zkw2020

#ems zkw2020 #Zutara week #zutara week 2020 #zutara #Zuko and Katara #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Zuko #katara #sokka #hakoda #bato

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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“First Lines” | Tag Game

Hey Y’all I have gotten tagged in this a few times— thank you so so much @auroracalisto @mikaelson-emma and, of course, @hellotvshowtrash— I haven’t had much time to read them and form coherant thoughts but expect some soon.

So the rules are you post the opening lines to 20 of your most recent fics— or all the ones you have if you don’t have 20— and it kinda just shows who you are as a writer and it’s just fun!

I decided to include some WIP’s— and expose to everyone who is not @activist-af the sheer amount of fics that I start and then set aside. Please enjoy y’all I got a kick out of compiling this list!

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

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies, a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies. Right?

(WIP | Persephone’s Symphony | Bucky Barnes)

“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter One | Loki)

The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Two | Loki)

“Please Surtr.”

Her voice rings through his ears on a loop, the most beautiful and agonizing melody that he has surely ever heard. She must be magic- something strong and powerful and like nothing he has ever seen before. There is no other explanation. It had been magic when she appeared to him, literally falling into his lap as if out of thin air. He is the god of tricks but even he cannot do that- he cannot make women that smell like flower petals land in his arms at will. He wishes he could- more than anything he wishes he could pluck her out of his dreams and bring her back to him. But he cannot because that was not a trick. That was something else entirely.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Three | Loki)

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Four | Loki)

“On the balcony,” Frigga calls back, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders. “We have company!” She adds, seemingly as an after thought— she is too busy pouring wine from a glass feeder into a beautifully ornate cup.

At least, Y/n thinks it is wine. She can smell the fermented berries— sweet and tangy and warming her nose as all wines she has encountered before have— only this wine is a pale violet shade. It is not an opaque rouge, not a barely there chartreuse. Nothing like what she has ever been able to get her hands on by way of bartering or shared celebration. Weddings and births. She takes a seat in one of the golden chairs, trying not to think about how out of her element she truly is. The little details are starting to show though. Not just extravagant pools and marble hallways. Even the food here is luxurious.

(WIP | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Five | Loki)

She would have never thought it possible. Never. She’s the type to sit at home and crack open a good book. Maybe make a nice cup of tea. Lately she has been finding hibiscus tea to be a nice way to end the night. That’s besides the point, though. The point is that she is nothing like her older sister Jane. She is a dreamer, not a doer. Not a traveller.

Especially not a traveller of space— of foreign planets.

(WIP | Untitled | Loki)

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

(Posted | Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys)

“Get away from me, Kai!” Y/n snarls, pushing her way through the grill with a huffing witch on her heels.

She had been eating her meal- staring at her meal more like— and trying to ignore the constant buzz of her phone. He was incessant, texting her non— stop as if it would make it all better. After the thirtieth text she had turned her phone off, preferring to look at her food in silence. No text can erase his voice in her head. She means nothing to me.

“Not going to happen, kitten,” Kai purrs, his hand wrapping around her arm and tugging her to his chest, “you’re not going to ignore me.”

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

New Orleans isn’t all that it was cracked up to be she muses to herself as she winds her way through the tombs. They tower over her, shadowing her with the sins of so many people before her. They’re lonely. That’s all she can think, over and over again. They must be so lonely. There can’t possibly be enough people to visit each of them. There aren’t even any people to visit her, let alone thousands of lost souls. She laughs to herself, a cruel sound breaking through the crashing silence. She is a lost soul.

(WIP | Do You Have A Moment? | Kol Mikaelson)

A little bit outside the city lines of New Orleans, tucked precariously off highway 109, there stands a roadside market. It isn’t too far, nor is it too close; it’s just right, like the porridge in some half assed, uninspired fairytale. It’s nestled perfectly on the edge of the bayou, drawing in just enough business to keep the two girls running it in business. The jam is sweet, the ham is honeyed, and the women have smiles that look a little bit like rain in a drought: necessary for life but too much water on dry soil is a recipe for disaster. It’s all a little bit too perfect. Too clean cut and wholesome. But this isn’t a fairytale, after all. It’s the story of the girl who got away with it and the girl who helped her do it.

(WIP | Hey Tommy | The Mikaelsons)

The Salvatore house has always smelled the same; like oranges and rum. A lot of rum. It is a welcome scent, one that smells almost like home. It will never truly be home, those scents are already reserved in your very essence, but it’s close. You’ll always be happy to walk through their door. Today is no different.

(WIP | Forever and Always | The Mikaelsons)

Kol drags a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on the book in front of him. His eyes wander the page, the corner of his mouth lifting when he skims something particularly interesting. You, too, have a book in your hands but, unlike him, your focus is elsewhere. To be exact, your focus is four feet away, basking in the sun on the lap of one shirtless vamp.

(WIP | Best Friend Things / Part Two | Kol Mikaelson)

“So, love,” a pair of arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a warm chest, “these are the famous pumpkins?”

A familiar blonde head, the one you woke up to this morning, settles against your shoulder. He must be leaning significantly given the fact that he’s at least a good head taller than you. You break the rain spell you had been working on, laying your wand next to your pumpkin starts. That’s the beauty of magic, you can grow in any season. You turn to face Klaus, a soft smile on your face.

(WIP | Pumpkin / Harry Potter Universe AU | Klaus Mikaelson)

The salt clings to her sticky skin, her hair grainy and matted from the surf. Thunder rolls overhead, chasing her through The Cut like. It’s only half past noon but shadows layer the street, casting everything in a dusky gloom. The pavement smells sharp; the rain is coming and fast. She hikes her tote higher on her shoulder and wishes for a moment that she hadn’t dove for as many shells today. She feels like a beached whale with all the dead weight. Business is business, though, and the tourists go crazy for a handmade necklace.

(WIP | Thunderstorm Afternoons | Jj Maybank and John B. Routledge)

She shoves her key into the lock of the Smith’s beach house, turning it with an audible click and smiling when she pushes the door open to the smell of warm pizza and oranges. Try as the boys may, Mrs. Smith’s affinity for essential oils will always prevail over the mass amount of cheap pizza they consume on what is— unfortunately— the daily. She hauls her bag higher on her shoulder, closing the door behind her and thanking the heavens she remembered to pack some of the chicken her mother made for dinner on her way out the door. No Domino's tonight, thank you very much.

(WIP | Sleepovers | The Kook Boys)

“Y/n, darling, come here,” her mother’s sweet voice trickled over her from the front hall, “I have some people I want you to meet.”

She stepped into the hallway, coloured lights pouring over her. It was Christmas time, her favourite time, and everything was extravagantly decorated. Garland lined the grand staircase, there was a tree in almost every room, and, her favourite, holly strung in every doorway. Her house radiated magic, more so than usual, that is.

(WIP | Hufflepuff Princess | Draco Malfoy)

Her feet hit the pavement with careful clicks, her heels— while undeniably killer— a little loud for her taste: a product of her day spent in practice with the other debutante girls. She has to force herself to make her steps light. This isn’t New York, it’s Mystic Falls. Being a southern woman is not a choice; it’s an obligation. A prior commitment she agreed to before she was old enough to truly fathom what it meant. For the most part she loves it— the elegance and refinery, the teatime giggles and flouncing skirts— but the heels? That’s a hard no.

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n.

(Posted | The Bet | Rafe Cameron)

Her bubblegum lip gloss attacks him from all the way across the café, cutting cleanly through the aroma of coffee and donuts and sending his heart racing at the obscenely sweet scent. He should hate it. No, scratch that, he shouldn’t think anything of it at all. It’s not in his nature to enjoy things- or to feel things at all, to be frank- but he can’t help it. The drugstore brand, wildly over-scented balm makes his head fuzzy like nothing else.

(Posted | Bubblegum Princess, Cherry Angel | Kai Parker)

I don’t really know who to tag because I haven’t been active these last few days so I am tagging people I have not seen do this yet and if you have just ignore me : @elijahs-wife @draconisxcaput @imaginearyparties @dumble-daddy

#tag game #first lines #WIPs

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centuryofdean · 5 years ago

Text

When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 2

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+ At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language and Violence

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Laurel

When all the dirt, sweat, and blood was scrubbed from my body, I fell asleep just as I was in my towel into the bed. The work from hunting for the day wore me to the bone. Just thinking of Kili had me eager to find him in my dreams.

In the meadow near my house, I was lying next to Kili. We both were laying down starring off into the night sky.

He turned to me, not so surprised to see me, “I figured when I dream of me by myself, is when I know I will be able to actually talk to you.”

We finally stopped sharing our dreams of each other to one another. It was a boring habit unless something exciting happened. I rolled over onto my stomach so that I could give him my full attention. The cold grass wiggled in and out of my toes, causing me to giggle at the tickling sensation and kick them up above.

“I think you’re a Hobbit,” he sighed, almost dejectedly.

A horse laugh escaped me, “What in the world is a Hobbit?”

Kili crawled in front of me so that we were face to face, also on his stomach. The worn long sleeved blue tunic he wore radiated warmth. A small shiver escaped me, it was pleasantly cold on this midsummer’s night.

“In my world, there are different races of beings. There are men, dwarves, elves, wizards, and hobbits. Hobbits are the smallest of the lot,” he offered, plucking at the grass.

I was in the midst of a clover patch, threading my fingers around looking for the four-leaf I knew was hiding somewhere. “I am the shortest person I know, but I there is only at the most a two foot difference between me and the tallest person alive,” I snorted, “besides, we have people who are three foot tall. Shorter than me. We call them dwarves.”

“You misunderstand,” he laughed, looking with me now for the clover, “your dwarves and mine are different. I am a dwarf. It is true we have men of that height in our world, but they are not dwarves, they are simply mortal men that are smaller.”

“You’re a dwarf? You are like five and a half feet tall!”

“The only people smaller than myself—aside from the smaller mortal men—are Hobbits.”

“Then tell me oh great and intelligent Kili, what is a dwarf!”

The laugh that left him made me feel weightless. I could smile on the saddest of days if I could listen to his laugh. Almost as if he triggered it, the four-leaf clover appeared. Neither of us plucked in, but looked at each other in amusement.

“In my world, dwarves prefer mountains and caves for living. We are not suited for houses of brick or wood. We do not gain the illnesses of men. Compared to men, we live twice as long, sometimes three times. Dwarves are made for hard work, and are very talented at finding precious stones or metal in the mountains. Mining is a very common practice for dwarves, making weapons is another.

“There are very few dwarfish women unfortunately, they are a true rarity. Though they are rare, most of the time they appear as dwarfish men. It is difficult for mortals or others to tell the difference sometimes.”

“Tell the difference? Dwarfish women have facial hair,” I asked clearly taken aback. Kili chuckled, his fingers brushing over mine. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if he touched me on accident, or on purpose. The past few meetings he did it so often it had to be on purpose. It wasn’t ever anything serious, just touching my hands, sometimes my hair. He always seemed amazed with me.

Just as I was thinking about it, his hands retreated back into the grass. “Yes most of them do. I have come across some that do not. Our women are built just like the men, strong and determined. Some women shave it after they are wed, and tie their hair into the braids of their husbands. They continue that for the rest of their lives.”

That was a beautiful thought. Somewhat odd, but if it was something they did traditionally it wasn’t all that really odd. Kili’s beard wasn’t really a beard as of yet, it was mostly scruff. It must be that he’s still so young that he doesn’t grow it out as often.

“Tell me about Hobbits then,” I whispered, placing my face in the crook of my arms, as if I were waiting for a story.

Kili scooted closer and to the left, so that he could lay on his side to face me, but play with my hair. My fingers raked the grass while his voice spoke softly and amused all the more.

“They are about your height. Small and clever, can go anywhere without being seen if they wanted. They live in holes in the ground. Not like snakes, but they make nice furnished homes in the ground of a mound or small hill. They don’t wear boots or anything of the sort. Hobbits’ have large feet that have very hard soles, and tuff warm hair atop. They eat all the time, enjoying a good meal and quiet peace.”

“That sounds nothing like me,” I muttered, slightly offended.

I watched as he pulled a piece of thread and tied off the braid he plaited into my hair. “Your feet are almost as large as mine, and I am half a foot taller than you. They are not hairy, but you do eat quite a bit. I’ve seen it.”

With a roar I jumped up on top of him and started to playfully smack him. We rolled around amongst the tall grass and flowers, down the meadow hill near the pond. I collapsed next to him trying to regain my breath. My hair tugged, his fingers playing with the braid he had just put in my hair, it was a simple petite Dutch braid.

I watched him sigh, dropping it and rolling onto his back to stare at the night sky.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

One hand descended reaching for my own at my side to grasp it and intertwine our fingers together. “When I wake, it is hard for me to remember your face,” he murmurs, “it is as if I can only view you in my dreams. I forget somewhat. Though the stirring in my chest, it does not change at all. It is there when I wake, follows me through the day, and then at night into whatever dream I have.

“Though I do not wish that you would follow me into my world. I would rather follow you into yours.”

The admission did not take me by surprise, because in my dream, of course the tall, dark, and handsome dwarf would have ‘a stirring in his chest’ when he thinks of me.

“Honestly from what you tell me, your world sounds better than mine. You have more freedom, magic, adventures, and you have dragons,” I murmured.

Suddenly he was sitting up and dragging me with him. The dream was all the more lucid as he pulled me into his lap. The butterflies in my stomach awoke, dancing and fluttering about causing goosebumps to erupt across my flesh. “Here I do not get to decide my own fate,” he whispered earnestly, holding both my hands in one of his own. The other was wrapped around me holding me astride his legs.

“My uncle is a king of Durin. He will be the rightful king of the Lonely Mountain. He did not have any sons of his own, so my brother and I are his only heirs. Dwarves do not believe in giving someone of a different race their babes, especially royalty. Since there are few dwarfish women, one will be chosen for my brother and I to share. This life that is chosen for me is not one of freedom, nor is it one that I agree with,” he answered, never breaking eye contact.

“In your world,” he murmured, “there is little that anyone can do about my choices, except you.”

It was all too much. Even if it wasn’t real, the dream was too much for me to handle. I always promised myself that I would not succumb to the silly ideal of love. All I needed in my life was to keep myself breathing and move along minding my own business. Stupidly I granted myself dreams, just because they weren’t real. From what I was starting to see is that my feelings were.

I saw how it tortured my mom since I was little. My father died trying to rescue someone from a burning building, and my mother has been a shell ever since. To love so deeply and lose yourself, I did not want that to be me.

Here I am, doing it in my dreams of all places.

As quick as I could I jumped from his grip and stumbled up the hill as fast as I could. The cold grass seemed like razorblades against my feet.

“Laurel! Please! This may be the last time I will see you,” he called after me.

The last time I will see him? So much for having perfect dreams. My body turned, finding that he came right up behind me, hands outstretched to hold my own. “Please,” he whispered, grasping them and pulling me closer, “I am afraid this will be the last time I can look upon your face.”

“Why?”

“When I wake,” he pulled me closer so that we were almost chest to chest, “I will be following my uncle and kin to the Lonely Mountain, to face Smaug and take back our home. This dragon is not one that you would like, I promise. He would burn anyone alive if they dared disturb his rest or steal his treasure. It has been so long since I last saw you I am afraid something will happen and I will not be alive to dream of you again.”

My heart clenched, I tried not to meet his eyes.

“This is my dream,” I muttered, “it’s just my imagination. You are going on a quest never to return so that I can move on with my life.”

Large warm hands left my own, gripping at my waist instead, rubbing up and down.

“If that is true,” he murmured into my ear, “then why do you run? If it is all just your dream, and this is the last you will see of me, why will you not let me hold you? Tell you how much I will miss you when I wake? How I always miss you when I wake?”

I finally looked into his eyes, defying my own rules. They were brown, deep with emotion and bright with hope. Our talks never strayed from anything other than the differences in our worlds, or when something interesting happened. He would dream about my life and then ask questions about what he saw, and even then I would return the favor when I saw something I didn’t understand. Of course I knew that the feelings I harbored for this man were strong, so strong that I thought about them all the time. I would day dream that he were real, though we would share his world and live peacefully together.

Here now in this dream, I felt the need in his eyes, the pain and the fear all the same.

Fuck it.

Without thinking anymore on it, I threw myself into him, pressing my lips to his in earnest. The only kiss I ever had was when I was seventeen, and someone took me to prom. He kissed me chastely at the door afterwards.

This was something else altogether. The ache in my chest exploded, threatening to seep out of every pour in my body. All tenseness left, only able to be up straight without falling because Kili was holding me so tightly. His lips slanted over mine just as eagerly, hot and velvety against my own. The heat of his breath sent shivers down my spine. My hands found his hair, weaving into the locks and grasping to pull himself closer to me. A moan escaped my lips.

Just as I was about to knock him down and throw caution to the wind, the world shook.

“No,” I moaned out hoarsely in disappointment rather than pleasure, “not yet!”

Kili gasped, holding onto me closely as it shook again. “It’s time to wake.”

“I won’t ever see you again,” I started to tear, “this is it.”

Our lips met again softly, as a final goodbye, “Fear not Laurel, and remember me fondly, as I will remember you.”

Before my eyes he started to fade into nothing.

A gasp tore through me as I shot up from my bedding. A quick sweep around my room told me it was still only a dream, like it always was. Before a breath came to me, a heart wrenching sob did.

As every time I dreamed of my dwarf I woke broken hearted. Why did I keep doing this to myself? It was nonsense. Falling in love with a figment of my imagination, crying over it every other day. Get a grip Laurel! You simply cannot fall in love with someone who does not exist!

—————–

The rest of my week was spent trying to remain awake, forbidding myself from sleeping. Everything I could do to not sleep, I even researched ways to not dream. I grew accustom to staying awake over the years. The most I had gone without an ounce of sleep was four days. This time I dozed in and out, limiting myself only a half hour of napping twice a day. It was harder to dream when you were not asleep long enough.

On the fourth day without actual sleep I crawled out of bed, determined to go for a walk along the beach to try and clear my head. The cold would wake me better. Even for November, I would not be eager to walk around outside in just a mere sweater. Though that was what I was going to do. The closest beach was thirty minutes away by driving.

It was only six in the afternoon and gray skies told a tale of sadness. As if they knew the ache that settled deep in my heart and soul. When I arrived and got out of my truck, the wind blew my mahogany hair about, making me draw the hood up and string it partially closed.

As I walked I thought of my mother. She found my father at a state park, where he worked as a ranger. Mom was visiting there for a school project, looking at all the different trees and sampling leaves. They each shared a love of nature, and over time they shared a love for each other. Father was a righteous man from what I remember, which isn’t much. Mom tells me all the time about how he was loyal and wouldn’t lie to anyone about anything. He helped out whoever whenever he could, always a hard worker and a fierce leader.

She spoke of the passion and the intimacy of their lives, how she could completely just live and breathe as herself and he loved every part of her. The way she talked, made me want to fall in love like that. Unconditional love. Sadly she loved him more than life itself it seems. After his passing when I was five, my mother rarely left her room, leaving me in the hands of her mother until I was thirteen.

Grandmother taught me much about gardening and plants. I’ve learned what berries I could eat and what plants were poisonous by looking at them or smelling them. Some plants could mask my scent, which turned out great for hunting, and other plants would aid someone to sleep almost instantly when digested. All of the knowledge she gave me helped me live and keep my mom in a decent state of mind.

Finally when I was eighteen mom went to stay with Grandmother so that I could live my life without taking care of her. Mom almost turned into a child as it were.

For all this, I did not want to fall in love; just because there was a chance that would happen to me.

Rain started to fall, ice cold against my jeans and soaking into my skin. The light drizzle turned into a heavy pleating. Thunder clapped harshly next, lightning brightening the sky over the lake.

Not wanting to get struck by lightning on the beach, I turned and started to run back to my truck.

The wind picked up to a high speed, almost knocking me backwards. With the rain falling so heavily and the air pushing it which way and that, I was could barely see. A crack of thunder collapsed the sky around me, feeling the wave of it right to my heart. Lightning struck just mere feet ahead of me, and in effort to fall backwards to not be electrified, the turbulent wind pushed me forward and into the blinding white light.

Previous Chapter << Chapter 1: Falling into a Dream

Next Chapter >> Chapter 3: Falling into a New Reality

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #kili durin #kili x oc #kili x reader #when lightning strikes

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fullmetalscullyy · 5 years ago

Note

Roy has a girlfriend and she and Riza dont get along very well, she gets jealous of how close Roy and Riza are and tells him to choose between them. Roy doesnt even need to think to answer.

(hey i’m back to answering asks i probably should’ve answered weeks ago whoops)

thank you for this ask anon!! it’s an idea i’ve kinda always wanted to tackle but kept forgetting about lmao also this has spiralled out of control and will be a multi-chapter fic i just finished the first one tonight and there will probably be three (maybe idk it might grow more arms and legs who knows at this point)

fic title: “closer” from a song by travis

rated: t | words: 3479

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

ao3 | ffnet

A knock sounded at the office door and Riza Hawkeye knewinstantly who it would be. Glancing at the clock confirmed her suspicions, andshe would have groaned if she wasn’t in such a professional environment. Plus,the Colonel was in earshot and she wouldn’t humiliate herself like that.

“Come in,” he called, not looking up from his paperwork.Apparently, he had no idea who it could be. Riza didn’t know why. Their visitorwas persistent and clingy. She arrived around this time every day, greeting himso they could both walk home together.

Riza was no stranger to jealousy, however the last time she’dexperienced it was when she was merely a child. She’d been jealous of Roybecause he’d gotten her father’s attention while she’d been left by thewayside, forgotten about once more. In hindsight, she was glad she’d been leftto her own devices. Her father was insufferable, holding her to an impossiblyhigh standard which made the fallout even worse when she inevitably fell short.Being unable to perform alchemy – his alchemy – was the last straw.After all the pressure, the tears, and the yelling, he gave up on her completely.A year later, the apprentices began to roll in, none lasting longer than a fewdays.

But Roy… He’d managed, somehow. Riza never asked because shedidn’t want to taint their conversations with the mentions of her father. RoyMustang had lit up her dark childhood with a spark of friendship and she wasloath to ruin it with her father’s darkness.

So yes, she’d been jealous once before. It wasn’t hard tosee why.

But this… They were co-workers. Sure, they’d spent most oftheir formative years together. He’d become her closest friend, her confidantin her time of need, and a great pillar of support for Riza.

Eventually, he’d become her lover.

But that all ended after Ishval. The reasons were mutual, buton nights when she felt loneliest, she would long for his touch, his deep voicewhispering in her ear, his lips on her.

It made things… difficult. Especially now.

So, it was natural to feel disheartened when his attentionwas being diverted away, she told herself, especially after they’d beentogether for so long.

And as Eve Nesbit walked through the door with her usual toosweet smile, Riza couldn’t help but feel that little niggle of jealousy in thepit of her stomach.

Only because Eve got to be with Roy in the way Riza sodesperately wanted to but couldn’t.

Damn her and her absurd emotions. If she could glare atherself for being ridiculous then she would. It was immature and none of herbusiness. He was her boss, for goodness sake. Nothing more. She was happy thathe’d met someone. She was.

Riza didn’t miss the glare Eve shot her way though, when sherealised the office was empty. The rest of the team had left for the day, Havocbeing the last one to go who left ten minutes ago. Apparently, Eve was jealousthat they worked and spent so much time together.

Riza genuinely couldn’t understand women like that.

She’d had her fair share of it. The glares and whispers shegotten from other women as she walked one step behind the Colonel.

“Why does he want to spend so much time with her?”

“What does he even see in her?”

“Maybe they don’t just work together, if you get what I mean,”followed by a catty laugh.

Jesus Christ, women, just let me live, Riza would oftenthink to herself with a roll of her eyes.

She’d heard it all. If anything, her skin was bulletproof.Of course, he was oblivious. He was the shining star who played up his part. Rizadidn’t blame him. It had all been part of their plan to keep up appearanceswhile they infiltrated the military from within, but even now after the PromisedDay, it still happened. He still had a part to play to get to the top, afterall. His work on the Promised Day put him in great standing, but that was onemilestone down. They still had a handful left to go.

“Roy,” Eve crooned in greeting, hurrying up to his desk.Riza almost frowned at the inappropriateness of it all. A civilian shouldn’t evenbe in the building anyway. However, knowing the Colonel, he’d probably charmed someoneinto getting his own way.

Or Eve had snappily asked to speak to some young officer’ssuperior for not letting her in right away.

Yeah, that was more likely.

“Hey, Eve,” he perked up, shooting her a quick grin. He rosefrom his chair and Riza had to force herself not to gag at the very obvious wayEve grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, kissing him more passionately thanwas necessary. They’d only been dating a few weeks. Even Roy was caught offguard, one hand flailing to the side at the unexpected attention. The woman wasclearly in the honeymoon period already.

Eve was a petite woman. Even in her massive and expensivebrand heels, she only just met Roy’s height. Her hair was cut short in a bob,catching the light perfectly. Every time she moved every hair fell back intoplace effortlessly. Her makeup was expertly done, not a line or an eyelash outof place. Her smart, black, suit jacket and skirt screamed wealth, the fabricshining in the fluorescent lights of the office. In fact, her whole demeanourand attitude exuded that fact that she thought she was better than everyone inthe room.

Riza wondered just how the Colonel was so blind to itall. It was truly baffling.

Men, her brain reminded her.

“Let’s go, honey,” she urged, tugging his hand to pull himout from behind his desk. “We have dinner reservations in an hour.”

“I would love to,” he began, glancing back to his desk. “ButI’ve got all this work to do still and –”

Resigning herself, Riza stood and cleared her throat, tryingto get their attention. Hesitantly, she stepped around her desk and approachedthem both. Eve narrowed her eyes at Riza. The blonde knew she hated her. It wasclear in her dismissive attitude of Riza and the sharp looks, but Riza didn’t bite.She just smiled at the woman and let her live in her petty little world. Killthem with kindness, was what Riza had drilled into herself at a young age.It wasn’t worth her time to rise to Eve’s childish challenge.

“Go, sir. I’ll take over here.”

“No, I couldn’t –”

“She just said you could, Roy,” Eve retorted, notgiving him a chance to dismiss Riza’s offer. Clearly, Eve was desperate to gethim out of the room and away from her. Riza felt amusement bubble in her chest.“So, let’s go!”

“Really?” he asked, speaking to her lowly. He sounded doubtful.Riza knew him. He felt bad about leaving her to do it all. It was clear in his concernedeyes. She ignored how it made her feel inside.

Riza nodded and smiled at them both. “Of course. Enjoy yournight. I’ve got some things to catch up on anyway and –”

“Oh, perfect,” Eve cried, grabbing Roy’s arm and attemptingto drag him out of the room there and then. He resisted, smiling at Eve, buthis gaze turned back to Riza’s.

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, go and enjoy your night. I’ll stay an extra hourand a half doing extra work – unpaid – so you can get your kicks.

Shaking those petulant thoughts, Riza nodded, plastering a convincingsmile on her face. “I’m sure, sir.”

“Let’s go then, Roy!” Eve squealed excitedly. “There is thislovely romantic restaurant on The Avenue that I’ve been dying to try. It’svery fancy, so we need to go home and get you changed. Or,” she giggled.“We could go home and get distracted if you’d prefer?”

Riza’s stomach tightened at the heavy implication that theywould be going home for sex. Not only due to her personal feelings, but it wasjust plain inappropriate. Roy seemed to think so too, because he frowned slightly,but he didn’t stop her from continuing her rambling that was no doubt a ploy totry and work up Riza.

Eve clearly suspected something was going on between the twoof them – the woman tried every minute they were together to put across themessage “He’s Mine” – but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. The hada history, sure, but who didn’t? Even the boys had begun to notice her behaviour,and it irritated them as well. At least Riza had them on her side. It made her feelsomewhat pleased that she wasn’t entirely alone in this Eve shit show of tryingto get a reaction out of her.

“Have you ever been to La Taverna, Riza?” Eve asked.If a five-foot two woman could look down her nose at the taller Riza Hawkeye,then that was what she was trying to do right now. Riza smiled pleasantly ather, having none of it. Riza had worked underneath a homunculus, for goodnesssake. There wasn’t much that could shake her nowadays, especially not thiswoman’s attempt to try and tear her down.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Hm. Shame,” she replied, tone implying that it wasn’t ashame at all.

Wow. Just… Wow.

“Let’s go, Roy! We need to go and get changed if we’re goingsomewhere that fancy,” she urged, that wicked grin on her face, eyes moving totry and catch Riza’s eye.

“All right, I’m coming,” he replied, hastily grabbing hisjacket and car keys from his desk. “See you tomorrow, Hawkeye.”

“Yeah, see you,” Eve stated. Well, at least she gave her ownfarewell. It was the most insincere thing in the world, but it was a farewell,nonetheless. Usually she just ignored Riza completely.

As Eve all but dragged the Colonel out the door, Riza sighedquietly and turned to approach the Colonel’s desk.

“Hawkeye?” she heard him call. She almost jumped in fright,not expecting him to still be in the room. A panicked thought raced through herhead as she hoped he hadn’t heard her sigh. The last thing she wanted was todisrupt things, not just for him, but for her as well. She was managing Eve. Itwas easy, in truth, but she didn’t want to let on just much Riza just didn’t likeher. Not because she was with Roy, but because of her attitude.

She was even rude to the boys.

Turning, she saw him leaning backwards, a hand gripping theedge of the doorframe to keep his balance as his eyes met hers. Her stomachfluttered as she took in the sight of him. That lopsided smile, the excitementdancing in his eyes, and his dishevelled hair was causing it to do acrobatsinside her. It was grossly unfair.

Only because thatsmile and that excitement isn’t directed at you.

Oh my god, shut upbrain.

“You’re the best,” headded gratefully.

“It’s not a problem, sir.”

“Come on, Roy,” Eve giggled and Riza’s gaze moved tothe hand that had materialised by his collar, gripping it tightly to urge him awayfrom the door and into the night they had planned.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” he called as Eveeventually pried him away from the door and Riza. “I owe you one!”

They left her alone in the office with only their laughterto echo back to her.

Riza’s shoulders slumped in defeat as she resigned herselfto her fate. Story of her life, at work, alone, to pick up the pieces whileeveryone left to enjoy their evening and a social life.

With one final sigh, she picked up the stack of papers,lugging them over to her desk. From the weight, this would take so much longerthan just an hour and a half. What had the Colonel been doing allafternoon to become this behind?

Her answer came in the form of a case file. Interest piquing,and forgetting about her current pathetic situation, Riza picked it up, openingthe file and skimming through it. It was for a robbery. It had ended in ashootout that incriminated one of the military’s own soldiers and it had fallenacross the Colonel’s desk today as a request to hear his thoughts on the case.On the paper next to it, there were doodles and scribbled notes covering it, linkingthe evidence in the case and notes together.

He’d been working on this, that’s why he was so behind.

Leaving the rest of the paperwork, Riza took the file overto her own desk. She could have sat in the Colonel’s chair, but that would havebeen some kind of self-torture that she wasn’t desperate enough to turn to yet.She didn’t need to feel so pathetic while his scent shrouded her entire being.No, she didn’t need that tonight.

Absentmindedly, she flicked through the file, adding her ownnotes to his, trying to make sense of everything. She should help, she toldherself. There was information on the bullets and firearms used which he’d puta large question mark next to. In a circle, were the words “ask Hawkeye”and it had been underlined twice – a reminder to himself to get her input on somethingthat most considered her speciality.

It made her stomach flutter again, a slow smile spreading acrossher face.

Goddammit.

An hour later – Riza could see why the Colonel had neglectedhis paperwork. This case was drawing her in, and she didn’t feel like stoppinganytime soon – a knock at the door broke her concentration. Looking up with afrown, she was confused as to who would be calling at the office at this hour. Theclock ticked on the wall, indicating it was half past six. She should havefinished an hour ago, but there was something about this case that kept herhere. Not to mention the fact that she still had all that paperwork to do aswell –

“General Grumman, sir,” she greeted, jumping to a sharp salute.

Grumman grinned widely at her, stepping into the office fullyrather than just having his head poking through the door. “Lieutenant Hawkeye.You’re a late one tonight.”

“Just catching up on the day, sir.”

“Mustang procrastinating again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all, sir. He was distracted by the case you passedover his desk this afternoon and I offered to organise it for him while he lookedit over. Unfortunately, I was distracted by other tasks and couldn’t completeit in time.”

Old habits of boosting his image in the face of the upperechelon died hard.

Grumman just stared at her for a moment, before breaking outinto a laugh. “The way you defend and cover for him. It’s admirable.”

Riza felt herself blush slightly.

“I asked him to look it over with you in mind due to the confusionover the kind of firearms and bullets used, but naturally I expected it wouldtake all his focus. I just wanted to pop my head in to see how far he’d gottenwith it.”

“Quite far, sir. I hope you don’t mind, but I added my ownnotes to it.”

“Not at all, Lieutenant. That’s why it sent it over here inthe first place.”

“I’ve managed to pick out the exact firearm that would usethat specific bullet. It’s not military issue, so it would exonerate WarrantOfficer Turner. He did nothing wrong. His gun may have been fired, but it wasn’this bullet that killed the shop owner. Another sweep on the scene may revealthe actual bullet that was fired.” She offered Grumman her notes and he scannedit eagerly while Riza stood and waited for his response.

“This is… Brilliant. Simply brilliant, Lieutenant,” he commentedafter reading, meeting her gaze with wonder in his eyes. “But how do you know Turneris innocent?”

“The bullet used is made to look and test like militarybullets, but they’re not. I saw a lot of them out east,” Riza launched into herexplanation as Grumman perched on the end of her desk, his full attention onher. “I noticed their differences early on in Ishval.” She supressed the memoryof removing it from a dying man’s body and being asked by her CO to examine itand determine if the Ishvalans were using their own weaponry against them. “Someonewas manufacturing them as a tactic to instil fear into the Amestrian soldiers.What would do it better than thinking the Ishvalans had their hands on ourweapon and ammunition stash?”

“Very true,” he murmured, gaze dropping to her notes oncemore. “So, this same person, or group, has moved onto robberies?”

“Possibly, sir, but I don’t think that’s the case. I hypothesisethat these thieves got their hands on this tech from out east and are briningit back into play to cause chaos once more.”

“Terrorism?”

Riza nodded. “I think so, sir. Make the military think that itsown soldiers are turning against the state. Not to mention, ruin lives andrelationships in the process.”

“Very good, Hawkeye. Excellent work,” he complimented inawe, an impressed smile spreading across his face. Riza shifted uncomfortablyunder his gaze, unused to someone complimenting her work. The boys did, and sodid the Colonel, but this was different.

She couldn’t remember the last time a family member had praisedher so much either.

“I would like your help further on this case, if you’rewilling?” Grumman proposed, standing from the edge of the desk.

“I would be happy to help, sir.”

“Excellent,” he grinned. “Report to my office tomorrow morningat 0800 hours. I’ll pass on the message that you’ve been temporarily assigned undermy command for the foreseeable future to Mustang tomorrow, seeing as he leftyou to pick up his slack,” he winked as he turned to take his leave. “Let thepoor boy suffer for his self-centredness, shall we?”

“I don’t –” Riza began, cringing. She didn’t want to cause ascene.

Grumman chuckled. “Not to worry, my dear. I’ll make sure it’spassed on. Leave that leftover work and go home. Mustang can do it tomorrow. Itserves him right for leaving you to do it alone.”

“He didn’t –”

“Plus, you’ve done more than make up for him not completingit in time. However,” he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I knowMustang well enough and I know you, Lieutenant. I know he was a lazy bumand didn’t finish his work on time, didn’t he? And you volunteered your free timeto stay late and finish it, didn’t you?”

Riza said nothing, but the uncomfortable look on her faceprobably gave her away. Grumman just laughed.

“I won’t tell, Riza, my dear. Now go home and get some rest.I look forward to finally getting stuck in with this case tomorrow,” hegrinned, leaving the office with a wave.

The silence wrapped round her as she processed what had justhappened.

Okay. New assignment. A thrill went through herstomach in anticipation of tomorrow. Not only would she get out of the officewhile the Colonel suffered with his paperwork, a small part of her was pleasedshe probably wouldn’t see Eve again for a few days. A blessing that she neededright now.

She just wanted some peace.

Glancing over to the Colonel’s desk, she eyed the paperworkthat was still untouched. Making her decision with confidence, Riza grabbed herpurse and packed up her belongings from her desk, leaving it tidy andpresentable as she wouldn’t be using it for a few days. Like Grumman implied,it served the Colonel right for being so lazy all day and leaving tasks to thelast minute, only for it to be pushed aside when something more interestingcaught his eye.

Riza tried hard not to tie that analogy to herself and Eve.Tried. But the heart is a fickle thing.

Maybe this was just what she needed. A break from him.

As she left the office, she walked with a purpose in herstep.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #ask #anon #writing prompts #fic request #emma writes #closer

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shewhowantsmouseears · 5 years ago

Text

The Little Peach, Chapter 14

Notes: As always, huge thanks to my editor Drucilla, who has been my life saver again and again.

This last chapter took me a while as there were several plot points I had difficulty wrapping up, and while it's a rushed production, I'd rather it have it be finished than left dangling.

I believe I said it before, but just to reiterate - I'll be taking a story hiatus from now until Jan/Feb. I feel my writing juices have been drained and I need a break so I can do proper justice to the tales in my head, and proper justice to all my loyal fans. Speaking of!

Thanks to everyone who read this silly little story, to all who commented, reblogged, etc, you guys are a big reason why I do this. When I return, I hope to be better than before. This isn't a complete "see you later" - if inspiration strikes, I may do the occasional drabble and upload it, but we'll see what the future holds.

Once more! Thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Summary: As the Oni King casts a dark shadow over all of Japan, Mickey takes one last heroic stand, finally becoming his father's son.

Fear and surprise can do wonders to the rational mind. Looking outside of the situation, one would think the obvious thing to do when seeing a maniacal rapidly growing Oni is run in the opposite direction and never look back. To be entirely fair, several of the villagers did exactly that. But the majority of the kingdom, especially those who had previously been inside the palace, could do little more than gawk at who had been one of their most trusted guards.

“I quit,” Marsupilami said while raising his hand and tail.

“How could this have happened?!” Clarabelle was close to having her legs give way, her arms tightly around Minnie. “To think that Pete would use the Lucky Hammer...!”

“How could he do such a thing?” Jose lamented, hand on his heart. “Why, he's never been anything but rude, mean, judgmental, selfish, lazy...” He stopped to click his tongue. “Huh. Hindsight is not a pleasant thing.”

“How did he even know where to find it anyway?” Donald pointed out, keeping Daisy behind him as if that would protect her from Pete's wrath – although all he was doing at the moment was continue to laugh in victory. “It's supposed to be hidden away in a secret location!”

“I only ever told Sir Mickey where it was!” Minnie answered, and automatically everyone's heads shot to little Mickey atop Pluto's head.

Once upon a time, Mickey noted that being small was almost like being invisible. Now he realized this wasn't true at all, because even when he did try looking away, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. He knew he should apologize, perhaps try to explain why he'd done it, but the words were hollow and dry in his throat. Saying the right thing wasn't going to fix the problem they were in now. He clenched his fists, eyes on the ground, head lowered shamefully.

“Oh, Mickey,” Daisy broke the uncomfortable silence, voicing everyone's thoughts at once. Pity was evident in her voice, and Mickey nearly would have preferred their anger.

“We can chastise Mickey's actions later!” Panchito declared, stepping forward and unsheathing his blade. “Right now, we literally have a bigger problem! We have to stop Pete from taking over all of Japan with his size!”

“But how do we do that?” Goofy asked, holding his own sword to his chest like a child's teddy bear, full of fright. “One wrong move, and he could stomp us flat!”

Pete let out another belly laugh, sending shockwaves of sound throughout the kingdom. “ALL ONI, ASSEMBLE AT THE CAPITAL AT ONCE! WE'LL MAKE THIS PLACE OUR NEW HEADQUARTERS, AND ALL THE PEOPLE HERE OUR SLAVES!”

Jose whipped out his own sword, ready to do battle. “We'll never submit to you, Pete!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT FROM NOW ON, EVERYONE WILL CALL ME THE GREAT ONI KING!”

“I'll call you a great palooka, and nothing else!” Donald snapped, fingers trembling but ready to fight as well. At this, Mickey began to notice something, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow.

“ALL ONI WHO REFUSE TO DO AS I SAY WILL SUFFER THE SAME AS THE MORTALS! ANYONE WHO DISOBEYS, DIES!”

This “back and forth” between the small and tall could have gone on for some time if Mickey hadn't snapped his fingers to try and get everyone's attention. “Y'know, sometimes I have to shout in order for people to hear me, cause I'm so small. So...” To test out his theory, he rather calmly began to say, “Boy, Pete, one of the worst parts about this is now that you're bigger, everyone can smell how badly you reek!”

Mild panic broke out among friends and family, thinking Pete would stomp down in revenge, but Mickey held out his hand, signaling them to wait and watch.

“AND NOW THAT I'VE TAKEN OVER ALL OF JAPAN, WHY STOP THERE? THE WHOLE WORLD WILL BE MINE!”

Mickey then held out his hands again, in a light “ta-da” gesture. “I don't think he can hear any of us.”

“Huh. How about that?” Donald put a hand above his eyes to try and see where Pete's head actually ended. “We could plot a whole take-down right in front of him and he'd never know.”

“You guys have fun coming up with that.” Marsupilami tried to turn tail and run, but Maurice merely grabbed his tail and kept him in place. “Hey, cowards have common sense! How are we supposed to take down a guy as tall as a mountain?”

“Dear friend Mickey defeated Maurice, did he not?” Panchito reminded them.

“It's our 'dear friend Mickey' who put us in this mess to begin with!” Clarabelle snapped, hands on her hips. “If he'd never come to the palace, this never would have happened!”

“He only came to the palace because Donald said an awful thing to him!” Daisy fought back, fists balling up.

“So you're saying this is my fault?!” Donald gawked.

“It's somebody's fault!”

“It's Mickey's fault!”

“He didn't mean it!”

“I say it's the Emperor's fault!”

“How can you blame a dead man?!”

“We never should have trusted the original Oni King!”

On and on the arguments circled, with Mickey staying silent, knowing that getting involved would only make things worse. Yet he couldn't think of a way to make it stop without the flaring tempers only burning hotter. He was starting to get one of his big headaches again, worse than even before. How could they take down Pete if they couldn't even agree on who to blame? Even if they did, they were all ants compared to Pete's height – he might not even feel their blades on his skin, just something close to a mosquito bite. He couldn't be reasoned with, and the only thing he wanted was more power.

It was then that Pete accidentally did them all a favor, distracting them from their arguments by taking one step forward – it was enough to shake the earth and remind them all that being so close was being closer to death.

“Run!” It was not something that really needed to be said, but Mickey said it anyway, as one does in these rare type of situations. No one was sure where they could run to, as Pete could catch up to them without much effort, but they all began to jolt as far away and as fast away as their feet could take them.

Pete, for his part, had run out of evil things to say, and only now remembered where he was. He looked down, though he had to squint to see the specs of people on the ground. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, PRINCESS? I CAN'T BE EMPEROR UNLESS YOU GET HITCHED, HUH? LET'S SEE ABOUT THAT!” With another great, wicked laugh, Pete began to walk forward, enjoying the feel of the earth moving beneath him. This joy lasted for a very long five seconds, as in the next step he wound up planting his foot into a small building – given how tightly packed the capitol was, he didn't have much of a choice.

But being tall didn't make him impervious to pain. “OWWWW!” He held his leg, which was cut up by walls and ceilings. “THAT SMARTS AND... AW NO, THAT WAS MY FAVORITE SUSHI PLACE! WHERE ELSE AM I GOING TO GET MAKI ROLLS AT THREE A.M.?” He tried to back up, but that made him collide into a taller building, which made him wobble and sit upon a third building – his howl as he clutched his rump was loud enough to part the very heavens. “OW OW OW OW! AH, CRIMINY! I'M GUNNA WIND UP DESTROYING THIS PLACE BEFORE I CAN RULE OVER IT!”

He tried to stand up straight, dusting off bits of city block from his armor. “OKAY, EASY DOES IT...” Surely he was still intimidating even though he was tip-toeing through the capital, he told himself. As it was, he was doing the heroes another favor, as this method of walking made him much, much slower.

The small group made it to the gates of the capital, as terrified villagers continued to flee. But Minnie wouldn't move another step. “I cannot and will not abandon my people!”

“They don't seem to have a problem abandoning you,” Clarabelle pointed out as people ran past them. “Besides, if we stay here, the Oni he called will wind up at the gates, and then we'll be stuck between a rock and a very, very, very hard place!”

“You women ought to get out of here,” Donald decided, eyes on Pete. “As samurai, it is our duty to take on this menace and protect you.”

“Donald, you can't be serious!” Daisy grabbed her husband's good arm. “You're in no condition to fight, and you can't possibly win!”

“But what about all the people across Japan?” Panchito could feel his head spinning. “At least before, some Oni were willing to live and let live...but now they'll all be forced to take over the remaining villages, and Japan will be completely conquered! If we don't stop him here and now, this might as well be called Oni Land!”

“If we must die, we'll die with honor!” Jose gripped his fist. “I would proudly die if it meant my last stand was against such an evil foe, defending my home and my people!”

“Speak for yourself, bub.” Marsupilami held out his hands, with Maurice copying. “I just discovered the joy of doing a hard day's work, and now I have to die for it? That just sounds like another way of giving up!”

Goofy didn't have much to add, twisting his hands and looking around at everyone, until his eyes fell on Mickey. Mickey was watching Pete very seriously his chin cupped, eyebrow raised. Goofy never considered himself an intelligent man, but he knew a plan in mind when he saw one. He knelt down beside Pluto in order to somewhat-meet Mickey at eye level. “What are you thinking?”

Mickey glanced over at Goofy, then back to Pete. “Where'd the Lucky Hammer go?”

Goofy blinked thrice, then joined Mickey in staring at Pete. One hand was open, trying to help himself wiggle through a pair of tight towers, but the other hand was clutched tight. “Gee, I don't see it at all. Did he drop it somewhere?”

Minnie quickly caught on to the conversation. “It must still be in his hand! If he were to let go of the Lucky Hammer, he'd pop back to normal size...the Lucky Hammer doesn't change it's own size, only the people who hold it.”

“Which means if we made him drop it,” Donald concluded, “Then we could get the drop on him!”

“Except his fist is wayyy up there,” Jose pointed up, “And we're wayyy down here. The most we can do is attack his big smelly toes, and even then, that's no guarantee he'll let it go. How can we do anything when we're so small? He may as well not even know we're here.”

Mickey's head jolted up, his eyes flashing. Just like that, everything he'd seen had come together. “And to him...” He said quietly, his voice getting louder with his revelation. “I'm even smaller than before. He might not even feel me walking up his arm...”

“NO!” Daisy shrieked, trying to grab Mickey with her hands, but this time he'd prepared and jumped away in time. “I don't know what you're thinking, but there is no way you're going near him! I won't allow it!”

“Sir Mickey, you mustn't!” Minnie knelt down, hands clasped together, the sheer thought of Mickey dying bringing tears to her eyes. “I couldn't bear to lose you too! I'd rather never see you again than see you dead!”

Mickey looked back and forth between the two most important women in his life, unsure if they cared for him or for what he represented to them. The rest of the men looked equally unsure, and Mickey was starting to consider giving up for the first time in his life. He shut his eyes hard, and when he opened them, he saw a hand reached out, palm flat, the usual gesture one made to him as a signal to climb up for a close talk. That was nothing new.

What was new was who it belonged to – as Donald had never done it before.

Mickey's eyes widened in disbelief, and Donald's expression was difficult to read. No one spoke, unsure of what to make of this moment, as Mickey walked onto his father's open hand. Slowly and gently, Donald lifted Mickey up to his face.

“This plan you've got,” Donald finally said, “Do you really believe it'll work?” It wasn't accusatory or mocking. It was an honest question.

Mickey swallowed, but then stood tall, his back straight, staring right into the eyes of the man he'd always wanted to be like. “I do. I never act unless I'm sure of my actions! And sometimes they're wrong... what I did to the Princess... what I helped Pete to do... that's something I'll never forgive myself for. But I have to make it right! Not to be considered your son, not to win over a girl who thinks I'm just a drawing, not for honor or glory or anything useless! I have to do this because it's the right thing to do!” He then inhaled sharply, lowering his shoulders. “But... it's also time to admit... there are some things I can't do alone.”

Mickey looked around at the friends he'd made along his journey, the new companions he'd befriended at the palace. “I've been acting like having help just makes me weak...when the truth is, my real strength comes from everyone. Maybe if I'd asked for help more often, instead of just assuming everything on my end... this wouldn't have happened. Instead of trying to prove things on my own, we need to work together. I'm not asking you to help me as my father, or as a fellow samurai. I'm asking because I know you all can do great things – I've seen it myself! So, please...give me one more chance.” Then Mickey closed his eyes, and waited. While he had faith and hope that his pleas would be heard, there wasn't a sure guarantee in the bond between these men.

After a brief moment, the hand moved again – this time to Donald's shoulder. “Then let's not waste any time. What do you need us to do?”

Daisy let out an agonized whine, but Minnie stood up, realizing there wasn't anything she could do to persuade Mickey otherwise. Mickey himself was a little startled at the acceptance, but hopped onto Donald's shoulder. “Marsupilami, Maurice, Goofy, you guys stay here and make sure the villagers get out while keeping any Oni away!”

While the trio were still frightened, having an order and thus something to do eased their nerves a smidgen. “You got it, Mickey!” Marsupilami saluted, with Maurice and also Goofy copying.

“Mother, Clarabelle, you two search the capital for anyone hurt and who needs help. If this doesn't pan out, we need this entire place evacuated!”

Daisy sniffled but nodded. “If you don't come back to me in one piece, you're grounded for infinity!”

Clarabelle was hesitant about something else. “What about the Princess? I need to stay by her side!”

“I'm sorry, but I need her for a big part.” Mickey and Minnie met each other's eyes – while she was trying to put on her cold, ruling appearance, the comment about him being a “drawing” had clearly hurt.

Yet she knew it was her own fault, and if there was a time to make up for it, it was now. “I'm ready and willing to do whatever it takes to help.”

“Good... because the best way for this to work is for Pete to stand still so I don't get knocked off. I need you to distract him while Pluto, Donald and I get in as close as we can without being spotted. Jose and Panchito, I want you with her to protect her.”

Clarabelle clutched her chest at the idea, ready to pass out, but while Minnie felt a cold fear run down her spine, she didn't back down. “I'll do all that I can. I won't let him move from that spot.”

“We'll protect you with our very lives, Princess!” Jose came to her left, and Panchito to her right. “We're ready when you are!”

“Then let's not waste any time!” Mickey slammed a fist into his open hand, the heat of battle already beginning to burn hotly in his heart. “Father, I need you to get me to Pete without us spotting him. Let's circle 'round while the Princess goes right on ahead!”

“Then you better hang on tight.” Donald kept one hand on the hilt of his blade, memories flooding back to him of how he injured his arm in the first place. Mickey had always been told it was merely “in battle” but not many details otherwise. He never planned on sharing that story, and had told Daisy the same. But now of all days, now of all times, he wondered if speaking of it could have saved them all some trouble. “Everyone... head out!”

Though Donald's arm was weak, his legs were not, and he bolted off like a flash of lightning, Pluto having to race in order to catch up. The group split up as they were assigned, each one having an equal share of doubt and hope in their hearts for whatever the plan ultimately was. Yet they all also knew giving up was not an option. Now they were all small, compared to Pete – now they all had Mickey's burden.

Minnie picked up her dress – mentally noting that perhaps in the future, she should have much shorter kimonos designed – and ran back the way she came, Panchito and Jose steadily at her side. Pete hadn't moved in some time, as he was still trying to decide the best way to move around without destroying the city. It would be rather silly to be ruler of an entire city of flattened wood and brick! Because of this, Minnie and her guards had no problem approaching him – but getting his attention was another issue. “If he can't hear us, how do we get his attention?” Minnie asked out loud, trying to wave her arms in an effort to be seen.

“We just have to crank up the volume!” Panchito tossed up his sword, twirling it around before pointing it at Jose. Any confusing, awful, weird feelings towards him would have to be set aside. “Jose, smash me!”

Jose stopped in place. “Eh?”

“Come at me! Give it to me! Hard and fast, right now!”

Jose, who had always been the one hitting on people and never the one hit on, felt his mind go utterly blank. This was a new feeling. Not a bad one, exactly – rather he wouldn't mind if Panchito kept going -

“Hit his sword, Jose,” Minnie interrupted the train wreck of his thoughts.

“Oh. Right. Yes. Of course.” Jose cleared his throat, not noticing Minnie's eyerolling, and then held out his sword, smacking it against Panchito's and creating a loud TWAAAAANG!

Panchito gave it back in full, trying to create as much noise as possible. “Come on, you can give it to me better than that! Don't hold back, give me everything you've got! Harder now!”

Jose was finding it difficult to look Panchito in the eyes. “Yes, sir. Doing my best, sir.” Boy, his armor was really hot today!

“Harder! Faster! Louder!”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, sir!”

Fortunately for everyone involved – especially Minnie who was starting to wonder if Princesses could officiate marriages because it seemed like it was soon going to be necessary – the loud smashing of the swords was starting to gain some traction. Pete was growing annoyed, wondering where that blasted sound was coming from before he finally looked down and squinted - “IF IT AIN'T THE LITTLE MISS! I KNEW I'D FIND YOU!” Yes, he was ignoring the fact he hadn't. As far as he was concerned, every move was his victory.

Minnie doubted he'd be able to hear her no matter how loudly she shouted, so actions would have to do the talking. In order to save her people, she'd have to throw away her pride and dignity – a small price to pay for their safety. She also saw it as a way to apologize to dear sir Mickey – if only she had been honest with him from the start! While the books had gotten Mickey's foot in the door, it was the real him that had made her smile and feel like more than a Princess. Maybe a cold, unfeeling Princess would keep her pride no matter what – but Minnie wouldn't, because Minnie was more than a title.

She took a breath, and then knelt down on her knees, placing her hands on the dirt. Panchito gasped, a hand to his mouth. “Princess!” A sign of deep submission! “Jose, can you believe this?”

“Not really, no.” To be honest Jose wasn't paying attention, as he was bemoaning the fact that cold showers had yet to be invented.

Pete was just as surprised – he would've thought the royal family would rather die than surrender to him. He had planned on humiliating her himself, but for her to do it on her own? Why not enjoy the show? “THAT'S RIGHT, PRINCESS! FROM NOW ON, YOU'RE DOWN AND I'M UP! MAYBE IF YOU DO WHAT I SAY, I'LL LET YOU LIVE! HA HA HA HA HA! I COULD WATCH YOU DO THIS ALL DAY!”

Which suited Mickey just fine. He clung onto Donald's shoulder, him and Pluto making their way through debris and broken buildings, their bodies covered in the darkness of Pete's shadow. Donald still wasn't wholly sure what Mickey planned to do, but the time to get a full explanation was running short. He had no real choice but to trust that all would work out. “We're almost there!”

“Just a little closer!” Mickey kept his eyes ahead, squatting down, ready to jump. “Once I get on, you need to join the Princess. If this works, he's gunna come down in a big way!”

It was only then, when they were close enough to Pete to smell his stench and have his voice rattling in their ears, that Donald realized the worst part of this plan. “Mickey, once you get up and do what you're doing... how are you going to come back down safely?”

Mickey didn't answer. It wasn't that he didn't have an answer – it was just one he knew Donald wouldn't like. And he was right, with Donald getting a cold stone dropped into his stomach. “Wait a minute, Mickey, you're not saying you-”

“Thank you for everything, oto-san!”

It was too late, and Mickey had jumped from Donald's shoulder, landing on Pete's leg, grabbing onto some bits of black fur that stuck out from the enlarged armor. Pete's clothes had, thankfully, grown with him, and the edges of the armor allowed Mickey to climb up, up, up. Donald stood in place, frozen with horror as he understood what it was Mickey planned to do – or rather, not plan.

Mickey wasn't expecting to come back from this alive.

Long ago, when Donald was young and the war with the Oni was dwindling, a few straggling Oni had come into the capital, causing trouble while the Emperor was out visiting his people. Donald was there with his maiden fair, and the Oni themselves were easily defeated. They had hung their heads in defeat, willing to peacefully surrender, and the Emperor was just as peacefully ready to let them go on their way. But two of the Oni, embittered and angry, had lashed out in a last ditch effort to get revenge, no caring who they struck.

As a loyal samurai, it was Donald's duty to defend his Emperor above all else.

“NOW STAND ON YOUR HEAD!” Pete commanded, having decided Minnie was his toy to play with however he pleased. Minnie obeyed without hesitation – physically difficult as it was – to do all that he said, whether it was standing on her head, cartwheels, dancing... so long as it kept Pete's attention and allowed Mickey's plan to work, she'd roll around in the dirt like a pleased pig if need be. “HA HA HA HA! SOME PRINCESS YOU ARE NOW! I WOULDN'T TAKE YOU AS A WIFE EVEN IF YOU BEGGED! BUT I WANNA SEE YOU BEG ANYWAY!”

Mickey climbed onward, even as Pete's sweat made his fur slick, even as the heights made Mickey dizzy, even as the roaring of Pete's voice made his headache even worse. He made his way up Pete's leg, past his hips, on his back, and still kept going. His body ached, his senses gagged, but not once did he stop, not once did he look back down. His headache was worse than it ever had been before, almost blinding him with sheer pain. But if his father could fight with an injured arm, so could Mickey climb on with the feeling of a stabbed skill.

But on that day, long before Mickey was born and entered their lives, Donald hadn't protected the Emperor. He'd thrown himself in front of his bride, taking the blow meant for her and damaging his arm for life. The Emperor had been protected by his other guards, but he'd made his choice all the same. Instead of acting out of honor, he had acted out of love. A real samurai would have seen that as an act of shame, and a part of Donald had carried that with him always, even as the Emperor absolved his actions.

Now as Donald stood there, his eyes feeling hot and wet, he realized that shame and pride meant nothing at all. If he had only shared his stories with Mickey instead of Daisy doing it all – if he had been a better man, a better husband, a better father – Mickey wouldn't sacrifice himself out of some sense of honor that had been forced upon him. What had he done?

At last, Mickey reached his goal – Pete's head. Pete was laughing so hard at Minnie's antics, now making her stand on one foot while trying to dance, that Mickey had to cling on to keep from falling off. Pete's stubble threatened to cut Mickey at every opportunity, and his breath was as noxious as any poisonous gas. Mickey continued to climb and only stopped when he reached Pete's ear and climbed right inside. Balance was the key, and in Mickey's short life, he knew that once you took away balance, it was difficult to keep anything else. Also, this was going to hurt a lot, no matter what size you were.

It was difficult to see, with not much sunlight and the inner workings of any living creature not equipped to shine. But there was just enough light for Mickey to see one large shape in Pete's ear, and while Mickey knew little about anatomy, he guessed this was the important part of any person's hearing – the eardrum. He pulled out his mother's sewing needle, approached the cone-shaped body part, held his breath - and stabbed just once.

It's said the scream from Pete was so loud, it shattered the smaller planets into stars, it divided the heavens and frightened the gods, it split apart the oceans and made the entire world go deaf for one straight minute. He raised one foot to kick whatever was nearest – but now his balance was so off, he fell backwards -

Pluto grabbed Donald's clothes by the teeth, urging him to run and remind him of what Mickey had sworn him to do. Donald gasped for air, and bolted, running right for the surprised Princess and her stunned guards. “MOVE!” He threw the young woman over his shoulder, and all of them ran as fast as their feet would go – for the force of Pete's fall was so great that it sent a storm of dust and debris for miles and miles in all directions. The earth shook so hard that Panchito lost his footing, stumbling right onto Jose, but when he landed, he kept his back to the air, ready to shield the Jose with his life.

It seemed to take an eternity for the dust to settle, for the world to be silent, and when Donald dared to look over his shoulder, he could no longer see the gigantic form of Pete taking up all that space. If he couldn't see Pete in all the destruction of the broken buildings, then that must have meant he let go of the Lucky Hammer, and the plan had worked – but at what cost?

Panchito lifted his head, wining in pain, a hint of blood running down his face as he looked down at Jose. “Are you all right?”

Jose – who had always been the one saving and never the one saved – for some reason thought he saw a swirl of cherry blossoms moving in slow motion around his savior, and he was fairly certain it wasn't because he had a concussion. “About that senpai thing...”

“Where's Mickey?” Minnie asked quietly, fingers trembling as she didn't truly want an answer.

Donald swallowed, putting Minnie down, his heart beating hard at his own idea of the truth. “Mickey... Mickey!” His sword lost, forgotten, and mattering little now, he sprinted to the crater Pete had left. Pete could be heard moaning in pain and dizziness, likely not to get up anytime soon. Doors, windows, walls, ceilings, were scattered and shattered everywhere in an endless sea of ruin. Donald began to tear through it all, even with his bad arm, looking for any small sign of the small boy. “Mickey! Mickey, answer me!”

Minnie quietly began to weep, and Panchito took her into his arms to console her, even as his own tears started to flow. Jose took off his helmet, showing respect to the samurai who made the ultimate sacrifice. Pluto whined, but then began to sniff around the area.

It wasn't long before Clarabelle came upon them, who turned her head away in grief. Soon after that came Daisy, who held her husband from behind, her crying the quietest it had ever been. Marsupilami, Maurice and Goofy came running with urgent news, but upon seeing this scene of devastation and anguish, were shocked into silence. Marsupilami swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “We...we've got to go! There's a whole bunch of Oni coming this way, they must have heard Pete's commands!”

“I can't go!” Donald snapped without looking up, his fingers torn and bleeding as he kept digging. “Not without him!”

“Listen, he wouldn't want you to be captured or killed by these guys!” Marsupilami tried to grab Donald by his shoulder, but he was violently thrust off -

“I AM NOT LEAVING MY SON BEHIND!” Donald screamed, slamming both of his hands to the ground, even as pain stabbed his old wounds because it couldn't compare to the pain in his soul. “I will not, I cannot, I... I...” He choked on his words, and the world became blurry, the tears coming so fast he couldn't see any longer. Marsupilami staggered backwards, unsure what to do know, and the world around them came into silence...

…But then there came the sound of laughter, of all things. Quiet, muffled, but it was definitely there. Confused faces were abound, and Donald's grief poured into rage. “Who thinks this is funny?!” he stood up so quickly that Daisy rolled off haphazardly, Donald cracking his knuckles and whipping his head around to see the offender. It wasn't coming from anyone in the group, but a few feet into the air of toppled building, with Pluto sticking his head in. As Donald approached, he could make out a few words between the hysteric laughter.

“Q-quit it, boy! That tickles!”

And there, underneath the dirt and debris and defying all logic, was Mickey, his face being licked by a very happy pup. Except Mickey wasn't the size of a peach pit anymore, which was why Donald briefly thought the sight was an agony-induced dream. Mickey, whose old clothes were now tattered and frayed, his body covered in dirt and dust, was about the same size as an average young adult. Pluto quickly caught the scent of something else, and resumed sniffing elsewhere, allowing Mickey and Donald to see each other.

Mickey blinked a few times, and then cracked a tired smile. “Hello, oto-san... I mean, Don-”

Donald fell to his knees and held Mickey for the first time in his life. He wasn't sure he could ever let go again. “I am so sorry, Mickey,” he said softly, not caring how or why he was able to do this. “For all that I said, for all that I did... I was wrong. You deserved so much better than me as a parent...but I am your parent. I am your father. I promise you this – you are a member of this family, and you always will be!”

Mickey had never held anyone before in his life. He wasn't entirely sure how to go about it, how much strength to use or how long it was supposed to be. Slowly, he lifted his arms, in quiet awe that he could put his arms around anyone now, and he felt his father's warmth. Hints of tears began to dribble down his cheeks, and for the moment, he buried his face into his father's shoulder.

The tender moment alone didn't last for too long, as obviously everyone wanted to know what was going on – and when they came upon the scene, all burst into joy. Panchito and Jose danced merrily, Clarabelle momentarily fainted into Goofy's arms, Marsupilami and Maurice couldn't stop laughing, and Minnie and Daisy joined in on the hug with tears and relief. The oncoming Oni threat was forgotten for the moment, which was unfortunate, as there were a great number heading for the gate.

“Oh, Mickey, you clever dear!” Daisy squealed, rubbing Mickey's shoulders. “Managing to the grab the Lucky Hammer as you fell, that was amazing!”

“Uh...yeah, that would have been amazing.” Mickey awkwardly replied, now realizing a thing or two. “Except I didn't do that.”

All at once, the joy was paused. A little “woof” cemented things, as Pluto now sat among them with the dug-up Lucky Hammer in his mouth, which had landed away from Mickey.

Minnie looked back and forth between Mickey and the Lucky Hammer, perfectly puzzled. “Then... how did you turn this size?”

“Beats me.” Mickey shrugged helplessly. “All I know is that I was fallin' down, with a really bad headache, and then... I dunno, just before I landed, I felt really strange.” He scratched his head, some clods of dirt beginning to fall off. But as he scratched his head, he felt something funny – three little bumps. He supposed, given how far he fell, that having a bump on the head was normal, but why three? And why did they feel kind of pointy?

“I hate to break up the party,” Panchito suddenly declared, seeing figures over the horizon, “But it looks like part two of the battle is upon us!”

Dozens and dozens and dozens of Oni had arrived, all shapes and sizes, one horns and two horns, none of them wanting to be there but all of them wanting to avoid Pete's wrath. Would they even listen if they were told Pete was defeated? There was no time to risk it – Panchito, Jose, Goofy, Marsupilami and Maurice readied themselves for battle, swords drawn and willing to fight. Mickey shoved his father off, wanting to join in, even if his original sewing needle blade was now lost in the mess. “We won't let them get any further!” He heroically declared, as he ruffled his hair to remove the last bits of dirt from his head, and he stood with his friends, ready for anything – so he thought.

The band of Oni headed right for the guards, but the strange day only got stranger – the ones upfront took one good look at Mickey and stopped in their tracks – which led them to get tripped and trampled by the ones in front, until they saw Mickey, and the process repeated itself until most of them were laying on the ground, confused and embarrassed. Mickey would have laughed if he wasn't very baffled. “Huh... I guess they won't let themselves get any further either.” He looked at his friends to confirm this – but now they were all staring at Mickey with wide eyes and open jaws. Maurice was frantically pointing to the top of Mickey's head. “What?” Mickey felt his head, trying to understand what was causing such a fuss, but he didn't feel any open wounds. Just those three pointy bumps, almost like horns -

Oh.

Wait.

What?!

“I don't believe my eyes,” One of the Oni said as he began to get up – the one Mickey recognized as Hutch. “I thought the previous Oni King's family was all taken out!”

“Guess he must've missed one,” one Mickey recognized as Pacuvio answered. “He's got the three horns, and only royal family blood gets those! I did hear that the Queen was running away to her peach orchard before she got killed with the rest of 'em...”

“TIME OUT!” Donald squawked, storming up between Mickey and the Oni, his head spinning. “What are you guys saying?! That Mickey's an Oni?!”

“Not just any Oni!” More Oni that Mickey knew piped up, like Bigtime. “This kid's the real deal! He's the real King, not Pete! We don't have to follow Pete anymore!” He looked so happy he could start crying, as did the rest of the exhausted and weary Oni.

“Hang on, my baby can't be an Oni.” Daisy interrupted. “All his life, he's only ever been as small as a peach pit!”

“So?” Bouncer shrugged off the question. “All Oni start out that small. It's when we get older and our horns grow in that we reach our full size. Everybody knows that!”

“EVERYBODY DOES NOT KNOW THAT!” Donald yelled, with Mickey still feeling his horns in disbelief. “HOW WOULD WE EVER KNOW THAT?!”

“Did you ever ask?” Burger quipped.

Daisy grabbed her husband and pulled him away before he tried to smack someone. Mickey crossed his arms, remembering a few odd things – in past encounters with Oni, hadn't they always called him a kid, a child, someone very young? What an odd revelation – but what to do now? He only wanted his size to change – he never wanted power over an entire race of people! “Shoot, this is a lot to handle in one day.” He glanced at Minnie, who still had her mouth open in surprise. “Hm...let's see...if I'm the Oni King now...that means you have to do what I say, right?”

“That's the deal,” said Hutch. “Even if we don't like it.”

“Then my first act as Oni King is...that you no longer have to obey me.” He expected and received plenty of stares, along with “huh”s and “really?”s thrown in. “What do I know about being King? You guys are citizens of Japan, just like the rest of us. If I'm an Oni, than that must mean Oni ain't different from everyone else after all, cause I can tell you right now I don't feel any different. Just live with us, that's all.”

What a new concept! Living with people! Pacuvio chuckled quietly, finally losing a sense to nap. “He really is just like the old Oni King.” The rest of the Oni talked among themselves, some in disbelief, others in happiness – they didn't know their future anymore, but it had be better than being under Pete's thumb.

Mickey was feeling rather good. He'd gotten his father's love, a normal size, and settled an old war in a matter of minutes! “Can this day get any better?” He expected to wake up from this amazing dream any second.

Then a sudden snap caught his attention. Minnie was now standing up, having pulled out one of her classic fans from her sleeve. She was wearing her cold, stony expression of royal business, and Mickey felt a chill down his spine. “This is all well and good, but... Sir Mickey, you did break your promise to me, you did attempt to steal the Lucky Hammer, and as a result, you did help destroy a major part of the capitol. As Princess, I cannot let this stand without proper punishment.”

Donald and Daisy gasped, getting in front of Mickey to protect their child. “But he saved everyone too, doesn't that count for something?” Donald asked, not wanting to lose his son after he finally acknowledged he had one.

Mickey's heart ached, but he couldn't deny what had been said. “No... she's right. As a samurai, I dishonored my master. What I did was wrong.” He walked around his parents, and then knelt before Minnie, his head bowed. “Whatever punishment she gives me, I'll take it without question.”

Donald and Daisy held each other, afraid of what was to come, and it seemed all were holding their breath. Even the Oni began to worry if this would mean punishment would come their way as well. Minnie opened the fan again, hiding her mouth, studying Mickey intensely. “As eager as you are to throw away your birthright...we cannot ignore your blood-right. Not everyone, nor will every Oni, so readily accept your order to simply live freely. They may even see you working for me as a sign of aggression. In order to pay back for your crimes, and to keep peace with the Oni, you must stay here at the capitol so I can keep an eye on you... as my husband.”

Mickey lifted his head up, unsure he heard right. “Huh?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Now it was Daisy's turn to be dragged away by Donald. “HE'S MY BABY, I'VE STILL GOT THREE TO FIVE YEARS OF MOMMYING LEFT!”

“You're welcome to stay, of course, to make sure your son is carrying out his punishment.” Minnie replied, and although her mouth was hidden, Mickey was certain she was grinning underneath the fan.

“Can it be a double wedding?” Jose asked, giving Panchito whiplash.

Mickey blinked up at Minnie, still on one knee. “Well, uh... if that's my... punishment, and you're the princess, guess I gotta live with it!” He'd try to make it through, somehow, even as his own grin was giving him away.

“Well, what do we do now?” Hutch asked the general population, feeling more confused than ever.

“I say, if we're going to be living among people...” Pacuvio began to pick up broken bits of walls and doors. “We help them live again.” It seemed as good a plan as any, and the Oni began to clean up – which would eventually confuse the townsfolk when they realized it was safe to return again.

All in all, it was an odd sight to behold – Daisy and Minnie starting to have a tug of war over Mickey, Donald laughing his fool head off, and Jose insisting on Panchito bridal carrying him. Marsupilami looked at Maurice. “Y'know...this may be one of those happily ever after type deals. But I have to say, it's the oddest one I've ever seen.” Maurice nodded in agreement. “I thought about ditching this whole place once we repaid our debt to Mickey, but with things this weird... it kind of makes you want to see it through, don't it?” Maurice smiled, and ruffled the top of Marsupilami's head. Eventually they'd chip in and help – but for now, watching everything unfold was far too entertaining.

At some point, they'd unearth and lock up Pete – at some point, there would be more official talks between the Princess and the Oni – at some point, there would be a wedding, perhaps two. But there didn't seem to be any big rush. Time would flow as it always had, and there were uncertainties all around. But as the day ended, and more days would come, there was one thing that would be agreed upon, and shared with as the tales became legends passed from new fathers to new sons.

Mickey's heart would always be the biggest thing about him – and while not through blood, he inherited it from his father.

#disney #fanfic #the little peach #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #donald duck #daisy duck #panchito pistoles #jose carioca

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sirro85-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Dark Horses: 1

Humans are unusual, in most other races the classification of attractiveness is simple. In the Flet it was size, the larger males and females were deemed more desirable. Amongst the Rhul the more colourful the skin the more attractive the potential mate, I could go on. With humans however it appears to be personal choice or perhaps I should say preference as humans don't get to choose who they find attractive.

Captain Becca was drawn to, in her words, "muscle bound dickheads" while Knickers preferred men who were less heavily muscled but extremely well groomed and Barbie preferred what she referred to as "pretty boys".

These three women were themselves all considered attractive but were physically all different (note that they were all of white European descent so their appearance was not as varied as humans can be) Becca was tall and had a slender build beneath her muscled frame. The two Cassidies Knickers and Barbie were very different in appearance. Knickers was slim and lightly built with delicate features; Barbie was named for her appearance, full figured with almost impossible proportions she was named for the old child's toy she so resembled.

Most fascinating to me was the response these physical appearances drew from others.

The soft "tock" "crack" of a snooker cue knocking two balls together was the background noise of the conversation as Becca watched Knickers clean up the table.

"I dunno, he's really handsome Knix but do you really want a guy that takes longer to get ready than you do?" They were discussing the liaison they were meeting with, one that Knickers had expressed appreciation of.

"Well now I know why Kovac always looks so rough, he's only got the time it takes for you to apply that one brand of eyeliner and put on some heels," laughed Barbie.

"Yeah but at least with Kovac, you know he can go all night," said Knickers in a knowing voice.

"How would you know?" Snapped Becca a little defensive.

"Oh not first hand but you forget I used to share a wall with Kovac, boy has stamina," Knickers and Barbie laughed at Becca's face.

"Well, you're not wrong," the Captain admitted grudgingly.

"At least you two get some eye candy, you don't see many of my type out here," Barbie said sulkily.

"We'll be back in Pelcar-3 soon enough and we'll all have something to look at," Becca said.

"Speaking of eye-candy, Bex somthin' for you to enjoy," Knickers said nodding to the bar.

Looking up Becca saw what Knickers was talking about, 12 soldiers of the Earth Defence Corps had just walked in.

"To look at maybe, I prefer my meatheads to be able to think...well now I do."

"No danger of that with this lot, they're not just EDC they're marines" muttered Barbie, she looked nervous.

The Earth Defence Corps was a partly private enterprise set up on earth when certain individuals and countries rejected the decision by the UN to entrust their military power to the Galactic Council. The EDC were founded to defend earth but since their inception has started to be used for "furthering the human cause" this usually meant trouble was close behind. Worst of all were the EDC marines the shocktroops of the corps, they viewed themselves as highly trained elites but most former UN troops called them "cannon fodder" and spoke of them with derision.

"That's game," said Knickers.

"That's me v Barbie to see who sucks more," said Becca.

"We all know that's your title sweet," said Barbie a little nastily.

"Being good at snooker is a legacy of a misspent youth," replied Becca haughtily.

"Right and we all know you spent your teenage years flat on your back with your ankles on your forehead." Knickers heckled, Barbie laughed so hard she spilled her drink.

Becca pouted and then glanced at the EDC soldiers, "where's Kovac and Wolf?"

"Relax Kovac won't let Wolf start a bar fight, he's responsible remember," Barbie said gesturing two tables over where the two men also played snooker.

"Sure, sober Kovac is responsible but let's not forget Bottle-of-Rum-Kovac is a mischievous deviant who takes great delight in upsetting people like local security forces, the Galactic Defence Air Command and the Korlax Dominion." Becca cautioned.

"True, Fun-Kovac would definitely enjoy embarrassing the EDC," Knickers agreed.

"You shouldn't call it Fun-Kovac, maybe Troubl-" Becca was cut off when one of the EDC marines pressed his groin against Barbie's backside as she bent over to take her shot.

As so often happened when humans grew violent I could not follow the flow of actions but one moment Barbie was bent over the snooker table and the marine was pressed up behind her and then Barbie was standing, the marine was face down on the table with the pool cue was jammed into the marine's throat turning him a purple colour and Barbie had a grip of the man's wrist, twisting it at a funny angle.

"Now I can only assume that as I found this hand in my skirt that it somehow belongs to me," Barbie said calmly into the sudden silence of the snooker hall. "Now I'm willing to return this hand perfectly undamaged if you promise to take it away and not bother me again...whimper pathetically if you agree."

Around the table a crowd had gathered, several EDC marines moved to help their friend but Wolf and Kovac were quick to block their way.

Barbie's victim stayed silent for a few more seconds before she applied a little more pressure to his arm and a wail escaped the marine's lips. "Good, all settled then," said Barbie and she shoved the marine away from her so he sprawled onto the floor, he received a kick to the rump as he struggled to his feet.

The marine regained his feet and nurses his arm for a moment before turning to regard the smaller woman before him. He appeared to gain some swagger back when he realised he was several inches taller and significantly heavier than Barbie.

He swore at Barbie and moved as if to grab her but she moved quicker, the snooker cue snapped out striking him in the throat and then as he staggered back Barbie connected a kick to the groin hard enough to lift him from the ground.

Chaos broke out, Kovac planted his forehead into the nearest marine and Wolf brought his drinking utensil into the face of his opponent. Knickers threw the snooker balls at the four marines approaching from the farside of the table, driving them back.

Becca backed up hurriedly as two marines closed on her. She staggered and flung up two hands, the marines paused, "wait, wait for God's sake these are 6 inch heels," and then delivered a kick to the closest marine's head that caught his jaw and snapped his head to the right and he dropped to the floor insensate, "even I need to get my balance right in these damn things," she said as the other marine rushed her. Becca fell back onto a table pulled both legs in and then kicked out hard, her left foot ineffectively struck the marine's arm but her right caught his thigh, her narrow heel puncturing his flesh and causing him to fall, Becca's swinging left foot caught him under the chin.

Wolf hurdled the snooker table to land crossbody on four marines sending them all sprawling, Barbie and Knickers had both used snooker cues to good effect beating two attackers down. Kovac was facing one more marine who appeared to be the leader, he eyed Kovac then drew a large knife from his belt. Kovac cast around for a weapon and realising nothing useful was near him stepped back and to his left putting an overturned stool between him and his armed opponent.

"Its a shame there isn't a fruit bowl here, you'd be amazed at what I can do with a pineapple," remarked Kovac.

The marine looked a little confused as Kovac edged back further muttering, "even a banana in a pinch," Kovac looked past the marine to the barman, "got any fruit?" He called.

"Fruit won't help," growled the marine.

"It'll keep you distracted," said Kovac as Becca hit the marine with a stool.

Only Wolf was still fighting, he was a blur of fists and feet as he pounded all four marines at once. Seeing his friends watching he stepped back, "take your friends and get out," he yelled gesturing at the various supine marines in the snooker hall, the bloodied marines gathered up their more unfortunate members and delarted.

Kovac paid for the damages and the friends left the bar.

"It's possible that we may live to regret upsetting the EDC," Wolf said as the five of them arrived at their rooms.

"God knows they regret pissing off Barbie," Kovac said.

"What are they doing this far out?" Wolf insisted.

"At a guess...The new colony on planet 1D.F7 will need security with its proximity to the Xhost controlled space. I think they're here for that."

"1D.F7? I'm no good with designations," Becca asked.

"They're calling it Thresh-28 as it's technically part of the Thresh system."

"That's a huge contract, it's going to be a major hub for this regions expansion, the Galactic Council won't employ EDC troops for that." Becca said.

"My guess...they will if the EDC are doing it cheap, and they will, they'll do it to get their foot in the door so they can take a pop at the Xhost, they haven't forgiven them for the incident with the Saturn defences. Once the EDC rile the Xhost up the Galactic Council will be forced to involve themselves to protect the Thresh and Galun systems. "

"Great so they're here looking for a fight and Barbie gave them one, good job Babs you saved the galaxy," Knickers laughed.

"Goodnight Knickers, Barbie, goodnight Captain," Kovac said steering Becca through the door to their rooms.

Humans unlike many races have the ability to overlook rational facts and logic and to trust opinions and their preferred versions of events to reality. Often they convince themselves that these alternative views are the "true" facts, such creatures would certainly be capable of starting a war over pride and imagined offence but I did not truly believe that even the EDC would look to provoke a war with the Xhost fanatics.

#dark horses #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #earth is a deathworld #earth is weird #earth is awesome #space australia #space faerie #space orcs #this is why i call kovac daddy #kovac

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you-a-southpaw-doll · 6 years ago

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Another One Bites The Dust (AOBTD) ~ Chapter 14

Warning(s): Fluff. Possible explicit language.

Author’s Note(s): I figured I’d give y’all another chapter this week. :) I’ll still post another one on Monday, 21 January 2019 like usual. Also, the images of the tattoos that are shown below are of my own actual tattoo. In fact, all of the tattoos that Leigh has, mentioned in this chapter or later, are based off my own ink.

Taglist: @negans-network , @thamberlina , @prettyboynegan , @mychemicalimagines

Previous Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

Chapter 14 ~ The Dance

“Darlin’? May I have this dance?”

I giggle at my husband’s question. “But, I’m dirty. I haven’t showered yet!”

Tim chuckles. “You didn’t seem to mind dancin’ while you were gettin’ your clothes, baby.”

I blush as I stand up straight, turnin’ away from the dresser, a tee shirt and shorts in my hand, as I look at my husband. He’s perched on the edge of our bed, ankles crossed, and a grin on his face. He’s leaning back slightly, propped up on his palms.

He cocks his head to the side, looking at me.

“Please, baby?” He asks, softly.

I smile as I nod. He grins as he pushes himself up off the bed and stalks over to me. I set my clothes on the dresser behind me. He wraps his arms ‘round me, as he lowers his head to gently brush his lips against mine.

“I don’t care if you’ve showered yet or not, darlin’. You know I just love havin’ you in my arms. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t showered yet either.” He murmurs, against my lips.

I grin into the kiss. “I love bein’ in your arms. Even if you’re sweaty and stinky.”

He pulls back, gazing down at me, pretending to be hurt.

“You think I’m stinky?” He pouts.

I giggle. “No more than I am.”

He chuckles. “So…you’ll still dance with me? Even though I’m stinky?”

I nod. “Of course I’ll dance with you, honey.”

He grins. “Good. Be right back.”

He kisses my forehead before pulling away. He walks over to the record player we have on the bookshelf in the corner of our room. He scans through the collection of records we’ve all picked up while out on runs. He chooses one and gets it situated, with the needle of the record player against the edge of the vinyl.

As the music starts playing, he walks back over to me. I smile as I hear the song.

“Lookin’ back on the memory of the dance we shared…”

Tim knows I’ve always loved Garth Brooks, and this was the first song Tim and I danced to years ago, shortly after we first met.

“Beneath the stars above, for a moment all the world was right.” Tim murmurs, singing along to the song, as he pulls me into his embrace.

I smile before wrapping my arms ‘round his waist, and resting my head against his chest, over his heart. The two of us sway side to side. Tim softly sings along as we drift ‘round our room.

“How could I have known you’d ever say goodbye “And now I’m glad that I didn’t know “The way it all would end the way it all would go “Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain “But I’d have had to miss the dance “Holdin’ you I held everything”

Tim tightens his arms ‘round me as he sings this line. I know he loves having me in his arms. He always has, ever since I finally got the courage to ask him for a hug for the first time ‘bout ten years ago. He’s always told me that when he has me in his arms, all of his worries fade away and he can finally relax.

I could say the same goes for me. When I’m in his arms, I feel safe, relaxed, and loved beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“For a moment wasn’t I a king “But if I’d only known how the king would fall “Hey who’s to say you know I might have changed it all “And now I’m glad I didn’t know “The way it all would end the way it all would go “Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain “But I’d have had to miss the dance “Yes my life is better left to chance “I could have missed the pain but I’d have had to miss the dance.”

I tighten my arms ‘round him as the song ends and another one begins to play. I turn my head slightly and kiss his chest, just above his heart. He lets out a deep, happy sigh.

“I’d do anythin’ for you, darlin’. You know that, right?” He asks, softly.

I nod my head against his chest. I know he would, and he has before. He’s been there for me through some of my darkest days, and I am referring to my life before the apocalypse fuckin’ started. He’s kept me from ending it all on multiple occasions.

He’s protected me from my father several times, even though they went to middle and high school together. Tim has been there for me. He would protect me during school, and even though I never technically had him as a teacher, he still took me under his wing.

He was my best and only friend from middle school, up until I graduated college at 18. Even though he’s 23 years older than me, that shit doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I prefer older men than guys closer to age. Besides…it’s different with Tim. He’s not just some older guy.

He’s the one I fell in love with first, the one that’s always held the key to my heart. Plus, It’s not like we ever did anything while I was in school, and I didn’t ask him for a hug until well after I turned 18. In fact, I was almost 19 before I finally asked him for a hug, and the only reason I did was because I didn’t want to end my life knowing I’d never taken the chance to try and get a hug from him.

“I love you, Timothy Anthony Hall-Morgan.” I murmur.

“I love you too, Samantha Leigh Sullivan Hall-Morgan.” He replies.

I giggle at his use of my full fuckin’ name. After we got married, I agreed that I’d take both my men’s last names, and that’d they’d both take each other’s last names too, hyphenating ‘em. Even though I don’t like my first name, ‘cause of it’s origin,

I still have to admit that hearing my tongue twister of a name flow over Tim’s lips has me really fuckin’ happy. Tim brings one hand up to cup my cheek. I tilt my head back to look up at him. He just gives me that dimpled little smile I fell in love with when I first met him.

“What do you say we go take that shower now, eh darlin’?” He asks, chuckling.

I laugh. “We probably should. I know I stink to high heavens, and after that run, I need a fuckin’ shower. Do you know when Jeff’s gonna be back?”

He rocks his head from side to side, thinking. “I think he’ll be home in a little bit. I know Negan needed to talk to him after we got back.”

“Oh ok. Well…let’s go shower. I think we still have a few hours ‘fore Angel’s done with classes.”

Tim laughs as he follows me into the bathroom. He starts the water as I strip, tossing my dirty clothes into a pile by the cabinet under the sink. Once the water is hot ‘nough for us, Tim pulls back and gets undressed. His clothes land on top of mine as he pulls the shower curtain back, letting a billow of steam out in the process.

I chuckle. We might be in the middle of a damn zombie apocalypse, but we have hot fuckin’ water. Tim chuckles when he hears me. He looks at me, eyebrow raised. I shake my head as I walk closer to him. I press a kiss to his cheek before stepping under the hot water.

I let out a sigh as the water hits my head and shoulders before rolling down my chest and back. Tim gets in behind me, closing the curtain so the floor doesn’t get wet. He wraps one arm ‘round my waist as he leans over me to grab the bottle of body wash.

It’s a generic men’s liquid soap, but I don’t mind. I’ve always preferred men’s body wash over women’s; it doesn’t smell as flowery and it’s always been cheaper. I hear the click as Tim opens the bottle. A moment later, I feel his hands on my shoulders as he starts washing my back.

He gives me a slight massage, which has me moaning, before his hands drift lower across my lower back. He brings his hands up and begins washing my arms. I hear something softly thud against the tub, and glance over my shoulder. Tim’s kneeling behind me so he can wash the back of my legs.

I let my head fall forward as I savor the feeling of his hands kneading my muscles. My hair falls down, shielding my face a bit, and the water drips down. I watch as the dirt and grime, from being out and scavenging, flows down the drain.

“Turn ‘round, darlin’.” I hear Tim instruct.

I do, and immediately feel the hot water pelt against my back. Damn. It feels fuckin’ amazing. Tim glances up at me, through drooping eyelashes, and the little bit of hair hanging over his eyes. He hasn’t had a chance to cut his hair in several weeks, so it’s getting a bit longer than normal.

I smile down at him. He grins as his hands slide up from my feet to my knees and to my hips. He stands up, being careful not to fall. He grabs the bottle of body wash once more, and squirts a little bit into his right hand. After setting the bottle down on the edge of the tub, he rubs his hands together, turning the soap into suds.

He brings his hands closer to my belly and starts washing me there. I wasn’t expecting him to wash me when I mentioned that I needed to take a shower, but I’m not complaining either. He’s always really sweet, gentle, loving, and caring when he does.

Once he has my entire body washed and cleaned, he moves to my hair. Since he’s nearly a foot taller than me, it’s not too difficult for him to run his run fingers through my hair. He washes my hair with the body wash. Shampoo and conditioner have become a bit scarce here lately, and plus, it’s not really a necessity as much as body wash it, so it’s not quite a priority to look for when we’re out, scavenging.

As the last of the suds flow from my hair with the water, Tim kisses my forehead. I go to return the favor of him washing me by attempting to wash him. He shakes his head.

“No, baby. This is ‘bout you. Not me. Let me take care of you.” He whispers.

I nod. He quickly washes his body and hair. As soon as he’s clean, slides the curtain back and steps out. He grabs the fluffy towel off the rack on the wall, and dries himself off. Wrapping the towel ‘round his waist, he reaches forward to turn the shower off.

I watch as he grabs another fluffy towel with one hand, and holds his other hand out to me. I take it as I step outta the tub. He starts by drying my hair, then runs the towel over my body, letting it soak up the remaining water drops that dot my skin.

When he’s finished, he wraps the towel ‘round me, tucking it under my arms. He weaves his fingers with mine as he leads me back into our bedroom. I notice Jeffrey’s propped up on the bed, with his eyes closed. His boots are kicked off to the side, and his arms are tucked behind his head.

He opens his eyes and his entire face lights up.

“There’s my beautiful wife and handsome husband!” He says, grinning.

I giggle and blush. Tim chuckles from beside me. Jeffrey sits up on the bed, swinging his feet over the edge so they rest on the floor. He looks both Tim and I up and down, taking in the sight of us.

He lets out a low whistle. “God damn. How did I get so fuckin’ lucky to be married to you two?”

My cheeks heat up even more from where I’m blushing. Tim gently squeezes my hand as he chuckles. Jeffrey’s grin gets bigger as he gets up and makes his way over to us. He stands in front of me, and brings one hand up to my chin. I tilt my head to look up at him.

He closes his eyes as he lowers his head, letting his lips brush over mine. I kiss him back. He smiles against my lips. He taps the tip of my nose with his finger after he pulls back. I giggle which has him grinning even more, making his dimples stand out under his salt-and-pepper scruff.

He winks at me before turning to our husband. Since they’re nearly the same height, neither of ‘em have to move their heads too much. Tim brings his free hand up to grip Jeffrey’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. I watch as my husbands kiss one another.

They pull back after a few moments, letting their foreheads and noses touch. I smile. Jeffrey pulls back slightly and looks over at me.

“Damn. I fuckin’ love y’all.” He says. “That was quite the pair of ‘welcome home’ kisses from y’all.”

I laugh, as does Tim. I reach for my clean clothes I’d left on the dresser, and slip the tee shirt on, letting the towel fall to the floor by my feet. I realize it’s one of Jeffrey’s as it hangs down to my knees. I slide the pair of shorts on, noticing that they’re Tim’s boxer shorts.

I bend over to pick the towel up, folding it in half as I stand back up.

“Fuck. I’d say she looks damn good in our clothes. What do you think, husband?” Jeffrey asks Tim.

I glance up to see the loves of my life, looking at me with pure love in their eyes. Tim’s nibbling on his bottom lip as he nods his head in response to Jeffrey’s question.

I blush, but still roll my eyes. “You’re lucky they’re comfortable.”

Jeffrey chuckles and Tim smirks. “Is that so?”

I nod. “Mmhhmm.”

Jeffrey shakes his head, grinning. Tim reaches into the dresser to grab a pair of jersey shorts. He slips ‘em on once he removes the towel. I take it from him, folding it up too, before I set both of ‘em back in the bathroom. I scoop our dirty clothes up and toss ‘em in the hamper so I can wash ‘em later.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, and then I’ll be right back out.” Jeffrey says, stripping his shirt off.

“We’ll be right here, honey. Probably laying in bed, though.” I say.

Tim nods. “Yea. What she said.”

Jeffrey chuckles. “Ok.”

Once he’s in the bathroom, Tim pulls me over to the bed. I get situated in the middle of it, under the covers, before he can even settle down beside me. He wraps his arms ‘round me, pulling me into him. I wrap my arms ‘round his tummy and lay my head on his chest.

I feel his fingers trace a design on my left forearm. I glance down and realize that he’s running his fingers over the tattoo I have there. It was my most recent and last one I got before the apocalypse started. It was something that I designed myself; granted, I designed all four of the tattoos that are scattered across my body.

One of ‘em, Alyss even helped me design, so that one has some real special meaning to me. The one Tim is tracing at the moment is my historical tattoo – Civil War edition. I’ve got two flags, on flag poles that are crossing one another in the middle of the poles.

The flag on the left is a fifteen star American flag, while the one on the right is the original Stars and Bars. Both flags are tattered to represent the warfare that both endured during their time flying high for the countries they represented. Below the flags, the words “Four Score and Seven Years Ago…” are inked into my skin.

I was quite proud of this tattoo, as it represents one of my greatest passions and times to study in history. The Civil War was something I’ve been studying and learning ‘bout since I was five years old.

My other areas of interest and expertise in history include FDR’s presidency and the Great Depression, 1929 to 1947, and lastly the Civil Rights Movement as it pertains to Major League Baseball, i.e. Jackie Robinson and the integration process.

The feeling of Tim’s fingers roaming over my arm relaxes me. I close my eyes as I listen to the beating of his heart. I ended up dozing off, in the arms of one husband, while waiting on the other to finish his shower.

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strengthrequireskindness · 6 years ago

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Revelations

This is a three-part Halloween fic based on a prompt by @quillsareswords! Since I've been inexcusably inactive lately, I hope this makes up for it!

Title is because I have a major thing for biblical references though I myself am agnostic

----

PROLOGUE

Halloween, one year ago

"I can't believe we have to patrol on Halloween!" Jamila threw up her hands as she paced along the rooftop. An hour into their stakeout had yielded nothing. She was not happy about it.

A flash of green heralded the arrival of her younger twin. His trademark scowl was firmly in place.

"Ttt. You would really rather beg for candy in childish costumes?"

"Better than tracking down a murder suspect that hasn't been seen in months. Do you really think he'd go back to his old house? That's practically asking to be caught."

Damian tutted. His cape swished as he made his way over to her. "He's eluded the GCPD for months now. It's likely why Father sent us."

Jamila couldn't argue with that. While Damian was undoubtedly skilled in combat, his occasional arrogance sometimes caused him to overlook things. She was more subdued, preferring to observe and investigate. Although she would fight if it came to that.

As Blackbird and Robin, they were a dynamic sibling duo, as Dick called it. Though not in front of Damian. The last time he'd done so, her brother had insulted his Discowing fashion choices for eight minutes straight.

"Let's review things-perhaps there's something we've missed." If nothing else, it was something to do.

Damian adjusted the sword at his belt, fiddling with the hilt. While Jamila knew steel blades were out of the question, wooden practice swords packed a punch and might even cause a concussion if used correctly.

"I doubt you would have missed anything."

"Is that a compliment from my brother? What is going on? Should I check to see if we're in a parallel universe?"

"Shut up, Blackbird," he muttered.

"Ooh, scary. Anyway, our lucky winner tonight is Godfrey Nash. Five foot nine, brown eyes, blonde hair, slightly overweight. He worked for Wayne Enterprises before being fired two years ago. In May, the bodies of three women were discovered in his apartment. By then, he'd already skipped town."

She paused. "Background checks say Nash has a history of violence. He got suspended in ninth grade for slamming a kid's face into a chain-link fence. He was also fired from his first job for slashing a coworker's tires."

"So we're looking for a psychopath." Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Not necessarily. It's possible he's just very bad at managing anger."

Her twin scoffed. "That's obvious. I did find something at the crime scene."

"Oh?" Jamila hadn't been able to go to the crime scene because she'd been recovering from a scuffle with Scarecrow. Damian had been forced to take over her usual spot.

"Well, it's what I didn't find that is notable. There wasn't a murder weapon or fingerprints."

"What? Weren't the bodies slashed beyond recognition?"

"Yes, but then or since there has been no knife or something similar found."

She sighed. "So possible metahuman involvement, then. That might explain the lack of prints on the bodies."

"Likely, though Croc has been quiet."

"A new player?"

"Newcomers usually go for Father first. We would have heard about that."

As if Damian had summoned him, Jamila's earpiece buzzed. She switched it on, unsurprised to hear Batman's voice on the other end.

Her relationship with their father wasn't as close as Damian's. While Damian had been discovered first by Bruce, it took some time before the man had trusted her brother enough to believe his stories about a sibling.

Her brother and father found her four years after Damian's defection. She nearly killed Bruce upon their first encounter out of fury and resentment. It took a combined effort by her brother and Nightwing to calm her down. Repeated efforts involving the entire Batfamily taught her to trust others.

She'd forgiven him. Both of them were trying to be closer. But she'd never forget the feeling of knowing that help was out there and wasn't coming.

"Blackbird, report." His voice, as always, sounded like he was gargling with gravel.

"No movement from the house, aside from several police officers taking down the crime scene tape. It's been five months since the bodies were found, so that's not suspicious."

She swallowed before making her pitch. "There's been no sign of Nash and we've been here for sixty minutes. May we take a short break to go trick-or-treating?"

"Negative. There's been a development."

Jamila choked down her disappointment before responding. It wouldn't do to complain to her father. Batman was not the kind of man who changed his mind without good reason. "What is it?"

"Facial recognition confirmed the first victim's identity. It's Delilah Dearborn."

"Wasn't she the socialite you took to the charity gala?"

"Yes."

The answer confirmed her growing suspicions. "Father, tell Tim to calibrate the facial recognition software for women you've taken to public events. I know you're busy with Justice League business. But he isn't."

"All right. I'll have him patch into your comms when he's done. Batman out."

The earpiece went dead. Jamila turned to Damian, who was giving her a dirty look.

"Drake? Really?"

"I know you don't like him. He's better at technology than either of us."

"Ttt. Very well." He crossed his arms, looking for all the word like a petulant little boy instead of a badass vigilante. The fact that he was doing this while pacing along the far side of the roof didn't help matters.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. "What's on your mind, sister?"

"One of the victims is someone Father took to a gala. I'm following a hunch. Maybe this is more than just anger issues."

No sooner had she finished her sentence than her earpiece buzzed again. One switch directed her to Tim's voice. He sounded equal parts tired and thoughtful.

"Tim. What do you have?"

"Well, your instincts are spot on, as usual." Furious typing echoed from the other end of the line. "I've recalibrated the software. Matches for the other two victims popped up almost instantly. Marinda Ayotunde and Jessica Blake both dated Bruce. At least that's what the tabloids say. And get this-they're both rich and famous. Ayotunde was related to African royalty. Blake was the CEO of Lionheart Solutions. It's a private security firm that protects society's elites."

"So Nash is resentful of Bruce because Bruce's company fired him. He's resentful of wealthy people too?"

"One out of two. Blake wasn't significantly wealthy yet, but she's famous enough to make it into local papers. My guess is Nash doesn't like people who are significant. He deserves to be significant and they don't."

"Would that extend to the Batfamily?"

It was a pertinent question. Tim's answer would reflect how they proceeded. So Jamila was paying close attention to her earpiece when it happened.

Something grabbed at her leg.

It was a strong grip, far too strong to be human. She struggled. The grip held firm. She bit back a scream as she was yanked off the side of the building.

The impact with the top of the dumpster knocked the wind out of her, sending a spike of pain through her stomach. Definitely a bruised rib if not worse.

Enough self-diagnosis, she chided herself. You're under attack.

A growl from behind her caught her attention. She turned, drawing her bo staff off her back. It annoyed Damian that she used the same weapon as Tim. But that wasn't relevant.

One look at the thing in front of her and she knew that her weapon wasn't going to cut it.

It stood taller than six feet, covered in a ragged coat of what seemed like fur. Gleaming claws curled out of its huge hands and feet. Harsh yellow eyes and a long snout completed the look.

Jamila knew what this was. This couldn't possibly be it. In a world where even her grandfather stayed alive for eternities due to science, a werewolf simply wasn't part of the equation.

It opened its mouth and roared. She saw slavering fangs and breath that stank worse than anything she'd ever smelled before it lunged.

The dumpster saved her. As the monster surged forward, she dodged to the side. She slipped behind the green container and shoved it forward.

It caught the wolf square in the chest, but at a price. The heavy weight dulled her reflexes with predictable results. Her foot caught against a stray bag and sent her plunging forward.

She smacked into the pavement, her hands scraping against the concrete. Panic overtook her now and she scrabbled at the ground for purchase.

Jamila pushed herself upright just as the wolf's (she was calling it that because it couldn't possibly have the were portion of the name) claws raked into her right shoulder. She hissed in pain and thrust her bo staff forward with everything she had.

And the wolf caught it.

She stared in disbelief. This thing had just blocked a full-strength attack with no effort at all. It looked at the staff, tilting its head to the side. A growl rumbled outwards, nearly as loud as the blood rushing in her ears.

The bo staff was yanked out of her hands with no warning at all, clattering to the pavement like a broken toy. The momentum drove Jamila forward, and the wolf took advantage of that. It took her injured arm with its free clawed hand and ripped.

She screamed now, blood pooling out of the remains of her suit's right sleeve. It hurt. It hurt so much she couldn't think straight. How did it do that so fast and so effectively? How could she survive this?

Even with pain clouding her sight, she could see the wolf striding towards her with the walk of something that knows it's won. She raised her leg and kicked out, a last desperate defense against what she knew was coming.

The wolf swatted it aside like a bothersome fly.

A deep rumbling laugh echoed from inside it as her vision darkened. She'd heard that laugh on many a surveillance feed. Stakeouts weren't only visual.

"Oh, I like you. Maybe I'll take you after all."

There was a fierce stabbing pain, a sensation like her organs rearranging themselves, then inky blackness.

---

Part Two will be up tomorrow! Thanks again to @quillsareswords for their excellent inspiration for this!

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papatonyinsandiego · 6 years ago

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Creating Sacred Male Space, Part 3: Welcoming the Stranger

I often run into people who beseech each other for help in figuring out how to approach new people, for the purpose of inviting them to be a part of the community, without appearing to be a predator.

I've been extremely successful in this endeavor. The group in San Diego that I started years ago has almost 1200 followers, and nearly ALL of them have been added ONE AT A TIME.

I can't stress that enough - Simply printing cards or flyers, or mass-emailing, or posting it online is nothing, compared to the personal approach. We are all fed up with impersonal invitations. We've been burned too many times with spam, viruses, and every other kind of crap coming at us from every direction. These people have raised our threshold for bullshit so high that any sane person would assume that nobody could ever break through the average person's cynicism.

However, all that it takes is a touch.

Let's assume that I'm going to approach you at a bar event that I've created. I'm HUGE (six foot five, even taller in my big boots, 280 pounds, gray-bearded and hairy, and usually in uniform or leather). To the average person, I look nine feet tall and six foot wide. Despite all of this, when I come up to strangers to let them know about my group, I have a consistently high success-rate. Out of 100 strangers, approximately 90 of them will gladly give me their email address. Out of those people, after I have added them to my weekly email list, ONE will unsubscribe. Everybody else sticks around, and likes what they receive from me.

People think that the most important currency is money. In 2011, it's not. It's CREDIBILITY. No amount of money will buy credibility. It has to be earned the hard way. I have the confidence to approach strangers and enroll them in a sweet, joyful common dream, because I have kept my word for decades. The average stranger doesn't know that for a fact yet, but they are intrigued enough by my affectionate, respectful and confident demeanor to give me a chance.

So, let's say that I'm at a public event (usually one that I created for this purpose), looking for new people to sign up for FMSD (FetishMenSanDiego.org). I call these events "Honey Traps", which is a term that I am using as a metaphor - They are events that are attractive enough to drag individuals away from their damn computers. The average person sits in front of FaceBook, Fetlife, Recon or some other endless distraction, but has a firm conviction that everybody else is having more fun in the real world than they are. EVERYBODY has that idea in their heads, and doesn't understand how few people are having fun in the non-virtual world. We're all lonely, disconnected and losing our ability to feel like we're part of something real, and bigger than our concerns, insecurities and considerations.

I look around me at these events, looking for someone who is clearly wearing their favorite "suit of armor". They are broadcasting "I'm shy", or "I'm not interested" or "I'm just passing through". Those are the folks that I make a beeline for. Other people might call them "Attitude Queens". I don't - I understand that "Attitude with a Capital A" is just shyness. I can handle that, and here's how… This is my standard script for approaching strangers:

I approach the stranger, stand quite close (about two feet away), where they can clearly see me and can't pretend that I'm part of the furniture. I pointedly look them right in the eye, and say "Excuse me, have I spoken with you before?", while wearing a pleasant, (but not excessively pleasant) smile, and slightly upraised eyebrows. My demeanor is clearly communicating polite and courteous interest. They usually have a slightly startled reaction to this, saying "No, I don't think so". I'll then ask "are you a San Diegan?" If they say no, then I tell them a bit about our group, and show them a few pictures from previous events, and then move onward to the next guy. If they say yes, then I continue with the script.

Remember, many of these events are NOISY - Loud music, chattering people all around. This gives me cover for moving in closer and making actual, physical contact with them. I touch their solar plexus with the back of my hand, while introducing myself, and asking who they are, and a few other polite questions to break the ice. This is 100% effective in initiating physical contact, because no matter how shy or cynical that person is, they have been programmed their entire lives to shake hands to show that they are nice, well-raised people who don't have any weapons. I'll say "I'm Papa Tony, and I host many of the leathermen's events here in town." I'll release their hand, and whip out my iPhone. I''ll show them group pictures that clearly show happy, satisfied crowds of people who obviously share traits with my guest of the moment. These events are diverse, full of big smiles and don't follow any common rules of the "I'm Hot and You're NOT" philosophy.

I'm now paging through photos for the enjoyment of the person in front of me, and drawing QUITE close - Close enough to rest my hand on his shoulder while I'm flipping through pictures one-handed. That way, I can talk in a normal, comfortable, just-between-nice-guys voice, because I'm so close - My mouth is maybe ten inches away from his ear, and I'm using my Indoor Voice. Closeness COUNTS. In our current culture, we have learned that somebody who stands at a distance from us is not a trustworthy person. Spammers like to hide. Abusers like to hide. Nice people are close by, and have no fear about other nice people in a polite society.

Example: Let's say that you see a stranger shoving his way through a crowd, and when he gets to you, he says "Get the fuck out of my way, ASSHOLE!" Chances are pretty good that he's going to get a big dose of ASSHOLE in response. That's not a side of us that we prefer, but our internal, hard-wired Fight or Flight response demands that we do SOMETHING in a stressful situation. Now, delete that example, and imagine somebody coming up to you and treating you as a thoroughly respectable, intelligent, pleasant and enjoyable person, right from the very first instant. You're being approached, not for the sake of money, or power, sex, or any other other obvious, predictable reason, but because somebody wants YOU, of all people, to be a part of an actual, visually-appealing, thriving community of nice people, who get together often in public.

By this time, my target of interest (and possible new brother) is intrigued, despite multiple layers of well-earned cynicism. I continue to destroy his defenses: I'll say "We want all ages, all colors, all body-styles and all levels of experience. The only kind of people that we actively and aggressively discriminate against… Is GRUMPY PEOPLE!". This is usually good for a laugh, but they always look at my face and see that I'm being quite authentic in this statement.

I will then set the hook - I'll be showing him the pictures, and I'll say "You would fit right in". And, clearly, he would. Everyone is tired of being judged by externals. Even the world's prettiest/most-perfect men and women are sick of the social "A-List" game of perfect teeth/hair/muscles/tits/whatever providing us with varying levels of social status. It's an empty philosophy, but we never know when it's time to let go of it and just be happy like a bunch of uninhibited three-year-olds. By looking at the pictures (and grabbing the phone from me and zooming in closer to see everybody better, my new brother is losing his defenses fast.

I'll say "The nicer you are, the more friends you deserve - This is normal human behavior, but it fell apart somehow for gay men. We've fixed that." I tend to get rueful agreement from my new buddy.

I'll go further, and demolish his preconceptions like my life depends on it. I'll say "Listen to the people around you". He'll stop, and listen seriously and intently. I'll say "Everybody sounds really happy, don't they? You can't fake that kind of happy." He'll have to admit that yes, everybody else sounds like they're having a rocking good time. I'll tell him "You deserve to have just as good a time as anybody here. I'm the host of this event, and you have my word of honor that no one here will ever treat you shabbily. If anybody DOES, you bring it to ME, and I will take care of it right away. I take full responsibility for the safety, success and well-being of everybody at this event, and you can count on me. Just go up to people and chat, and they'll all be nice to you. I know most of the folks here, and they aren't meanies, or tweaking, or spiteful."

I'll mention that I have nothing to sell him, and never will. I don't make a penny off of this, and neither does anybody else. In today's society, this is unheard-of… It seems mythological and theoretical. EVERYBODY wants a piece of somebody else, wants to treat us like walking wallets, and they have cunningly learned to hide it until they have tricked you somehow. And yet, here's this big galoot who is saying that he wants your actual, non-virtual and physical presence at a series of upcoming events. Nothing more, as long as you're a pleasant, well-socialized grownup.

Then, I say that I have an email-list that tells people what events are coming up, so that they know about them BEFORE each event, instead of hearing about it after everybody else had a great time. I'll ask "Would you like to be on the mailing-list?" This is Decision Time. I'm being the very epitome of a forthright, pleasant, respectful and clearly idealistic human being, and now, I need them to step up and deliver their half of the social contract. Just listening, or tolerating, or being a disinterested observer isn't enough - They have to make a commitment and be responsible about it. Like I said earlier, it's nearly always a slam-dunk… People can't get on the mailing-list fast enough.

I have created a web-page that is perfectly designed to be used on a Droid or iPhone's web-browser, using a free utility that allows me to sign people up for the mailing-list ON THE SPOT, without delay. I hit a bookmark icon on my phone's main page that brings me directly to that page, tap the field that asks for the email, and hand the phone right over for their data-entry. While doing so, I say "You have my word of honor that you will never receive any spam as a result, and if you don't like the mailing-list, just click on the link at the bottom and you'll be unsubscribed immediately". When they are done, they hand it back to me - I always have a pair of reading-glasses with me, in case somebody needs a pair for accuracy. I insist that they check the address one final time, and then tap the "Submit" button.

Nowadays, my success-rate is so high, I can sign up a total stranger within three minutes, and I will do it over and over and over, all during the event. I do not sit with my Good Buddies, chewing the fat. To me, that is exactly the wrong thing to do. I have a task to perform, and nothing will distract me from it. If I am going to be committed to creating real, honest and solid community, then I have to extend the hand of friendship to every new face that shows up. The moment that any affinity-group stops welcoming new people IN A CONSCIOUS WAY, then that group is dead. D-E-A-D. Our newest members are our group's future, and if we force them to bounce off of our indifference, then we may as well close up shop. The group will get older, and less relevant, and wither away.

So, what about the folks who DO NOT sign up? What if their cynicism is too awesomely impervious? No problem. "Invitations can be accepted, denied or renegotiated". I never attach my ego to trying to enroll 100% of the people that I approach. It is impossible. I wish them well, I mention our Web site (while pointing to it on our club banner, hanging in obvious display) and step over to the next person. I have seen those same people come to our events over and over, because they wanted to see whether my fancy talk had any actual credibility.

So, one more time, let's talk about Credibility with a Capital C. LEADERS PROVIDE. We keep creating these "Honey Trap" events, and take group pictures periodically. Why? Because no amount of words can convey the awesomeness of a successful, joyful and satisfying event as well as group pictures can. No amount of money, or trickery, or bossiness or manipulation can make a big, diverse and deliriously happy crowd look like a bunch of Labrador Retrievers with a tennis ball. You want to document your successes, even if they start out small. That's still better than the big, echoing emptiness that is usually the default when somebody is looking for heartfelt community in the real world.

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aleinnilatibae · 6 years ago

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Larry the Lightbulb

So this is a lot less polished than my usual work, but @sassysportacus is on her way to Iceland today, and I wanted to give her something to read for the occasion!

The premise is, Larry is a horrifying force of nature and ALSO the most oblivious being on the planet.

Also in our minds he’s played by Jón Jósep Snæbjörnsson so take that as you will.

“Hey, this seems like a good place to live!”

Pete froze. That voice was...unfamiliar.

“Wh-who goes there!” he said, trying to make his voice more confident than he really was.

“It’s just me, Larry the lightbulb!” came the voice, as the figure came out from behind a bush.

“Larry the WHAT?” Pete said, but as the figure stepped into the light, he saw that it was indeed, a light bulb.

Pete stood and blinked. He had never seen any...living OBJECT before. He cast an uneasy glance at the slide. Was THAT going to come alive and try to live here too?

“Hey!” the lightbulb, Larry, was saying, walking over with a huge wave. “How’s it hangin? Listen, I have been on a really long journey, and I would just LOVE it if I could live somewhere cool such as this basket. My only question is...are there any beautiful ladies that live here with you?”

Pete stared at him.

Larry smiled back, hands out to the side as if presenting himself.

Pete stared at him some more.

And then he made a decision.

“Nope!” he said, mostly to himself. “No, no, no, not in my fruit basket, not today.”

He hopped down from his throne, grabbed Larry’s arm, and pulled him towards the rotting hole.

“Okay! Into the rotting hole!” Pete pointed authoritatively.

Larry looked at the entryway, and then back. “The rotting hole?”

Pete motioned again. “Yes! Into the rotting hole! And do it quick, before someone else comes along and sees you.”

Larry peered into the green, foul-smelling structure. “Smells pretty bad in there, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, but you just have to go in! Right now!” Pete said, shoving him a little.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to push, there’s PLENTY of room for both of us in here,” Larry said, walking, of his own volition, directly into the rotting hole.

Pete slammed the door on him, and fist pumped to himself. Never had he successfully gotten anyone into the rotting hole, and this guy just went! Voluntarily!

“Easy as pie,” he mumbled to himself, a skip in his step as he made his way back to the throne.

THREE DAYS LATER.

The residents of the fruit basket were gathered in the main room, as Red was in the middle of delivering everyone’s packages.

“And here is that new makeup brush, for YOU, Annie-”

“Yay!”

“-and for the lovebirds...matching custom strawberry and carrot pillows!”

“Excellent”

“Great!”

“And for Banana Bob, mustache wax-”

“It’s a necessity!”

“And for Greenie, new drumsticks-”

“Yess!”

“And for the pears...is this just a box of whoopie cushions?”

“Maybe! Hahaha!”

“For Pete...ah! It’s your new cape!”

“Finally!”

“And last, for me, a new calendar for the new year!”

Everyone tore into their new packages, when they heard a noise.

“Anything for me?”

Pete froze as he heard that voice.

It was a FAMILIAR voice.

“It CAN’T be…” he mumbled, but sure enough, it was.

That light bulb, that he had sent into the rotting hole DAYS BEFORE, was walking up to them, without even a scratch or a moldy spot on him!

“Who are you?” Annie asked suspiciously.

“I’m-”

“How are you ALIVE?!” Pete interrupted, “I threw you in the ROTTING HOLE!”

Everyone in the fruit basket gasped.

“Pete!”

“You KNOW that you’re not supposed to throw people in the rotting hole!”

“How could you?!”

Pete gestured frantically at the lightbulb, currently brushing dust off of his arms, “Geez, get off my back! He’s CLEARLY fine! So it’s okay!”

Red harrumphed. “We are going to have a MEETING about this later, Pineapple PETE.”

Pete pouted.

“Anyway,” said the lightbulb, “I’m Larry, and thanks for the nice accomodations! Could use an air freshener or two,” he said, chuckling, “But it was great to rest for a little while! Now, are these my new neighbors?”

Everyone slowly turned to look at Pete.

“New neighbors?”

“He’s coming to LIVE WITH US?!”

Pete shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t look at me! He’s invincible! He can clearly do whatever he wants and us puny mortal fruits have no say in the matter!”

Kerry rolled her eyes at everyone, and walked out to introduce herself. “Hi! I’m Kerry, and I was once a newcomer into the fruit basket too! But I’ve been here for a little while.”

“Hello Kerry,” Larry said, slightly awed. “I’ve never met a carrot who was taller than me before.”

“Well, here I am!” She said, giggling.

“What-what kind of a thing are you?” May asked, peeking out from behind Kerry.

“I’m a lightbulb!” Larry said, pointing at his translucent body. “That’s why I have this filament inside of me. You know, being see-through is really in style these days,” he joked.

“A lightbulb? Like that?” Patti pointed up to the ceiling, where a light shone brightly.

“Yeah! The difference is that uh...I’m alive, and that one isn’t.”

Patti sighed in relief. “Phew.”

“Well...welcome!” Red said, and everyone came to introduce themselves to the new guy.

Pete just crossed his arms.

“I just KNOW this is a bad decision…” he said, grumbling.

Life with Larry the Lightbulb in the fruit basket was a frustrating affair.

At least it was for Pete.

Larry would but in on whatever he was doing, just for some “Bro-time,” as he called it. It was annoying! Sometimes, Pete just wanted to read his books, or practice his raps, without anybody else interfering! But Larry seemed to ALWAYS pop up whenever he wanted to be alone.

And, even after he figured out that the Rotting hole was supposed to be something TERRIFYING...he still preferred to live in there! He said he liked it because “the air is spicy”, whatever that meant.

But the thing that really ground Pete’s gears was that Larry was possibly the most oblivious living being on the planet.

Larry approached Kerry the Carrot while she was using her binoculars.

“Are you, uh, are you from Tennessee?”

Kerry lowered her binoculars, and tilted her head to the side.

“What’s a Tennessee?” she asked.

“Because-because you’re the only ten I see!” Larry finished anyway, throwing finger guns up at her.

Kerry’s eyes widened, but then she dissolved into giggles. Larry waited for her to stop, but she just kept going, until she was fully laughing loudly, bent over, unable to contain her mirth.

Larry slunk away.

Pete couldn’t believe what he saw. Was that...a pickup line?

He followed Larry, about to clear things up about Kerry and her marital status, but he stopped as he found him interacting with May now.

“So...are you uh...doing anything, later?” Larry asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

May took a deep breath and let it out in a long-suffering sigh.

“Yes, actually,” she said slowly, biting back a scowl, “I am going to be spending tonight with Kerry.”

“Oh, okay, I just...I just thought that-well, you’re really pretty, and-”

But May was already gone.

In her place, Pineapple Pete, VERY distressed.

“What’s wrong, Petey-boy?” Larry asked, flashing him a grin.

Pete rolled his eyes, and threw an arm around Larry’s shoulders. “Walk with me, Larry,” he said, “We need to talk.”

“Sure, Pete, what about?” Larry said innocently.

“Oh, it’s just that-Larry, you are killing me!” Pete proclaimed, stopping and rubbing his temples. “First you hit on Kerry the Carrot, and then you ask Strawberry May out on a date!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Larry asked.

“Oh, nothing is wrong with that, except that…” Pete took a deep breath, and cupped his hands around his mouth, “THEY ARE MARRIED TO EACH OTHER!” he yelled.

Larry shrank back a little, and held up his hands in front of him. “In my defense, I didn’t know that!”

Pete gasped. “How could you NOT see it!”

Larry shrugged.

“They have matching rings! They go everywhere together! They were KISSING in front of you yesterday!” Pete exclaimed, frustrated.

“I thought they were just doing that as friends!” Larry protested.

Pete slapped his own forehead, and dragged his hand down his face. How did it come to pass that the most INFURIATING fruit basket resident would be immune to the rotting hole?

Unfortunately, Larry didn’t stop there. He also tried his luck with Red the next day!

When Larry inevitably returned, dateless, Pete finally decided to ask him. “Why? Why are you so concerned with having a girlfriend?”

Larry sighed. “Well, the truth is...uh, it’s a long story but...I used to be a pear.”

Pete blinked.

“You can NOT be serious.”

“I am! I used to be a pear! Larry the Pear!” he insisted.

“A pear? Like Poddi and Palla?!!” Pete exclaimed, while Larry nodded. “Then...WHY are you a lightbulb?”

“I was cursed, by an evil wizard, and only true love’s kiss can break the spell.”

“Tell me, please,” Pete sighed. “Are you pulling my leg, Larry?”

“I wish I was.”

If Larry wasn’t already such an oddity, Pete would have thought him to be lying. But, as it was, with his tendency to hit on married couples and nights spent in the rotting hole….

Yes, Pete could completely believe that he was a cursed pear.

In fact, that put a lot of things in a new perspective.

“Why did you ask out May and Kerry? And RED, of all people! You hit on EVERY lesbian in the fruit basket! Couldn’t you have asked someone...single, like...Bob?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not? He’s a pretty eligible bachelor, if you can get past the screaming.”

Larry shrugged. “Maybe for somebody else, but I am completely, one hundred percent straight.”

“Oh,” Pete said, not knowing what else to say. Truth be told, he didn’t know whether to be disappointed by that or not.

“I’m not surprised,” Red said, interrupting his thoughts.

“I can’t help it,” Larry shrugged again, turning to her, “I just love women! And I have never loved men.”

“Amen to that,” Red said, holding up her hand.

They high fived.

“You know, Larry, you are almost as tall as me. How tall are you?” asked Kerry.

“I’m six foot...” Larry paused to consider, “Six foot straight.”

Kerry laughed. “There you have it, he’s six foot, and he’s straight!”

“Yes! Yes I am!” Larry said excitedly, “Now how tall are you?”

Kerry thought for a minute. “Well, I’m six foot...and I’m gay!”

They looked at each other, and both burst out laughing.

May hmphed and crossed her arms, staring up at the two tall people. “Well I’m five foot tiny,” she mumbled.

Kerry stopped her laughter, and looked down at her wife.

“Aw, it’s okay,” she said, reaching down, “If you weren’t, I couldn’t do THIS!”

Kerry picked up May bridal style, and swung her around a little before pressing their foreheads together.

Larry let out a heaving sigh. “I wish that were me and MY wife.”

Kerry put May down and patted him on the head.

“It’s okay, Larry. It’ll happen!”

#ávaxtakarfan #larry the lightbulb #this is very not polished but oh well time constraints #hope you enjoy

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majsmom · 7 years ago

Text

Happy TDBM Secret Santa Day

I was tasked with writing for the @janetdonners. I have enjoyed getting to know you through asks and your blog. You’re a really cool individual. This my first time writing for someone else and I tried to keep you and your preferences in mind.

Prompt: charlie/danny, loser + sports person high school AU

So I ended up using the cricket game as a frame for the guy’s friendship challenge.

I really hope you like it.

XOXO ~ Eb

The Moment

The heat of the summer sun beat down on Danny’s head as he stood on the mound waiting for the pitch. He gripped the cricket bat even tighter as rivulets of sweat ran down his face and neck. The last batsman in today’s high school tournament, his team’s dream of making it to the regional championship rested firmly on his shoulders. The score was so close and Danny just needed to five runs to win.

His eyes shot out into the stands. He could see his Auntie Jean sitting with Rose Anderson over to the left pride shining on both their faces. Rose was sitting so close to the edge of the bleachers it looked like she was about to jump down and run across the field. Auntie Jean, on the other hand, was still her body as tight as a guitar string. She knew how much winning this game meant to him and she wanted it as badly as he did.

Frantically scanning the crowd again, he searched for the only other face that meant anything to him. His heart sank for a minute at the thought that he might not have cared enough to come. Just before he turned to look at the pitcher, he spied him standing in the distance under a shady tree.

“Hey, Danny!” Rose Anderson jumped off of her still moving pushie and ran top speed through the gate. “Hey, Dan,” screamed once more before skidding to a halt in the middle of the yard.

She could see Danny elbow deep in a patch of weeds in the back of the yard. Although Rose couldn’t understand why, Danny found working in the garden therapeutic. Gardening had been his solace since the sudden death of his parents. When not playing cricket or studying, he could be found turning the soil. Rose turned and looked at the pile of weeds laid neatly beside Danny. It all just seemed like work to her.

“Danny,” Rose called in a less than loud conversational tone. “Guess what I just saw?”

Putting down his spade and dusting off his pants, Danny turned to look at Rose.

“This better not be more gossip,” he quipped sarcastically before walking over.

Rose sneered. “I don't gossip. I deal in facts. But since you want to crack on me, I guess I won't tell you what I saw.” She turned quickly to leave the yard.

“Hey! I was only joking. Come on back. I want to know.” Danny hid a smile as he watched Rose adjust her shirt and take on her “professional” persona. She was really only a 15 year old girl but she out on airs as if she were a bona fide journalist.

“Did you know a family of boys moved in the Conlin placed,” she queried with authority.

Danny laughed. “Just boys you say. No parents?”

“You love to interrupt don't you,” complained Rose. “Of course there were parents. A woman and a mean looking man. The one boy is our age and there are two younger brothers. The older boy was nice. His name is Charlie and he's from Melbourne.”

“Wow. You work fast. Do you know their birthdays too,” he said as he giggled. He couldn't resist the opportunity to pick at her a bit.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep at it and you won't get an introduction.” Danny twisted his face into mock seriousness. “So are you finished up here? Feel up for a ride.”

Danny could not deny his excitement. There weren’t that many boys his age in the neighborhood and the ones there were had been friends since diapers. Ballarat was a strange town full of cliques and rules. His love for gardening and baking - women's activities - sort of made him an oddity. Even his place on the winning high school cricket team couldn't overcome it.

“Give me a bit to clean up,” he said turning to the garden spigot.

They found Charlie standing next to the largest pile of wood they had ever seen. His skin glistened with sweat as he split the wood and flung it into the pile. He didn't hear Danny and Rose as they approached from the front yard.

“Aye-o Charles! I was hoping to find you here. I wanted to introduce you to my best mate, Danny.”

Rose smiled looking between them. The two boys could not be more different - a study in light and dark. Charlie was much taller than Danny and more strongly built. Methods of punishment had made him extremely muscular and the dark hair falling over his eyes made him seem morose. In comparison, Danny was spare but his small frame hid a lithe body quick to movement and deceptively strong. His quick smile hid a pensive nature.

Danny stretched his hand out in greeting. “How are you mate?”

“Doing good. Just finishing up some chores, “ Charlie responded, giving his hand a firm shake.

Danny and Rose looked at the wood in disbelief. Apparently, chores must be different in Melbourne.

“You’ll be chopping wood until you're 80,” commented Rose incredulously. “We planned on showing you the sights of Ballarat but…” Her voice trailed off.

Danny could clearly see the disappointment in Charlie's face. Charlie's task seemed insurmountable for one person but it would definitely be quicker with three.

“I have an idea if you're open to it. How about Rose and I help you finish your chopping? Then, you'll at least have a little time to take the official Ballarat tour.”

Charlie looked around uneasy. Wood chopping was technically a punishment. Bernie, his mother’s boyfriend, was a strict disciplinarian. If Bernie found out he had help, the resulting punishment would be brutal. Bernie wouldn't be home for hours though and his mother had taken the boys to town. A little help would get his chores done faster and it had been so long since he had any fun. But was it worth the risk?

Before he could overthink his decision, Charlie blurted out his agreement.

“It's a deal and I'll return the favor someday.”

The sound of laughter and splitting wood filled the air.

CRACK!

Danny watched the ball slice through the air into the outfield. He could feel the eyes of the spectators bore into him as he broke into a run. Before coming up to bat, he had calculated the number of runs needed to win. Everything had been strategized before his foot hit the mound...the direction the ball needed to go...how far the ball needed to go into the outfield...the amount of strength required to get it there. He only hoped that his machinations were enough.

Danny could feel the breeze whispering against his face, as he focused on the target not daring to look to the right or the left. He felt the other runner whizzing by him matching him for speed. This had to be enough.

“Charlie! Wait up,” Danny screamed as he propelled himself through the growing twilight. Charlie was meters ahead. He squinted to make him out amongst the growing shadows.

“Please slow down.” This trek through the woods had been Charlie’s idea. Freed from chores, he had sought out Danny at his Auntie Jean’s house. Charlie was enamoured with life in Ballarat. In Melbourne, there were so many people and so little space. The open fields and rambling woods of the countryside intrigued Charlie and he took every opportunity to explore.

Packing a light lunch, the boys left about midday with the expectation of returning before dinner. They had no true direction in mind. The idea was to walk as far as possible and see as much as possible. Crawling through the woods, they spent most of their time admiring the landscape and talking about their lives.

Experiences with death helped to shape the adolescence of both boys. Charlie’s father was killed in the line of duty while working as a policeman in Melbourne. Although Danny’s parents’ death was accidental, they found that they shared similar coping methods. Both found comfort sharing their fears about life with a kindred spirit.

It was Charlie who first noticed the lateness of the day.

“Danny, what time is it,” he asked frantically.

“Oh, it’s only about 5,” replied Danny.

“We better head back. My mother is expecting me for dinner.” Charlie hopped up and began walking quickly towards home. Although Danny knew that they were running late, he didn’t feel Charlie’s urgency. With at least a couple hours walk ahead of them, they would make it home before dark.

Danny noticed that Charlie grew increasingly agitated during the walk home. He snapped when asked questions and his answers were short. It was a marked difference from the easy conversation of earlier in the day. With every minute, Charlie talked less and moved faster his tension increasing.

It wasn’t until the second hour that Charlie commented about the time it was taking to get to the road.

“Where are we,” he queried irritably.

“We probably are a little turned around, mate,” Danny replied, “We’ll make it to the road soon.”

“A little turned around? We’ve been walking for hours and the sun is starting to go down. Bloody hell! We can’t be lost. I need to get home.” Danny noted the frantic tone in Charlie’s tone. What was the big deal? They were just a little lost.

“Ok. Calm down. Let’s just take a second to get our bearings. We can’t be that far off.”

Danny turned in a circle examining the direction of the sun and the surrounding landscape. He’d hoped that his words would have help calm Charlie.

In acquiescence, Charlie sat heavily on a fallen log. “I really need to get home,” he said quietly.

“We’ll figure this out. It will probably be another hour or so,” Danny said confidently. “What’s the rush anyway? I know you promised you’d be home for dinner but how can your mom fault you for getting lost?”

Danny’s question was greeted with silence. It didn’t take long to get on the right course and they kept a steady pace for the rest of the journey. The silence between them was oppressive and Charlie’s agitation radiated from him like radio waves. After about an hour, the sound of a passing car indicated that they were nearing town. At the sound, Charlie broke into a run.

Tree limbs grabbed at his clothes as he tried to keep pace with Charlie. Although Danny’s muscles began to burn from the effort, he could not match the urgency in Charlie’s run. Before long, Charlie was a shadow in the distance and, although Danny cried out for him to wait, he pressed forward. When Danny finally made it to the road, he was nowhere in sight.

The screams from the crowd were like salve on Danny’s aching muscles. He was doing it. He was going to make this championship happen. Just a few more runs he thought to himself.

Although he always excelled at the game, he never played cricket for his own enjoyment. Being part of the team was something that his father valued. His father, an avid player himself, was his very first coach. In the evenings, he would take him outside and throw the ball around, coaching him on the best ways to bat and pitch. At the time, Danny cared less about the game than spending time with his father, whose schedule was usually packed with work activities. Cricket was a connection to him and winning this championship was the fulfillment of a prophecy.

Danny could distinguish his Auntie Jean’s voice clearly in the in the crowd of voices. A burst of energy erupted from within. He was almost there.

Although he had lost Charlie coming out of the woods, he was determined to speak to him before the end of the night. A woman’s scream pierced the night air causing a chill to run up Danny’s spine. The sounds of a fight grew louder as Danny neared Charlie’s house.

The house lights were ablaze as he entered the yard. Charlie’s mother was yelling holding her smaller children back as she watched two men tussling on the ground. Her dress was ripped and blood was dripping from her nose.

In the middle of the yard, Charlie and his stepfather Bernie Thompson were grappling in the dirt. The gossips in the town hinted at the fact that Bernie was a drunk who was tough on his family especially his wife. Charlie rarely talked about Bernie and he never hinted at any of his issues. As he watched punches and slaps being thrown, it was clear that the gossip was only the tip of the iceberg.

Charlie was holding his own but even drunk Bernie was the stronger of the two.

“Bernie, no! Stop, please,” Charlie’s mother screamed as Bernie got the better of the boy.

“Oh, you’re a big man, hunh,” slurred Bernie and he grabbed Charlie lifting him off the ground by the collar. “Well, take this beating like a man.” Pullling his fist back, he let off a fierce punch that landed on Charlie’s jaw. Stumbling backwards, Charlie landed firmly on the ground dazed.

“All of that mouth. I’m tired of you interfering. She is my wife.” Bernie drew his foot back to deliver a well place kick.

Before his foot could connect, a dark figure catapulted from the darkness. Danny grabbed Bernie by the arms pulling him to the ground. His breath reeked of beer and gin.

The force of the fall had knocked the wind out of Bernie and he found it hard to recover. He began to wretch in the yard, stumbling into the shadows to vomit up the night’s drink.

Sitting on the ground, Danny watched as Mrs.Thompson traced the bruises on Charlie’s face. He could hear her whispered words of apology and whimpers of pain. Charlie sat with his head bowed still stuck in a daze from Bernie’s punch. He accepted all of his mother’s kisses but did not say a word. Danny stood and walked over kneeling down beside him.

It was Danny’s proximity that brought Charlie out of his stupor.

“What are you doing here,” he stammered. “Why are you here?”

“Calm down, mate. I only came to talk. Are you okay?”

A dark cloud passed over Charlie’s face.

“Are you happy?”

Pulling himself up from the ground, he lurched towards Danny.

“Is this what you wanted to know? That Bernie abuses my mom? That he beats that shit out of us! Are you disgusted? Do you pity us?”

Charlie’s words slapped Danny in the face taking his breath away propelling him backwards.

“Why are you backing away? Answer me! Do you pity us?,” Charlie screamed into the night. He shook off his mother’s grasp and ran towards Danny.

“Go. Gooooo! You’re not wanted here!”

Fear launched through Danny. He didn’t recognize the person advancing toward him with venom dripping from his words. This person was terrifying.

“Gooooooo,” Charlie bellowed as Danny turned and ran into the darkness.

The crowd rushed on the field lifting Danny in its swell. Riding on the shoulders of his teammates, he scanned the crowd. Rose and his Aunt Jean stood in the thick of everything jumping and screaming with excitement. Strangers chanted his name as he round the crowd like a wave.

The sun was still bright and the air was still hot, but a calmness cooled his spirit. A lightness invaded his heart relaxing his limbs. Pride, relief and tears welled up in his chest as he thought of his accomplishment. A prayer of thanks was on his lips as he thought of his father closing his eyes in emotion.

When he opened them, he saw Charlie with a half smile turn from the tree and walk towards the crowd. This was not the boy from earlier in the week face contorted in pain. He could still see the greenish ghost of bruises on his face. There would be time for explanations later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment.

#janetdonners #tdbmsecretsanta2k17 #tdbm fic #tdbm #charlie x danny #tdbmsecretsant2k17

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thatssonanii · 7 years ago

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Case Study - Chapter One

Roman Reigns/OC

Authors Note: Umm there is some smut in here. Can’t have TCD Roman in a fic without it! Enjoy.

Tags: @lavitabella87 @fivefootxo @reigningxo @designrwriterchic @macfizzle @cool-snowball-22-blog

Monday – March 6, 2017

Virginia State University – Petersburg, VA

8:30 a.m.

“Each of you will be assigned a case study as your final project. This will determine whether you graduate with you Masters in Forensic Psychology or are back in my class next semester.”

My pen tapped against my bottom lip waiting for my professor, Dr. Hayes, to get to the good part of his lecture, Every chance I got I dropped hints to him about what pick I wanted for my case study. Being his top student, I hoped he would give me what I wanted.

“When we are finished here this morning I want you all to go home and take a good look at your files,” Dr. Hayes requested as he began to pass out large manila folders, “Now I am aware that most of you had a preference which I took into consideration. I think you will find that your picks are in order.”

The class of ten sat quietly, all of us waiting for him to continue.

“Well, the suspense is killing me. Go on and open them.”

The sound of paper and objects hitting the tables then audible gasps and groans filled the room. My file sat face down as I marveled my badge for a few seconds then sat it aside. Opening the folder containing my subject, I smiled knowing my pick would be staring back at me but I was wrong. My eyes widened at the name and photo staring back at me.

Roman Reigns.

Dr. Hayes tapped my table gathering my attention. “I know you wanted the Black Widow but I felt like that would be too easy for you, Anamaris. Reigns will give you the challenge, the Black Widow will not.

Jennifer Reid, also known as the Black Widow, sodomized and tortured more than forty-five men. She was always interesting to me. Jennifer looked like a girl next door, sweet and innocent.

“With all due respect, I don’t think that I can handle Roman Reigns.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could handle three months of sitting alone with Reigns.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Ana. I’ve got an abundance of faith in you.”

Dr. Hayes walked away without giving me a chance to rebuttal, returning to the podium at the front of the room fielding questions from the others in the room. I had started to drown their voices out, glancing over the file that sat in front of me. This man was six foot three (a foot and six inches taller than I) and weighed 265 pounds (145 pounds heavier than I). Little me sitting in a room, alone with a man that’s been convicted of killing a dozen of women.

“Alright class. This will be the last formal meeting unless something else comes up. The five of you who have males I will see you tomorrow morning at Marion Correctional Treatment Center at 9 a.m. And the five who have women, I will see you tomorrow morning at Fluvanna Correction Center at 10 a.m.”

Tuesday – March 7, 2017

Marion Correctional Treatment Center – Petersburg, VA

9:10 a.m.

After grocery shopping, I went home to my apartment to read over my files to prepare myself to meet Roman Reigns face to face. Dr. Hayes sent me links to a few of his court appearances and a section of the interrogation video. I thought watching the videos would help, they did nothing to ease my nerves and anxiousness.

“Alright, kiddos,” Dr. Hayes voice carried through the waiting area, “You’ve been briefed, you have everything you need and were taught emergency precautions. I will check on you weekly via email. If you need anything beyond that you all know where to find me. Good luck and stay safe.”

With those final words, we were directed to our designated areas. I was placed in one of the quiet rooms, there was no door just an open-door frame. I sat everything I felt I would need on the table while I waited on Roman to be brought in.

The guard brought him into the room with no cuffs, gave a nod and turned to stand with his back to us.

“Good morning, Mr. Reigns. Would you like to have a seat,” I asked softly.

His lips turned up into a smirk as his eyes moved to meet mine. He wore gray sweats and a crisp, white v-neck t-shirt. Hair pulled up on the crown of his head into a bun.

“Ladies first, Mrs. Shepard.”

“How did you know my name?”

Roman’s smirk grew into a big smile. “I know everything. Being in here stops nothing. Now,” he said pulling out my chair, “Your seat.”

With much caution, I took my seat allowing him to push my chair up under the table. Besides him killing all those women, Roman was very much the gentleman everyone who knew him claimed that he was. He took his seat placing both hands on the table.

“I’m not married,” I murmured flipping through my file.

“What was that?”

“I’m not married,” I repeated looking up at him. “You called me ‘Mrs.’. I’m not married.” He nodded with his gaze fixed on mine. “Call me Anamaris. Please.”

“Whatever your little heart desires, Anamaris.”

I cleared my throat trying to concentrate on my questions. “Mr. Reigns, you were committed for multiple counts of murder. Correct?”

He rubbed through his growing bread still smiling. “How many do they have me down for, Anamaris?”

“Six. You were convicted of six murders.” Hs brows rose as a whistle passed his lips as if he were impressed with the number. “Is there something amusing, Mr. Reigns?”

“Call me Roman,” he said leaning onto his arms that were propped on the table. “The number just always amazes me.”

“What are you saying? Are there more than six victims?”

“If I told you that then I’d have to kill you,” he asserted roughly, “Hell, I might just do that anyway.”

Before I could respond the guard called out Roman’s last name forcefully to which Roan laughed loudly and raised his hands in surrender.

“Just joking with the beautiful lady. Just jokes.”

Fidgeting in my seat, I watched Roman who was picking with his nails and tried to get back on track. I only had another hour with him today just to get acquainted.

“Tell me about yourself, Roman. What was it like for you growing up?”

“I know what you’re expecting and that’s not it, babygirl.” Roman looked me in the eyes, no trace of emotion behind them. “An older sister and brother. We grew up in a two-parent home, upper middle class family. All three of us played sports, got good grades and all that good stuff. I’m the baby of the bunch but I’m in the middle when it comes to my cousins.”

“So you’ve got a big family? That must have been fun,” I suggested with a smile. This was the first time I had smiled at him the whole time we were in the room together.

“You’ve got a beautiful smile, Ana. You should do it more often.”

“Thank you, Roman. But about your family. Was it fun?”

Leaning back in his seat, his hands dropped to his lap and he got this far away look in his eyes. His family from what I read meant a lot to him, the tattoo that started from his wrist ending on his pectoral proved that much.

“It was more than fun. It was life, Anamaris. We didn’t need friends because we have each other. Nobody messed with us big bad Samoans either. Not even our girl cousins,” he explained with a smile.

“Big bad what now?” I asked intrigued by his words.

“Samoans,” he repeated slowly. “You like that, do you?”

“Just asking for clarification, Roman. You’re also Italian, correct?”

“Someone’s done their homework,” he laughed giving her a pointed look. “But I think it’s a little unfair that you know so much about you and I know so little about you.”

I shrugged looking behind Roman to the guard, who was doing a terrible job at acting like he wasn’t listening.

“I don’t really know what there is to say. I’m the youngest with three older siblings. I cheered and did gymnastics until I got my Bachelor’s degree. I’m going to be graduating with my Masters in June. That’s pretty much it.”

“Is there a boyfriend?” He seemed interested in what I had to say. That or he is very good at hiding the truth.

“No. and from what I’ve read you haven’t had a girlfriend since,” I trailed off remembering what happened.

“Since when,” he pushed leaning forward once again.

“Since she um since she found out that you killed her best friend, Destiny.’

“And how did I kill her, Anamaris? In detail, I know you’ve got it. I wanna hear the words fall from those pretty lips of yours.”

“You were waiting in her house after she had gotten home from work, you choked her with your bare hands until you broke her neck,” I said reciting what I had read in his file, “You left her on the floor of her bedroom. Her eyes were wide open.”

Roman stretched his hands out in front of him, opening and closing them. The veins in his hands and arms were becoming more and more prominent. I had gotten lost watching the act, Dr. Hayes had done a terrible service giving this case study to me.

“You better watch yourself, Ms. Shepard. Get too comfortable and you’ll end up like the rest of those women,” the guard yelled from the door.

“With all due respect, this has nothing to do with you and if I had any worried about my safety I would have already left this room. I would appreciate it if you would let me do what I am here to do.” I spoke with authority in my voice I didn’t need that guard messing up the rapport I had with Roman. One wrong word and he would shut down just like he did when he was interrogated. If I wanted to get graduate, I needed to keep Roman open to me.

The guard chuckled fixing his belt. “All I’m sayin’ is, this one here clearly doesn’t know how to control his emotions around pretty women like yourself. Probably embarrassed that his size don’t add up.”

Fire in his eyes, Roman stood from the table ready to lash out on the guard. I jumped up from my seat to rush around the table, putting my hands on his chest to stop him from going any further. Knowing that he could have easily thrown me out of his way, I caught his eye so that he would look away from the offending guard. The fire had started to die down in his eyes, but there was still a blaze there.

“Just focus, Roman. Focus on me.” I whispered ignoring the guard’s laughter.

Gently removing my hands from his chest, Roman moved around me and towards the door. I bit my lip hoping he didn’t lash out at the guard. If he lashed out my case study would be down the drain and I would be stuck by default retaking Dr. Hayes class in the fall. Instead of retaliating Roman let the guard know that he was ready to go back to his room leaving me by myself.

Wednesday – March 8, 2017

Marion Correctional Treatment Center

9:20 a.m.

Before meeting with Roman, I went to my supervising psychologist, Dr. Evans, to talk about the event that had taken place the day before. I didn’t leave his office until he agreed to put us in a more private place and the guard switched with another. In no way was I going to allow some incompetent guard ruin my semester.

After much deliberation, Roman and I were moved to a closed off quiet room. I went in with the understanding that there were no cameras and a door that I could close to give us more privacy. Dr. Evans understood how important this study was to me and accommodated me accordingly. However, his decision did not come without an understanding. I was given a hand-held alarm just in case Roman tried something to make me feel unsafe but he couldn’t give a reaction time.

“You know if you wanted to be alone with me all you had to do was tell me,” Roman joked making his presence known.

I asked him to close the door then took a seat on top of plain wooden desk

“I suggested we have more privacy. We don’t need anyone antagonizing you and making my work harder.”

“Is that right,” he asked causally.”

Roman was dressed the same as yesterday, only he wore light gray instead of white with his gray sweatpants. He walked closer to me, taking slow strides his eyes never leaving mine. He sighed as he braced himself on the table, hands on the side of each of my thighs.

“You’re very close, Roman. Too close.”

“If I’m too close then press your button. I know you have one, Anamaris. Press it,” he whispered putting his forehead against mine, “Unless you’re not scared.”

Turning my head away from him, I inhaled deeply gathering myself. Having him this close to me it was easy to see how he charmed the other victims. No one was able to tell him anything other than what he wanted to hear.

“I know when you went home yesterday you thought about what that guard said. It probably kept you up all night.” Roman’s nosed trailed up her neck to her ear where he bit down gently. “You wanna know if what he said was true and I’m more than willing to show you that it’s not.”

“Roman, we need to get back to work. I’m only here a little while longer.”

He groaned, moving to look me in my eyes putting his forehead back against mine. “You’re here until 4pm. After I show you what you want to know, we can go back to talking.” Roman didn’t wait for my answer, he started to left the hem of my dress slowly. He growled lowly in appreciation of my purple lace thong once was dress was around my hips. “You wore this dress on purpose. You want me, don’t you? I could tell by the way you look at me.”

“I thought my dress was cute is all.” My voice was above a whisper, going completely mute when I felt his fingers rub slowly over my clit. I gripped his biceps tightly, digging my nails into them.

“Right, Ana. We don’t have a lot of time as you said so let’s make this quick. Shall we?” Roman smiled wickedly as he pulled my thong off and placed it in his pocket. Pulling me to the edge of the desk by the backs of my thighs, he opened my legs wide giving me a glance before letting go.

Was I really about to let this serial killer fuck me, I thought to myself.

“Don’t think about it. Just relax for a second.”

Looking down, I saw that he had pulled his dick out of his sweats not bothering to push them down. It would be easy for him to slip it back in just in case someone came in, he was covered. Roman held my legs up as he slowly pushed inside of me. My pussy was having involuntary spasms as it was grabbing hold of his dick. From the look on Roman’s face, I thought he might lose it before he even got all the way inside of me.

“Fuck,” I moan softly. “You’re too big.”

“Mmm, just relax,” he whispered moving his right hand up to my throat. He squeezed gently. The action alerted me, my hands instinctively went to his wrists. Roman began to slide slowly in and out, while making a circling motion that really stimulated my clit ignoring me pulling on his wrist. “You wanna know how I killed the second girl? What was her name,” he grunted moving his left thumb to my clit rubbing harshly. “Oh, it was Dana.”

My hands fell to my nipples pinching them as I watched him concentrate on pumping in and out of me. Roman then groaned and said, "Yeah, I like to see that. Where was I?”

“Stop talking about,” I panted loudly, “Dana. Just do it, Roman.”

He choked me harder, leaving me gasping for air as he thrusted harder into me. “You wanted to talk, we’re multi-tasking, babygirl. As I was saying,” he said pushing my back flat onto the desk. “I was fucking her and I realized that she had to die. She fit and it hit me right before I came.” His hand left my throat, trailing down my body to my clit my back arching from his touch. His other hand kept me still as I writhed up under him. “I was nice and let her come,” he whispered.

My orgasm came rushing through me all at once, I tried to focus one on thing but his actions wouldn’t allow it. Roman continued to fuck me and choke me through my orgasm his eyes boring down into mine. If it weren’t for him choking, I would have screamed out forgetting about those outside the door, all I could do was groan through my gasps.

“Just as she came down, I squeezed tighter and kept fucking her. I squeezed and squeezed,” he groaned as his strokes became faster and sloppier. Roman kept squeezing, choking me harder as he spoke in a breathy tone. Tears fell from eyes as my fear set in. “Just as I came, she stopped breathing.” He pulled me up by my throat so we were nose to nose as he came. He was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath but his grip on my throat never faltered. My hands went to his wrists again, digging my nails into his wrists and wiggling against him.

“Shh. Shh,” he whispered in my ear. “I know you’re scared, don’t be. If I wanted to kill you, baby, you’d be dead already.”

Slowly, he removed his hands from my throat then pulled out of me, sighing at the feeling. With my hand to my chest, I coughed and gasped for air. I hopped off of the desk trying to push him out of my way but he wouldn’t move.

“Now, now, Anamaris. Don’t tell me you’re scared, I was only doing what you wanted—talking.”

Roman moved to pull my dress down but I slapped his hands away, fixing it myself. He laughed and continued to help me get myself together. He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head up so I would look at him. We looked into each other’s eyes for few seconds until a look of clarity crossed his face.

“You liked it but you’re scared, babygirl.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “I like that. I like that you know I could kill you or fuck you at any moment. Maybe both.”

“Please, don’t,” I whispered staring back at him.

“Not right now, Ana. We’ve got a lot to talk about, beautiful,” he said walking away and over to the sofa. “Come on and sit. We can do what you want now.”

“I think I’m gonna leave early.”

“Get over here now or I’ll change my mind and snap your neck.”

His spoke in a different tone. A lot meaner and rougher than I had heard before. He didn’t even talk to any of the detectives that way. When I looked over at him, he was staring up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. Carefully, I walked to the sofa, sitting as far away from him as I could.

“I have trouble controlling my anger, I’m sorry. I don’t get much company and I like yours,” he said in a much nicer tone. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

“Threatening me isn’t how you get me to stay. And you can’t scare me like that then expect me to want to stay, Roman.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “It’s who I am.”

“Tell me about the real you so that I can understand,” I told him putting my knee up on the sofa.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed.

“And we’ve got nothing but time. I’m listening.”

#paige hurd #roman reigns #case study #nani's works

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