#it’s just stretched on the carpet unevenly

[mountainbirb]

Current crochet WIP, on pause bc I ran out of blue yarn. It’s a little under halfway done and already a really lovely weight, it’s gonna be like 5 lbs when I’m done.

(Guitar for scale)

[slippinmickeys]

Proof of Life

(AU, MSR)

TW: This is an AU idea I’ve been playing with for years, and while this does not take place there, in light of the recent atrocities in the Middle East, the situations presented herein may cause discomfort for some readers. I’m posting a trigger warning for those who may want to stay away. There are mentions of violence in this work, though nothing graphic. I’m using an archive warning on AO3 out of an abundance of caution. Please take care of yourselves and each other.

1. When she’s shoved into the hotel room, it is on a scorching dump of adrenaline; dry-throat, sphincter-clenching, pure terror. She’s sure this is It. But the door closes behind her before she’s finished stumbling forward, and no one has followed her in.

The relief she feels is short-lived, as she looks up to see a man sitting on the floor opposite her, legs out straight, head propped lazily against the wall behind him, days worth of beard stubble growing unevenly over his jaw. He is holding a mid-century Nikon, which he slowly raises with one arm. A squint through the viewfinder. Click.

Ten floors down, on the street below, there is the rapid insect-chitter of gunfire. He doesn’t so much as flinch, but does lower his camera.

“Cable is out and room service hasn’t showed in over a week,” he says in an American accent. “The service here is terrible.”

Her producer Murray, who also acted as her translator, is dead. Mikey was shoved into a different van, along with his camera and the soft-sided bag of cables and equipment. That communication won’t be a struggle with what she now assumes is her new cell mate feels like a holy deliverance.

Before she can formulate a response, he introduces himself.

“Name’s Mulder,” he says, the distant fireworks-like concussion of an explosion punctuating his statement and rattling the room’s single window.

“Dana Scully,” she says, feeling an odd compulsion to cross the room and offer the man a handshake.

“Scully,” he repeats, her surname rolling off his tongue like honey out of a jar. “Welcome to the Hilton.”

2. He’d let her take the bed, which was pretty chivalrous, all things considered.

It was a queen, and had been shoved up against the wall on the far corner of the room, leaving a soft rectangle of plush, clean carpet upon which Mulder slept, surrounded by flattened, trodden paths of grime. The headboard was still affixed to the wall where the bed had previously sat, giving the room a tilting, off-kilter feel. As Scully exits the bathroom in the morning, she nearly stumbles from the vertigo.

There is still a trickle of water from the bathroom sink, and the toilet tank takes about an hour to properly fill, but Mulder informs her that he has yet had reason to use the slop bucket the militants have helpfully left just inside the door. She imagines the small relief she feels now will likely grow bigger as the days pass.

“Morning,” Mulder says, stretching elaborately, the soiled henley he’s wearing lifting up enough to show a few inches of lean muscle sprinkled with dark hair.

“Morning,” she greets him, wandering over to the window to peer out at the gray, post-dawn light. To the west, part of the city is burning, a dull orange glow on the horizon.

After a moment, she feels a gentle hand on her arm.

“I’d stay away from the window,” Mulder says, and when she turns to him, she discovers that he’s tall, far taller than she is, and his hazel eyes are soft as he leads her away from the square of flat light. “There are snipers all over the city.”

She swallows, nods at him, and he gives her a soft smile as he turns to head into the bathroom for his own morning ablutions. She lowers herself to the bed, and looks to the shoes she kicked off before crawling under the covers. There is a spatter of blood covering the canvas upper of her left shoe, all that remains of Murray Underwood. She tries to feel something other than numbness, but nothing comes to the surface.

When Mulder comes out of the bathroom, he asks if she’s hungry, and produces a slender yellow box of crackers from somewhere in the room, pulling out a cellophane-wrapped column of pale disks dotted with black seeds that he hands over when she says she’s famished.

She has finished the sleeve before she thinks to offer him one, but he smiles and says he’s fine.

3. It has been three days since she was shoved unceremoniously into room 1055 and they have not seen so much as another human other than those darting between buildings on the war torn street below.

She has learned that Mulder is a freelance photojournalist from Massachusetts who has photographed conflicts everywhere from Burma to the Congo and that he was taken two days before she and her crew were ambushed and taken hostage themselves.

He does not have an apartment or permanent mailing address, traveling from conflict to conflict with only a backpack and his camera, and is far more comfortable with the disturbing noises outside the hotel than Scully ever will be, no matter how much she fancies herself a war reporter.

He has just gotten her to laugh for the first time since her arrival when the door to their room bursts open and three militants carrying assault rifles trample in, all three of them shouting words Scully can’t understand, their guns up as if they are about to shoot.

Mulder, who had been sitting on the bed next to her, is already up, spitting out words in rapid-fire French and positioning himself in between the gunmen and Scully. The militants either don’t understand him or don’t care and through a haze of adrenal tinnitus she can finally make out one thing they’re saying:

“CNN! CNN!”

She raises her hand meekly.

“I’m CNN,” she says, and the men shove Mulder aside and grab her by both arms, pulling her from the bed and shoving her up against the wall.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Mulder says, making a move to intervene, only to be cold-cocked by the butt of the third man’s rifle right in the face. He staggers to the side before he too is grabbed by the arms and shoved up against the wall next to Scully. All three men swing up their rifles and Scully is certain they’re about to be executed when a fourth man appears, dressed in an actual military uniform and shoves a newspaper into Scully’s hand, gripping her arm in annoyance when she turns it to stare at the headline, which is printed in a language she doesn’t understand.

The man barks something at her and yanks on her arms again, so that she’s holding the paper in front of her like a con holding up a booking ID in a mugshot. He whips up a beat-up disposable camera and takes a picture, the little flash blinding her.

By the time her vision clears, the room is once again empty but for she and Mulder and they are both breathing hard in the silence. Mulder is the first one to find his voice.

“Don’t worry,” he says, putting a hand on her arm. “They’re clearly after a ransom. They’ll keep us alive. Are you okay?” She turns to him dumbly, still holding the newspaper.

The sight of blood knocks her back into the present.

“Jesus, Mulder, you’re bleeding.”

There is a rivulet of blood running down his face from a laceration at his temple. He raises up a hand and touches it to the stream, looking down at the crimson smudge with a wince.

“I’ll be alright,” he says.

“Let me see,” she says, trying to get a closer look, but he gently swats her hand away.

“I’ll be fine.”

“That likely needs stitches,” she says, and he makes a face. She sighs. “I’m doctor, Mulder. Please let me take a look. Sit on the bed.”

He finally relents, lowering himself to sit and giving her a look askance. “I thought you were a reporter for CNN.”

“I contain multitudes,” she says, stepping in close and tilting his chin up with her finger.

He hasn’t showered in days, hasn’t done more than a few hasty washcloth seam cleans, she knows, but the smell of him up close, the smell of his skin – sun-warmed and woodsy – is so familiar to her that she has to blink a few times before she can refocus on the task at hand.

“It needs stitches,” she proclaims after a moment, saying it in a crisp, no-nonsense way that brooks no argument.

“It’s too bad we don’t have access to-”

“I saw a sewing kit in the bathroom,” she interrupts, and she can see the moment he resigns himself to her ministrations.

He complains loudly as she splashes the cut with the small bottle of complementary Listerine, but remains silent as she sutures his wound closed, leaning in close to bite off the thread when she finishes. As she pulls back, she can see a thought flit across his face, but he merely thanks her softly when she’s done and then stands to go clean up in the bathroom.

That night, she invites him to share the bed, and they sleep on opposite edges, though in the morning their fingers are only inches away from each other and her feet have found their way under the warm meat of his leg.

4. It was inevitable really, she says to herself; forced proximity, the bonding of shared peril, two healthy middle-aged sex drives… And it’s not like there’s anything else to do. She thinks of Ethan, probably losing his mind with worry back in the newsroom, but can only muster a finite amount of regret. After two weeks of carefully skirting around the issue, she pressed her body into Mulder’s side one night and it was as if a floodgate had opened, and they were all teeth and tongues and hands everywhere; the most lustful and sensual sex she has ever had in her life.

They have not been disturbed since the Proof of Life incident, other than food of some sort or another being shoved through a cracked door every few days, and so they have taken to not wearing much — their clothes mainly hanging up over the shower curtain in the bathroom, perpetually drying from their feeble attempts to wash them with a credit card-sized, ever-shrinking flat of generic soap that they also must use on their bodies.

Mulder is a generous lover, and affectionate, and now that he has carte blanche to touch her, it seems like it’s all he wants to do. If they’re not lazing away, curled up together in bed, he’ll find a reason to touch her arm, her back, tapping her with the back of his finger to get her attention. She has come to crave his touch, the physical manifestation of a pair-bond that grips them both so tightly it feels sometimes like a vice around her heart.

5. The fighting has moved to a different part of the city from where they are, and the sounds of the chaos seem almost a far-away afterthought. She is standing in the window, something she finally feels safe doing, when she hears a telltale click.

She turns to find Mulder propped up in the bed, bare chested, his beat-up Nikon held up to his eye. He reaches forward with his other hand to adjust the focus, and takes another snap.

Scully smiles at him shyly and he returns her grin.

“The light is perfect,” he says with bedroom eyes, using his thumb to advance the film. He has already gone through three rolls since she arrived, every picture he’s taken since day five all featuring her as the subject.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

She reaches up self-consciously to touch her hair. They are long-since out of shampoo, and it hangs in limp, greasy clumps. She is more embarrassed by this than by the state of her undress; she is not wearing a stitch of clothing.

“Something tells me this isn’t the kind of picture Newsweek generally pays you for.”

“Fuck Newsweek,” he says. “You belong in the Louvre.”

She shakes her head at him as a sound they have not heard in a while begins to build from outside the building. They both pause and cock their heads, attuned now to the odd sounds of a city under siege. From the distance comes the deep tucka-tucka-tucka of a helicopter. They share a look.

The militants who control this part of the city do not have a helicopter amongst their resources, and now that the sound is getting closer, they can tell there’s more than one approaching.

Without a word they both make their way to the bathroom and quickly don their stiff clothing.

“Shoes too,” Mulder says, as Scully puts her arms through her slippery jacket — it still has a large patch on the back that says “PRESS.”

The helicopters are almost on top of them now, and they can hear shouts from the hallway outside their room and the muffled thump thump thump of boots running in both directions.

“Into the tub,” Mulder instructs, and she sees the sense in this, nodding at him, her pulse beating quick as a rabbit’s beneath her skin. “I’ll get in first, you lay flat on top of me, okay?”

“Should we grab the mattress?” Scully asks, thinking they could pull it on top of themselves like she’d seen covering tornado-stricken parts of the Midwest.

“I don’t think there’s time,” Mulder says, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a spate of gunfire erupts from several floors above them.

He lowers himself in and she scrambles in after him, pressing her face into his chest and listening to the tight thump of his heart. The tub isn’t really big enough for both of them — Mulder couldn’t even fit his long legs all the way inside of it — but she feels safer than she has in months, with Mulder’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and his voice softly mumbling words of comfort into her ear.

There is an awful CRACK! from very close to their room and then an eruption of noise and chaos as the door to their room is blown apart, shards of wood from it blowing into the bathroom. Her ears are ringing and voices are shouting, but all she can focus on is Mulder’s arms around her and the soft steady sound of his voice in her ear saying “I love you. I love you so much,” over and over and over.

And then Mulder’s camera bag is sliding off of her legs (because of course he’d brought it into the tub with them) as strong arms lift her up and out of the tub and the next thing she knows, she is being frogmarched between two black-clad militants up an emergency stairwell and all the while she is calling desperately for Mulder but her voice or his is eaten up by noise and confusion.

In a further burst of sound and light, she is pushed through a door and onto the roof of the hotel where two muscular helicopters sit, blades spinning, surrounded by operatives crouched and bristling with all the sophisticated military might of a first world nation. She pulls up short in surprise.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” It takes her a moment to register that the voice was coming from one of the soldiers holding her arms. She swings her head toward him, dumbfounded.

“Ma’am,” he goes on, having to shout above the cacophony of the rotor wash. “I’m with the United States Navy. We’re here to rescue you. I need you to board the aircraft immediately!”

Scully nods and then lets herself be swept along with the tide of soldiers surrounding her up and into the Blackhawk, where she is deposited onto a bench, buckled in, and handed a pair of bright orange foam earplugs which she is instructed to insert into her ear canals post haste.

Before she can think to ask a question, her chopper is airborne, tilting itself and veering south and the last sight she has of Mulder, for months and months, is the back of his body being hoisted into the other helicopter, his arms wrapped around his old camera bag as they’d been wrapped around her body not five minutes before.

[wildbornsiren]

Kinktober Day 4: Airtight || Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace/Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd/Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw/F!Reader.

Airtight Summary: Natasha and Bob bring Rooster into the mix.  2108 words Female/AFAB Reader.  Airtight:  Practice of filling all 3 orifices of a female by either penis, or objects. Warnings: EXPLICIT MINORS DNI. Vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, unprotected anal sex, oral sex, use of a strap on, group sex.  Enthusiastic consent given. Notes: For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Please follow @wbslibrary​ since tag lists are gone. (I appreciate ya’ll so much but it was stressing me out, and I was worried I’d miss someone). Thank you @therebeccaw​ for looking this over. Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most.

"That's my girl," Natasha cooed softly, her fingers brushing along your cheekbone. She leans back resting her weight on one hand, her phone in the other. "Absolutely gorgeous for me. On your knees, that pretty mouth stretched out around my cock." Her strap is heavy on your tongue and when you look up at her there's a flush on her cheeks and her chest is rising unevenly. You wink at the camera, intentionally pulling off your girlfriend's cock to focus on the head of her strap.

You're vaguely aware of the bedroom door opening and closing, gentle footsteps padding on the carpeted floor. Gentle fingers brush along your shoulder, before Bobby's hand presses against your throat.

"Don't tease Nat too much, baby. She's been talking about you sucking her cock all day." He leans in and kisses Natasha softly on the cheek.  "Is our darling girl sucking you properly?"

"She's doing so good Bobby," Natasha murmurs, cupping Bobby's cheek and pulling him in for a proper kiss. "Just as good as when she sucks you off."

He chuckles low in his throat, whispering something in Natasha's ear that makes her moan. Her hand grips the back of your head lifting you off her strap.

"Can we try something tonight baby?" Two fingers lift your chin so you can look at the pair at the end of your bed.

You nod, settling back on your heels, stretching just a little bit.

"Words darlin'" Bobby says. He's unbuttoning his shirt, carefully folding the khaki fabric and putting it aside.

"What is it?" You lick your lips, voice a bit hoarse.

"You, me and Natasha," Bobby says. "And Bradley."

A shiver works down your spine, your breath catching in your chest. "All three of you?"

Natasha nods, "You think you can have all three of us?"

"Yes ma'am, yes sir."

"Good girl." Natasha leans in to kiss your forehead. "Let him in Bobby."

Butterflies exploded in your stomach, and you turned to watch Bobby go to the bedroom door and open it. Rooster steps through, closing it behind him. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, and when Bob tips his head toward the other man, you get to your feet. The carpet is so soft and plush under your feet as you cross over to him. Bradley’s eyes take you in, and you can see the want, as he looks you up and down.

“Hi,” you smile at him. His throat bobs and he licks his lips.

“Hi yourself,” his hand comes up but falls back to his side.

“Go ahead darlin’.” Bob says. “Let him know what’s okay.”

You reach up, fingers brushing Bradley’s jaw before your thumb brushes his lower lip. He exhales, tongue chasing after your touch. “Don’t be nervous.” You say softly. “You can touch me, kiss me, fuck me.” He inhales sharply when you say the last two words. “Bobby and Nat will touch and do only what you want them to. I’m sure you have talked about that though.” He nods, and you lean up to kiss his neck.

“Are you sure about this?” Bradley’s voice was so rough.

“We’ve talked about it before.” You say. “I think you’re incredible. I want to feel you.”

“Fuck.” His head tips back and he groans. His arm darts out wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth on yours, the soft scrape of his mustache against your skin making you whimper softly into the kiss. Bradley licks into your mouth, your hands tangling in his curls. His hands land on your hips, digging into your skin, gripping you tight. He rests his forehead against yours, lips millimeters from yours. “Are they okay with this?”

“You wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.” You tug his lower lip between your teeth and pull. He shudders against you. Managing to untangle yourself from him, you take his hand leading him toward the bed. Natasha was still seated at the end, Bob stretched out next to her, his head on her thigh, her fingers combing through his hair.

“How is this going to work?” Bradley’s free hand slides under your shirt, skimming up your torso to grope at your chest.

“It’s all up to our sweetheart.” Natasha said. Her eyes were focused on you, dark and wanting as she watched the movement of Bradley’s hand under your shirt. Bob’s hand was under the waistband of his boxers, and you can see him palming his cock.

“I’m not done sucking Nat’s cock.” You murmur. “I want Bobby to have my ass.” You feel Bradley shiver behind you. Carefully you guide the hand you’re holding under the waistband of your panties, twisting your hands before letting go, so his palm rests against your pussy. “This is for you.” You tip your head back against his chest, looking up at him. Thick fingers drag through your folds, exploring gently.

Bob rolls off the bed, dropping to his knees in front of you. His fingers hook through the waistband of your panties dragging them down your legs. Gently he helps you step out of them, and you feel your knees get weak when Bradley’s finger presses just slightly into your pussy. “Take your time with her.” Bob presses a kiss to your thigh. He looks up, smirking slightly. “You could also get her ready for me, too.”

Bradley’s mouth finds your neck, kisses hot and searing, a second finger joining the first, thrusting into you slowly. “You’re so fucking tight.” He groans, sucking over the pulse point in your neck. His touch curls just right, and you slump back against him, reaching back to grip the back of his neck to hold yourself up.

“Good girl,” Natasha said. She was breathless, smiling softly at you. Her hand laces through Bob’s hair as he kneels between her legs sucking her strap down. “Don’t worry sweetheart, he’s just keeping it warm for you.” She tugs on Bob’s hair who moans.

“Can I taste you?” Bradley rasps against your ear. “Please?” He notices Bob and Natasha and you feel Bradley’s cock twitch against your back. “Fuck…”

“He looks so good sucking cock, doesn’t he?” You murmur.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Bradley says. Natasha’s knowing smirk lets you know that you’re in for it later, but it was worth it to get the reaction out of the second man. He eases his fingers from you, nudging you gently toward the bed. You sit next to Natasha, and she kisses you softly.

“Be good,” She murmurs against your mouth. “He’s going to make you feel so good.”

You lay back against the bed, Bradley placing another kiss to your mouth, before he’s sinking to his knees. Your legs over his shoulders, hands on your thighs, bringing you to the edge. He presses kisses to the inside of your thigh, groaning softly as he licks a broad stripe to your cunt. Fingers dig into your thighs as he devours you as if he’s starving, kissing and lapping at your pussy. He sucks your clit, fingers dragging through his spit and your slick, touch sliding lower, his index finger pressing against your ass. You grip the bedsheets, whining, hips jerking up, rocking against his face.

“Bradley,” his name is torn from your throat when he presses his fingertip into you. There’s the click of a bottle cap, and the slick sound of lube, his touch pushing in more.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart.” Natasha murmurs, soft kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, landing on your mouth. One hand tangles in her hair, keeping her close. Her kiss is soft and gentle, pleasure washing over you. Bradley’s mouth works your cunt, his fingers scissoring your ass open.

“What’s your color darlin’?” Bob’s voice cuts through the growing fog.

“Green,” you moan.

“Roo,” Natasha says softly. “You want her to come like that or on your cock?”

Bradley lifts his head, breath fanning over your hip, goosebumps rising on your skin. “She tastes so fucking good Nat.” His eyes are dark and blown, fingers still thrusting into your ass. “She can ride me, and Bobby can fuck her ass.”

“And I get that sweet mouth.” Natasha nips your lower lip and winks.

It's a tangle of bedsheets and hands and legs, but when you sink down on Bradley’s cock the moan that breaks from his mouth makes you clench around him. Bobby’s hand presses between your shoulder blades, the bed shifting as he moves. Bradley’s thrusts slow, holding your hips still, your nails raking down his chest when Bob pushes into you. You pant softly, head dropping. Both stretched you impossibly full, Rooster looking up at you, his face soft and awestruck.

“You alright darlin’?” Bob whispers against your shoulder.

“Yes,” you don’t recognize your voice. Or the way you feel, so incredibly full, so wanted. Bob’s hands smoothing up your sides, Rooster’s cupping your breasts. Bob must have made a sign to Rooster, his hips rocking up slowly. The two of them work together, gentle thrusts, pushing and pulling you onto each of them.

“So gorgeous.” Natasha says softly. Her thumb brushes along your lower lip, fingers trailing lower, along your neck. Slim fingers wrap around your throat, and she leans down kissing Bradley lightly on the mouth. “Can you have my cock too sweetheart?”

“Please Nat, fill me up.”

Bradley’s hips snap up, Bob’s soft chuckle sliding down your back. “She’s got such a filthy mouth.”

“It’s a good thing that Natasha’s cock keeps her quiet.” Bob matches Bradley’s pace. Natasha guides you down onto her strap. Eagerly you lick at the tip, looking up at your girlfriend through your eyelashes. She slides into your mouth easily, and your eyes roll back with the realization that you are filled by the two people you love most in the world and your quiet crush.

They had gotten your infatuation with Bradley out of you a couple of months ago, and the conversation surrounding what was currently happening had picked up a few weeks ago. To have it here, and now, the pleasure that the three of them were bringing you was overwhelming. Rooster was whispering praise against your skin, his hands so reverent as they move over heated skin. Natasha is swallowing Bob’s moans as they kiss, her nails skimming down Bradley’s chest. Her strap slides further down your throat when she leans closer, her fingers slipping between you and Bradley, rubbing at your clit.

You come hard whining around Natasha’s strap, tears running down your cheeks as pleasure surges through you. You’re trembling so hard, eyes closed, the strap replaced with Natasha’s fingers, the slim digits curling against your tongue as she fucks them in and out of your panting mouth.

“Come in her Bradley,” Natasha purrs softly. “It’s alright.”

Bradley grunts, his hips snapping up, driving himself harder and faster into you. Bob’s stilled, holding you close, supporting you as Bradley continues to fuck up into you. Bob's fingers replace Natasha’s, rough callouses tracing slow circles, a stark contrast to how Bradley’s fucking you. Blunt nails bite into your hips when Rooster pulls you down one last time, coming buried inside of you. Bob’s quiet as he comes, panting against your skin, the briefest flash of pain when he bites your shoulder. Your second orgasm tears through you as the two men fill you, Bob’s weight slumping against you.

Natasha is the first to move, getting off the bed, the sound of buckles being undone and the heavy thump of the harness hitting the floor. She comes back a few moments later wearing an oversized t-shirt and holding a glass of water. She presses a kiss to your forehead when Bobby pulls out slowly, a low sound rumbling through his chest. He takes a couple of sips of water, steadying you as you ease off Bradley. The cool glass is pressed to your hands, Nat moving to help Bradley sit up.

“You alright?” Bradley cups your face gently, also kissing your forehead.

“Yes,” it takes a few times for your voice to work, the water helping with that.

“Bath is started.” Natasha takes the glass, setting it aside. “Roo, can you help her there? We’ll change the sheets and be there with you soon.”

Bob brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles before he’s letting go of your hand. “I’ll order food and once we’re all cleaned up, we’ll keep taking care of you darlin’.” You nod, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and he smiles softly at you. “Everything you wanted?”

You nod again, licking your lips. “Yes. Thank you.”

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Two - Awakening

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad's boss's son. He was the creep that stole girls' underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it's not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn't sleep with him, right? ...right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love

A/N: Not me testing out different posting times because I need to catch up on posting the four chapters that are already up on AO3 to Tumblr. xD Enjoy!

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[EXCERPT]

“Ohhh yeah. That’s real fucking nice.”

She looked away, cheeks burning, unable to watch Shigaraki kneel down in front of her. Her hands trembled as she held her school skirt up for him, just as he’d ordered. 

“But white panties?” he snorted, “Just who are you trying to fool?”

This was getting really old, really fucking fast. He’d already spent a good twenty minutes pawing at her chest like a monkey with a soccer ball. Squeezing and twisting and burying his face in with reckless abandon, all the while making those disparaging stupid little comments.

She had to hold back a whimper as he suddenly ran his thumb along her panty line.

“Hey.” he spat, “Don’t fucking look away.”

She turned her head back down, staring blankly at his fingers swirling and prodding with abandon. If she just watched his hands, maybe she could pretend that they were attached to somebody else. It was a little easier to do now. He’d cut his nails since yesterday, albeit unevenly and right down to the nub.

Like he’d been expecting this to happen.

His middle finger stroked a particularly sweet spot, causing her to close her eyes with a sigh. She could work with this. If this was all she had to endure, maybe she could get through this experience without gagging.

“The fuck did I just say? Look me in the eye.”

Her brows furrowed. She regretfully batted her eyes open. As slow as possible. Anything to delay the sight of the awful, arrogant red of his eyes.

Shigaraki grinned, wide and horrible. A juvenile little giggle slipped through the corners of his lips as he saw the indignation in her eyes.

“Oh come on, those can’t be your bedroom eyes.” he said, “Let me see the real look you give when all those jocks fuck you.”

God, why did he keep saying shit like that? Calling her a slut, negging her about her “filthy little body” — about her sex life.

A sex life that if this incel bastard had any ability to understand body language or social dynamics, he’d realize was completely nonexistant. Of course, if the man had had any semblance of social intelligence, she probably wouldn’t even be in this situation right now. Regardless, the fact remained:

She was a virgin.

And yet he continued, “Fuck are you this wet for everyone, or am I just special?”

“Oh you’re special alright.” she spat, “You fucking freak.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed, “You know, I think we should put that mouth of yours to better work.”

He flopped back into his floor rocker, man-spreading wide and expectant. Her nose crinkled as she looked at the stretch of floor in between his legs — that grimey, crusty looking carpet that she was positive would rival a Jackson Pollock under a black light. She could feel her stomach churning at the idea of touching it already, and that was without Shigaraki’s cock in her mouth.

“Hurry up!”

She glared at him, “I… I’m not touching that floor.”

Shigaraki snorted, “Don’t be cute. I’m positive you’ve sucked dick on worse.”

“I haven’t.” she deadpanned.

Shigaraki started to scratch at his neck, quickly growing annoyed, “You wanna be picky? Fine, pick where you want to bend over and I’ll fuck you in the ass and be done with it.”

Her chest tightened. There was really no getting out of this, she knew that already. But whatever hope she had of having even a semblance of control over this situation, of maintaining even a shred of dignity — it all evaporated into thin air.

And so she lowered to her knees miserably. The floor was just as caked and sticky as she feared it would be, and the smell was even worse. She crawled up between Shigaraki’s legs, the tacky fibers of the carpet clinging to her palms every time she lifted one over the other.

She stopped just before the outstretch of his knees, her stomach growing even heavier as she came mere inches away from the erection straining against his joggers — not to mention the feverish, expectant grin attached to it.

Steeling herself with a shaky inhale, she reached forward and clutched the waistband of his joggers. She dipped her fingers a bit deeper, searching for the underwear that she’d need to pull down as well.

She didn’t find them.

“What’re you worried about your sperm count or something?” she spat.

Shigaraki’s grin widened, “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

She bit back her next insult, predicting that he only had the patience for a quip or two more before he turned aggressive again. And pushing him to that point wouldn’t do her any favors. She just needed to suck his dick and get this over with. She might’ve been a virgin too, but this man was a fucking virgin amongst virgins — there was no way he’d last more than a couple seconds. She just had to get in and get out, like ripping off a band-aid. 

A horribly pale, crusty, and demeaning band-aid.

Continue on AO3

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[kookieswan]

Blush

Jungkook's piece from the Subtle Hues Series

Jungkook x Reader 🌸

Word Count: 596

Warnings: None, Slight Suggestive Themes

Pink - EARLY MORNING

You’re drifting through a haze, mind alight with grogginess. With a quiet groan, you stretch your stiff muscles, lolling your head to the side as your foot brushes against a warm leg. You run your foot up a familiar muscular calf as your eyes flick over to the clock on the bedroom wall, the mauve glow reading 6:48 am. A soft mumble leaves the man next to you, something that strangely sounds like “glowing apples.” A small giggle leaves you as you twist your body to the side, your gaze landing on Jungkook. Your boyfriend of a few years now, you live comfortably together in a modest apartment. The sun filters through the blinds of the window unevenly, casting an ocean of magenta shadows and light across the room. Jungkook looks unbelievably soft in the morning hues, nearly glowing like the angel he is. Soft blush tones touch his cheeks, his nose, his chest, and you can’t help but to lean in. Brushing your lips across the skin of his neck, you pull back and creep out of bed as quietly as you can. He stirs slightly as you do, but just as quickly goes still and back to dream land. He’s always extremely busy, so allowing him any extra sleep is a modest gift you can give. You wander over to your shared closet, pulling out a silken robe to cover your bare body. Passing by the vanity, you allow a faint smile to grace your lips at the marks Jungkook left on your body last night before tying the laces together. Your feet drag through plush carpet as you wander over to the balcony door, a gentle sigh fleeing from you as you pull it open. A soft breeze rushes past, the fresh air allowing for a serene atmosphere. The view of the city is magnificent, a breathtaking sight to complement that serene morning you’re having. You slink past the railing and to the side of the balcony to settle into one of the plump chairs, pulling your legs up as the sun settles over you. Your eyes close, and time is lost as you bask in the morning sun. You’re so involved with your own thoughts that the creak of the balcony door goes unnoticed, as well as the quiet footsteps that follow. A familiar hand is placed on your shoulder and thin lips caress your cheek. Blinking your eyes open, Jungkook stands in front of you grinning as he stands in nothing but some briefs. “Morning baby.” His voice comes out raspy as he leans down further, slipping his hands under your thighs. Before you know it, he’s lifting you up before settling back down with you in his lap. You wind your arms around his neck and leave kisses along his jaw, humming to yourself quietly as you take him in. Small giggles leave him as he caresses your back, burying his nose into your hair. You both sit there, rose-stained light washing over your bodies as you bask in each other’s presence. Moments like this were rare, so enjoying them to the fullest had always been and would always be important to you. Sometimes you couldn’t believe this gorgeous man was yours with all his complexities and intricacies, unfailingly willing to spend his moments with you. “I love you.” You grin big, craning your eyes back to examine his own. They sparkle, endless depths of stars and wonder. You decide then, you’ve never felt more secure, more happy than you did in this very moment. “I love you too Jungkook.”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve: Preordained Position

Summary- 5.8k Curtis Everett x You. Your boyfriend got you tickets to a charity Haunted House, and the special features include immersed scenes from the movie of your choice. Once you hear that the one and only Curtis Everett from Snowpiercer is a part of the choices, you just have to go. Prepare for a night of apocalyptic fun! 

Warnings- Brutal Killing, Drug Use, Non Con/Dub Con, Swears. Read at your own risk. 

A/N- Written for @jtargaryen18 Haunted House 2020. Be sure to read the warnings for each chapter. The page dividers were made by @firefly-graphics​ , I highly suggest checking out her work, its really excellent and a bit of everything to choose from. The manor described in this story, Rose Red, is a piece of work from Stephen King, and I highly suggest watching the tv mini series, if you can find it. Perfect for this time of year. Special thanks to @what-is-your-plan-today​ for being my Beta in this project. Happy Reading and Haunting! 😈🎃 🌹

Chapter 2 / Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve Masterlist

“Why the fuck we keeping her?” Edgar sneered at you. You swallowed and looked away feeling a little more exposed now it was just the five of you left. Edgar, Grey, Nam, Curtis and of course you. Somehow you've made it this far. 

Curtis searched through the room, but found little of much use, his boot pushing aside children's bodies while he went through desks and bins. Straightening, he responded finally to Edgar’s question. 

“Because she's useful, Wilford’s pet. Even if he sent her to the tail end, he hasn't lost track of her. If we kill the bitch now, what leverage do we have? Besides, she gave us information. Before we came in this car, she told me to watch out.” 

You looked down and shrugged a bit. “I didn't know it was going to be like this.” 

“Well, we could have come out of it a lot worse. I should have listened.” Curtis paused for a moment at Tonya and reached down to close the woman's eyes, sighing at the lost members of their group once more. Moving to a stand and grabbing a hold of the handle of his ax, he nodded to Nam. “We move forward.” 

This time when Curtis jerked you to his side, it wasn't as rough, checking your shoulder with prods of his fingers. “This needs to be sealed off or else you are going to get weak and pass out. I'm not dragging you along.” 

You could already feel the pain and blood loss starting to tire you out. “Next car, it’s medical, dentistry… other stuff.” You try to remember, but it's getting hazier now, doubting yourself after all the differences you’d already encountered compared to what you’d expected.

“Medic. Good. We can get them to patch us up.” Curtis nodded as he gave you a gentle push forward. Nam opened the next door and you stepped through wondering what hell you were all going to find this time. 

Thankfully, it was nice, much nicer than any of the other carriages you have been in. Wide open rooms lined the sides of a red carpet, and Curtis peeked in each one in turn as you walked down the middle. Edgar and Grey remained at the rear, clearly on guard should anything pop out. But nothing happened, in fact the people filling this cart seemed to ignore each of you completely, which suited you fine. Curtis paused at a room which contained what looked like a doctor treating a patient, and steered you in there. For the first time since you’d entered this cart someone seemed to notice you two. 

“I’m with a patient.” The doctor remarked, pulling away with a needle he had been injecting the man's face with. You couldn't help the wince you gave at the man's now unnatural looking face, much like those grinning kids that would haunt you probably for the rest of your life. 

Curtis obviously didn't give a shit, using his axe to point at the door. “Get out before I carve your heart out.” The simple threat from this menacing man left the patient scrambling to get past everyone, scoffing when he brushed against Edgar and wiping the invisible dirt from his shirt. Edgar made like he was going to throw his own weapon, lining him up. “Be so easy ya know’ Just one fling.” 

“Edgar get your ass in here and let's get you fixed up.” Curtis grunted as he eased his coat off, and then you could see where his shirt had been shredded, unaware of just how much damage he had taken. 

At first concern bloomed through your chest, worried at what you were seeing. The doctor tutted as he started to patch up Curtis’s back, muttering under his breath. Then you started to remember this man kept you alive just cause you were useful, raped you because he thought you were nothing more then Wilford’s whore and your concern melted away as fast as it had appeared.

“Get over here Little Bird and let him look at your shoulder.” Curtis snapped when you were glaring at him, as he pushed off the seat. Just as he was moving to a stand, the doctor's hand whipped out from his jacket pocket and stabbed a needle into Curtis’s neck, pushing whatever was in the vial into his system. 

With a yell Curtis whipped around and grabbed at the doctor's neck, his fingers digging into the column of his throat, but he started to collapse. Behind you the same thing was happening to Grey, Edgar and Nam, all caught unaware by guards who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, each man crumbling down into a heap on the floor. The doctor wrenched Curtis’s hand off him, and stepped away, tossing the used needle aside. You backed into a corner as the militia men came to collect each one of your captors, dragging them away. You tried to follow as they took Curtis, but the doctor stopped you sharply. “Oh I don't think so Y/N.” 

“How do you know my name?” You snapped, trying to wrench away from him. This frail but surprisingly strong man smirked. 

“Wilford already filled us in.” He stretched your arm out and used a prepared needle to stab you, even while you tried struggling. 

“Where is he? He put me in this place” You tried to get answers, wriggling to get him to release you, but whatever he injected immediately hit you. This time when you started to go under, it wasn't nearly as painful as last time and the last thing you heard was the doctor's calming voice. 

“If you survive this next couple of cars, you will meet with him.” 

And then it was nothing but darkness, blessed darkness and you hoped to stay there for the rest of the time. 

You woke to hands pawing at you, hot lips on your neck and your body being tossed back and forth as parts of your clothing got pulled off. When your eyes sprang open, you seemed to be in a pit, loud people standing above you looking down at you, laughing at your expense as they stared at you like you were an animal in a zoo. They started pouring bottles of cheap champagne over you till you were spluttering from being unable to breath without inhaling the alcohol, and they sprinkled you with something foul smelling, Even blowing the powder down at your face forcing you to inhale it. What the fuck? You try rubbing your face when everything starts fading in and out of focus, a slurred giggle bubbling from your chest. “W-what?”

Suddenly Edgar pushed you back, joined by Grey while they both jerked your pants down and you squealed in shock at the two men, each one wild eyed and giving that unnatural grin that scared you. You tried twisting away from them, desperately attempting to claw your way away. “No, no not again.” you sobbed. Just as you had almost pulled yourself free from the pit, a laughing front ender shoved their foot against your forehead and pushed you back into Grey and Edgar’s arms where they started grinding their aching bodies into your ass, hip, wherever they could while they hotly panted against your face. Whatever they gave you was making you lose your will to fight slowly, and Edgar rubbed a handful back under your nose so you breathed it in once more. Your eyes swept down to see that it was kronole and you suddenly realized that was the reason your mind was so foggy. As that thought broke through the mist in your brain you tried pulling away but to no avail.

Grey’s hands pulled you down to lay in the pit all the time the circle of people above remained jeering at your impeded state while he rutted through his clothing against you. 

You were about to be raped again and couldn't stop it. In fact you were getting to the point you didn't care, the more the kronole messed with your senses. You went limp, the two men manipulating you back and forth between them, bites to your neck and shoulders, hands grabbing your breasts through your bra…

And then, your addled mind registered a roar of rage which came from somewhere above, and a dark shadow loomed over the group standing around your pit. You shrunk back in fear, as Grey and Edgar looked up in surprise. 

Curtis dropped into the pit, clearly out of his mind too from kronole, but he was far more intimidating. “She's mine.” he snarled, and slammed both men away from you. He grabbed your hips, and jerked you against him, and his hand moved into your hair, ripping your head back viciously enough to make you scream. “Just proving my point, you’re Wilford’s whore rubbing against these boys.” He bit against your lips and pushed you back to sprawl against the ground. Grey was the first to recover, going for Curtis in a rage for being interrupted when Curtis whipped around, grabbing Grey’s head and giving a vicious wrench, twisting it till it jerked at an unnatural angle before he tossed his body out of the pit. Edgar came next, eyeing Curtis as he circled him, looking to attack. You tried to pull yourself up the wall when Curtis wrenched you back into him. 

“You couldn't get away last time, you're not getting away this time.” Above the drugged onlookers cheered, breaking more kronole and sprinkling it down over the three of you. Curtis inhaled the powder deeply once more as it settled all over his face like a dusting of ash, and his pupils blew almost black suddenly. Dropping you, he twisted and attacked Edgar, the two men unevenly matched and equally out of their minds. Curtis had the upper hand being bigger and he ended up crashing Edgar's head over and over into the steel side of the pit, once his head was completely crushed in, he let him go and turned towards you. 

Curtis was nothing but a kronole crazed demon now his face covered in the green dust of the drug. The lighting above continued shifting back and forth as more people packed in to watch, but your depraved audience faded out as the man came stalking towards you…

And then that fog descended on your brain once more and you realized you didn’t want to stop him. You were a slave to the heat rising in your chest and the clenching of your core at wanting this man to fuck you, needing him to fuck you. You scrambled over to him and leaped to wrap your arms and legs around him, grinding yourself into his tented pants, your nails digging into his jacket. You knew that if you didn’t fuck him right now, you would have to someone else. He slammed you into the wall, crushing your chest against his hard one, clearly experiencing the same madness you were, that driving need to pound into you. Edgar and Grey had done half the work before you were drugged, but now Curtis and his dirty clothes crushing the air from you was making you hotter, wetness coating the front of his pants as you gave a grind.

“Fuck me.” You finally hoarse out while trying to open the front of his pants. 

Curtis grasped your wrist and easily pinned them back, spitting in your face. “Mine, that pussy belongs to me. Fuck those boys, and Fuck Wilford.” 

You nodded and arched to give him room to get his cock out, causing you to look up, temporarily blinded once more as the partying people started to pour and throw random stuff down at you, garbage, more kronole dust, pouring that cheap champagne. But you didn't feel the stuff bouncing off you, nor did you hear the jeers at how nasty the tail enders were. No, all you could feel was Curtis as he slammed into you. So fast and hard, that you locked your legs harder around his hip, his grunts at how you were so tight around him were nothing but whooshing air right out of his lungs. Setting a brutal pace, fucking you into the wall, he used your body harshly, bruising you and you didn’t care. You didn't care that he was fisting his hand in your hair, or that his teeth were sinking into your neck and shoulders while his grunts matched each slamming slap on your body against the wall. 

For you it was satisfaction at the burn, the hard rage he was forcing into your body. Your eyes rolled back while he arched himself to bite and kiss on your breasts, marking them with broken skin and lapping the blood that started to seep down your cleavage. It felt good, all so good that you couldn't hold yourself back and started cumming on his cock with no warning. 

“Curtis- fuck I cant.” you started as he angled your hips, dragging his cock through clenching muscles and bottoming out. Those grinds against your clit, started you right back up again. 

“Mine.” was all he said, his pupils still black soulless orbs, a grin that scared the shit out of you and you could do nothing but hang on once more as he used your body, marking you every which way, forcing you open around his cock over and over till you were ragdoll limp between him and the wall until he brought you off again, crying cause it was too much. 

Then he finally jerked into you, his cum bringing you back aware at the soreness of your body, the sweaty ache and rawness where you were rubbed against him, between your thighs, sticky with a sharp ache. Your mind cleared, suddenly aware of where you were an what had happened and you took a shaky breath, your head sagging back against the wall as you fought back tears of despair. Curtis slowed, panting against your shoulder, and when he lifted away, those blue eyes you were familiar with were back, confusion as to what had happened was creased in every single line of his face, and he let your hands go, numb as they fell. You swiped your trembling hand over his kronole covered face quickly to wipe it away and you jerked his shirt over his nose.  “Don't inhale anymore!” You pleaded and he pulled away, his hands falling to your hips to hold you standing as your legs were shaking. 

“We have to get out of here. What's the next car?” He yanked his jacket off and swept it around you, covering your mouth and nose with the collar  as you tried to figure out how you two were supposed to get out and through the people, who you now realized were also out of there fucking minds from the kronole. Curtis didn't seem to hesitate though, approaching the edge, he grabbed someone's legs and yanked, sending them sprawling and laughing, pulling them over the edge and kicking at their heads. “They are so fucking out of it from kronole and alcohol that they won’t put up to much of a fight.” He kept going, smashing people down till he could crawl out, shouldering others out of the way and reaching with his hand to grasp you. You tried not to step on anyone and held onto his hand as your legs were grabbed, one of the first people recovered enough to make a snatch at you. You screamed, kicking out your legs while Curtis pulled you up. People started to crowd against him, jostling him and also grabbing at you as he managed to get you over the edge and as you straightened up you realized they were trying to push you both back in. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” they started chanting while Curtis kept you against his chest, pushing you away from the pit. 

Now you two were alone, weaponless, and being crowded in a mob of frontenders yelling obscenities. “Come on fuckers, we want a show.” Someone grasped at your coat and yanked you into the mob of people, you tried screaming Curtis' name but you were jostled too quickly, shifting from person to person, and you could see Curtis pushing through, trying to keep an eye on you as he split the crowd apart. 

One thing that the frontenders were not was fighters. Curtis was easily able to shove and punch his way through. You ended up getting slammed into a giant steel door with a W on it, your head colliding painfully making you see stars and you were just coming around as someone was trying to pry open your coat. You slapped at him, and kicked him away, pulling it back closed. Curtis soon joined you, roaring for people to get back which for whatever reason they did, shrinking away enough so he couldn't hit them, making threatening moves to come forward again though hoping to intimidate him. The door behind you creaked, and you grabbed the back of Curtis’s jacket to pull him through, sure that you two would be safe.

 The next room was nothing more than computers. You remembered this part of the movie, realizing that you were near the front and hopefully the end of this nightmare. Once Curtis was through, you slammed the door shut, pressing your forehead against it with a sob of fear while the crowd rushed forward, feeling the steel door shake with the force. 

“Were safe, for now.” you said as you moved to straighten, and someone other than Curtis spoke. 

“Yes, finally I’ve been waiting for a few days now for you two.” 

A shiver racked your body as ice dread filled your veins and you looked over your shoulder to see Curtis shaking too. But not in the same way you were, instead he was trembling in adrenaline and rage at the man sitting so calmly before you. Wilford smiled at the two of you as he brought a fragile cup of steaming tea to his lips and slurped it loudly, smacking his lips. “I will say though, it's been a hell of a show. Sit sit! Coffee, tea? How about a night cap?” 

You tug on Curtis’s sleeve to try to get his attention, but he's hyper fixated on Wilford, shaking you off. He storms forward to get his hands on him when Wilford pulls a gun out of his robe, aiming it for Curtis. 

“Another step Everett, and I will not hesitate. SIT.” 

With a look of absolute hatred on his face, begrudgingly Curtis did as told, whilst you remained still pressed against the door, feeling the slams of bodies pound on the door. “Come Y/N my dear, you have nothing to be worried about.” Wilford said in a manner so happy you wanted to scream at him.  

Curtis's accusing and hurt eyes turned towards you after Wilford said that, and you shook your head at him. 

“I swear Curtis, it isn't like that.” although why you were apologizing to your rapist captor you had no idea.

“I fucking know what it was like” Curtis spat “This was all a set up wasn't it?” 

Wilford gave a chuckle as he poured liquor into fancy glasses, bringing them to the table. 

“Well yes, it was a setup Curtis. But I assure you Y/N didn't know.” He pushed the glass to Curtis, and his icy blue eyes twinkled in joy. “But this is the first time you've gotten this far in a while.”

His head whipped back to Wilford. “Gotten this far?” 

“Oh yes, you don't seem to like staying in your preordained position Curtis.” Wilford sighs as he finishes his drink. You listened intently, this too wasn't right. “But such is life… or death? More like this is our death. So, time for you to return.” Wilford gave a snap of his fingers, and Curtis stiffened, moving to a stand almost robotically.

“Curtis?” you whimpered out a bit seeing him stride back towards you, everything you knew about him was missing as you gazed up at him. He brushed past you, his hand cupped your face, thumb sweeping back and forth over your cheek before whispering. “I'm sorry…” he whispered in such a broken way, your mouth just dropped, gaping at him. Gone was the rage and fight, leaving just sorrow on his face and he slipped out the door back into the crowd. You spun around to watch him disappear into the mob, Wilford watching your reaction curiously. The door slammed shut suddenly, making you jump and spin around to face the only person left with you in the room. “Why is he sorry? I don't understand what is going on, any of this. Why is he just leaving me here with you?!” your voice breaks as you're saying this, so close to just melting down at the stress and fear that was taking a toll on your body. 

“He’s sorry because he knows exactly what this place is and that he caused it. You see, before Curtis was this tailend leader, He was head of a construction crew for Rose Red, back in 1903.” Wilford seemed to struggle with remembering the date. “1904? Anyways, he was laying the foundation of Rose Red, while I was honeymooning with Ellen. I didn't want her to see any of this half finished, so we were touring across the world. Curtis had one major deadline, to finish our house in two years. I received telegraph after telegraph of nothing but issues from him. Working conditions were subpar, men were getting injured or killed in accidents of construction. The demands were unfair, pay not enough.” Wilford rolled his eyes listing the complaints, you were just listening in silence still in shock at what happened. “Finally I had enough, sent back that he was to be removed from the ground by authorities and another hired to take his place. Simple, correct?” He asked as if you were to answer. After a few seconds of those icy blue eyes staring at you he went back to the story. “Curtis thought he had all this ‘responsibility' to his men.’ Something in him snapped, and that bastard tried to stop the train I had bringing supplies in from the harbor. Curtis didn't just stop the train…” Wilford gave a chuckle of disbelief. “No, his attempts derailed the train where it sits now. Screeching metal coming to a stop, and killing hundreds of men onboard, himself included. That day is when Rose Red came to life, all that death, all at once stains the earth, the blood soaking into the dirt while they perished in the smoke and flames, trapped in steel boxes. When something that tragic happens, it stains the earth, trapped energy that allows hell on earth.”

You shook your head in disbelief, snapping out. “Impossible, whatever this is… why didn't Curtis just end you, we made it. This sick game you're playing with us. That's all this can be. I paid for an interactive experience, but not this.”  

“Whatever this is, it’s your fate little girl, accept it.” Wilford cut you off with a snap, smoothing his hands over the fine silk of his robe. “And don't worry about Curtis Y/N, he will return safely to the tail end, and start all over again, that is the way it has to be, that is what fate Rose Red wants for him.” 

You could feel bile threatening to burn its way up your throat, you couldn't let yourself believe what he was saying, as it was simply impossible. These things didn't exist, they were books and movies, tales told to tell children to scare them into behaving. Ghosts? Haunted Houses. Your mind echoed Bryce’s words earlier that night ‘You know that shit isn't real’. So what was Wilford playing at? You finally snapped, giggling, turning into laughter. Wilford ignored you, till you started screaming at him.

“YOU GO GET STACEY, CAUSE I WANT THE FUCK OFF THIS TRAIN, NOW.” your voice kept getting shriller with each word. “WHEN BRYCE HEARS ABOUT THIS, YOU CAN BET HIS GRANDFATHER WILL HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT THIS CHARITY FUNCTION.” 

Wilford arched one brow and chuckled, moving to a stand, and wrapping his fingers around the second untouched glass. “Stacey? Y/n, you know what you saw. Wasn't Stacy’s face smashed in?” You closed your eyes, pushing down the image, chanting in your mind, not real, not real, all pretend. “Matter of factually Y/N, you have Bryce to thank for your active participation in Snowpiercer.” 

Your eyes snap open at this, narrowing on Wilford “Bryce? What does Bryce have to do with whatever this all is?” you’re confused at why your boyfriend would be mentioned and you slide along the wall to keep away from Wilford as he comes closer to you till you bump into the table and fall into Curtis’s seat. 

“Why everything Y/N. You see, Rose Red Manor is indeed haunted. My wife Ellen, that is her domain. Your boyfriend happened to break in looking for some artifacts I came back with when we were on our honeymoon in Africa. They would be considered valuable now, but my grandson didn't care to have my collection so they remained in the manor. Bryce though, well he admired the pieces, wanted to study them.” Wilford gave a shake of his head with a sigh. “Bryce was of course killed by Ellen. Her rage towards me, makes her banish men's souls to the ground.” 

And then your mind recalled the story, Rimbauer infected his wife with some unknown disease while they were on their exotic honeymoon, that was why the rumors went that men who entered Rose Red were gruesomely killed, where women simply disappeared to never be seen again…

“Bryce isn't dead, I saw him. I talked to him tonight.” You shook your head

“Yes, he's very much alive now Dear, but he wasn’t for a time. His body was stuck in the house, ready to rot right where Ellen killed him. But she banished his soul from the house, and left Bryce's soul wandering the grounds, he happened to stumble upon my part of Rose Red, what luck.” Wilford sipped from the glass, swirling it a bit. “You know I miss the real stuff?” shrugging he set it down. “Bryce happened to find me, begging to be brought back, and would give anything to return to the living. I had no interest, all that matters is Rose Red has fresh souls to feed off of. But your boyfriend made a proposition that I was intrigued with. An innocent soul in his place. Do you know how valuable an innocent soul is? So much more to give, cruel I know, the unfairness of using something so pure and innocent to keep his parasite of a house alive. But I must do what can to keep my Ellen happy in life or death. It is my fault she has to live eternity like this.” His cold fingers traced your face, you wrenching back out of his touch.  

“No… he wouldn't do that, he wouldn’t sacrifice me…” you whispered, your throat closing and your heart slamming in your chest. And then the wave of realization crashed over you. of course he would. Bryce was the most selfish man you've ever met. 

Wilford tsked a bit. “Well one innocent soul isn't enough to feed Rose Red, to give the house enough energy to keep building like Ellen wants. The house must keep growing, Ellen’s soul would die and fade away if she couldn't keep adding more to her collection. I told Bryce two innocent souls, delivered by tonight, and he could leave alive and free. But don't worry, Bryce will pay eventually, you can't make a deal with a devil and expect to walk away untainted.”  

Not Stacey too. You screamed internally. No wonder Bryce insisted you take her as well. 

“I must be asleep, a nightmare.” You spit out, your hands shaking as you rubbed at them, trying to wipe off the dried blood, hoping it would wake you up, that all this was some kind of crazy your mind made up. Wilford almost looked sympathetic when he spoke again.

“I’m afraid not Dear. Bryce told me about how you loved this Snowpiercer story, so I figured if you're going to be condemned to this, might as well be enjoyable.” 

“I don't want to be condemned! Please how can I get out of this?” You started to figure out ways to bargain, like Bryce apparently did. But Wilford responded with a mere shake of the head.

“Ahh, that won't be happening. Innocent souls are much stronger. Rose Red can keep building now… many years on you alone. Ellen will be much pleased. Curtis also likes you as well, he was always one of my favorite victims of Rose Red.” Wilford leaned back in his chair. “Since he's banished to an eternity of hell, he deserves someone to make it easier. His own little songbird singing him hope. Any other girl I’ve sent him, he always ends up murdering her before he gets cut down.” 

You were whipping your head back and forth, pushing to a stand to start looking for a way out, anyway to get off the train, and Wilford just watched you for a moment processing all that he was saying. 

“If it's any help, you will be joined with Stacey again. Maybe your next trip to the front, you will manage to keep her alive.” Wilford moved to a stand as you tried to open the door, yanking on it to open, when he twisted you to face him, your bottom lip trembling as you looked up at him. 

“Please… I don't deserve this.” you whimpered. 

“You don’t Dear, but you're going to endure it as we all must. Very few victims of Rose Red actually deserve the fate that has befallen them.” He plucked the Rose from his breast pocket from earlier and laced it through your hair while you trembled, tears rolling down your face as you started to accept the truth of it all.

“You're not going to let me off this train, are you?” your voice trembled with defeat, and Wilford shook his head. 

“No, you now belong to Curtis Dear. His one reward for his life of hell. Although I will leave you with a parting gift. Your memory will remain so you can help him make his way through the Cars to the end. Save you from some of the pain of being brutally killed.” fear washed over your face and Wilford smiled gently to reassure you, although there was no way it was going to make you feel any better, be less afraid. “I will be seeing you again soon Dear.” Wilford said softly before he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, your eyes closing in defeat. 

You opened to darkness, gasping as you tried to understand where you were. It was intensely cold again, and a dim light came into your view, a tiny fire from a match. A familiar face loomed from the darkness to rake cerulean eyes over you, his head tilting as he looked you up and down. 

“Wilford sent us a present.” 

No, not again. You think as you're dropping to your knees to beg Curtis not to hurt you. “Please, have mercy on me.” 

“Mercy? Were we ever shown any mercy? I don't know what Wilford was thinking Little Bird, sending you back to me with this innocent act of yours. But don’t worry I will make you sing.” 

And then he gave a shake of his wrist, killing the match and plunging you both back into the darkness.

Your hell started all over again.

[freshtomatoesddd]

An Extra chapter i wrote for my TyZula fanfic.

The chapter I've been writing is surprisingly depressing so. So take my mind off it, as well as practice slice of life stuff, I wrote this extra chapter.

TW! MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND RAPE. NOTHING HAPPENS TO THE CHARACTERS, but Azula and Ty Lee talk about a book that contains such elements. They're about 14 at this time, and Ty Lee has started to realize her feelings for Azula.

FLOWERS

The Fire Nation royal garden was one mesmerizing sight to behold to anyone blessed enough to ever graze its beautiful path, let alone one star struck Ty Lee. Though it wasn’t her first time visiting the royal palace, it had been her first time seeing the garden in full. The girl had a grin on her face as she trailed across the garden, observing in detailed delight the many sorts of flowers the Fire Lady had so patiently cultivated. They came in all sort of colors, most being some shade of red and yellow, though there were a few whites and even purples scattered about. The scent of the flowers took Ty lee by surprise, most bearing a fragrant and pleasant smell she seldom came across her own home, intoxicating the brunette with their soft yet pleasurable scent.

“As you can see, I have the best garden,” Azula stated, loud and proud as she usually was.

Ty Lee’s attention laid still on the bunch in front of her, scarlet red petals peeking at her, it’s thorny stems nearly drawing the girl to at least poke it. A bit stupid if spoken out loud, however, Ty Lee always had an urge to at least press her fingers against such thorns. Certainly not enough to draw blood, but only out of curiosity, to see what would happen, how it would feel.

“Yeah, congrats,” Mai said, Ty Lee hearing her footsteps as she walked around the garden.

“Where did the Fire Lady find all these flowers?” She asked.

“From all corners of the Fire Nation, some as far as Ember Island,” Azula said.

Ty Lee turned around, her gaze met Mai, the girl’s fingers fiddling with the leaves of a bush.

“Huh, that’s pretty cool,” Mai said.

Azula scoffed as she crossed her arms. She raised one brow and pursed her lips ever so slightly, annoyance covering her face as she spoke. Her golden pupils stared at Mai with such intensity, as if they were to pierce through Mai’s body. Even in the midst of what seemed to be a rather casual conversation, Azula looked so serious. Ty Lee wondered what it would be like to have such a ferocious stare placed on her.

“I don’t see how. Anyway, let’s go play hide and seek,” she said.

Mai groaned. “Please, not that, you always make us hide and chase after us like some hungry tiger monkey.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be chasing after you if you’re hiding spots weren’t so easy to find, obviously,” Azula said.

Ty Lee looked off to the side, wondering how nice it would be for Azula to chase after her, how frustrated the princess would get if she couldn’t reach her. Surely, Ty Lee thought, the look on her face would be priceless, cute even.

“Yeah, Mai, you should be more creative with your hiding spots,” the brunette jumped in.

Mai turned to her. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with her.”

Ty Lee waved her arm. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just saying, you know, if you don’t wanna be chased around then you should probably look for hard to find places.”

“Well too bad I don’t know any hard to find places.”

“Yeah that’s what I mean, you should try and find them, you know?” Ty Lee said.

“You’re precisely correct, Ty Lee,” Azula said.

The brunette turned to the princess. “Wait, really?”

Azula quirked up a brow. “That’s what I just said.”

Ty Lee’s eyes widened for a split second. She quickly looked away, knowing that she might risk burning up at the sight of Azula, after she had agreed with her as well. Ty Lee pursed her lips, knowing full well how ridiculous her feelings were. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way, not for any girl, and most definitely not Azula. She wondered why she had even developed such feelings for the young princess, only to be met with more than a dozen answers. From her intellect, to the way she spoke, her determination and single-minded drive, Ty Lee admired all of it and more. Ty Lee sighed, wishing the boys around her were as cool, as driven. Perhaps then, she’d be able to feel about them the same way she did Azula.

Ty Lee’s grey eyes pranced around the garden as Mai and Azula argued over the intricacies of hide and seek, the brunette eventually spotting the crown prince walking beside the Fire Lady. As per usual, they were engrossed in conversation, Zuko stuck close to his beloved mother. Ty Lee didn’t blame the boy, for the Fire Lady had a certain poise and charm to her. From her warm gaze, her inviting smile, down to the way she carried herself, Ty Lee wondered how one person could be so graceful.

“Hey, isn’t that Zuko?” Ty Lee asked, a smirk growing on her face.

Mai whipped around, her eyes locking onto the boy at once. She grew red as an apple, Ty Lee and Azula giggled at the sight, the former struggling to keep laughing once she heard the princess’s laughter. Clearly, Ty Lee was no better than Mai.

She jostled her friend, though stammered as the brunette tried to speak. “Hey—hey, why don’t you make a move?”

Mai frowned. However, Azula stepped in and added fuel to the fire.

“Ty Lee’s right, Mai. You should advance while you can, before Zuzu gets matched off in an arranged marriage.”

Ty Lee looked away for another brief moment, unable to handle the pace of her beating heart. It was fast and rapid, pounding against her chest as if to break free. Ty Lee took in a small breath, turning back to her friends as she repressed her desire to run away and scream.

“You don’t know that,” Mai said, crossing her arms.

“Well, he is the crown prince, after all. Once he gets older, it would make sense to marry him off.”

Mai turned to Azula. “Well, does that mean you’re going to get married too?”

Azula smiled, laughter slipping past her lips. “Don’t be stupid, Mai, I don’t need to get married.”

“How do you know that?” Mai asked, her face still flushed red.

Azula laughed once more, finger pointed towards the flustered girl. “Oh please, the only reason for me to get married is to create alliances. But since the Fire Nation is about to dominate the entire world, then what sort of alliances would we need to make?”

“But Zuko,” Azula’s golden pupils looked to the side, paying close attention to her brother as she placed a finger on her chin, “He’s the crown prince and needs to make heirs. You need to get married to do that, at least, for the heirs to be legitimate.”

“Well, duh you need to get married to have kids” Mai said.

The princess chuckled. “You don’t need to get married to have children.”

Ty Lee quirked up a brow. “Really? Actually, how do kids even, you know, happen? Do they like, come out of bamboo stocks? Or large peaches?”

Azula rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, scoffing at Ty Lee’s ignorance. “Not even close.”

Ty Lee pursed her lips, chest aching at Azula’s words. Once again, she knew it was ridiculous, stupid even for her to get hurt over such trivial insults. It was ordinary for the princess to act as such, and Ty Lee would normally brush off her remarks as nothing to be given a second thought. However, over the course of the past few days, she’s had little else to think about other than Azula. Ty Lee sighed, looking off to the flowers at her side. Perhaps, her feelings would fade away in time, nothing more than another one of her plentiful crushes. But even then, she wondered if she’ll ever feel such intensity for another person in her lifetime.

“Don’t be so upset,” Azula’s word cut through Ty Lee’s thoughts.

“I’ll make you two a deal. If you can successfully hide from me for fifteen minutes, I’ll tell you where children come from,” she said.

“Really?” Mai asked, her words laced in doubt.

Azula nodded, hand placed on her chest. “Of course, a princess always sticks to her promises.”

“Right…Anyway, let’s just get it over with.”

The young princess promptly turned around and covered her eyes. Quickly, she counted down from ten, giving Ty Lee and Mai little to no time to find and secure their hiding spots. Ty Lee immediately began running towards where Azula was facing, unconcerned to where her friend chose to hid herself. Thankfully, the princess hadn’t specified where they were allowed to hide, and so Ty Lee ran towards the garden’s walk way.

She ran past red pillars which held up its tiled roofs, her footsteps muddled by the sturdy stone under her feet, no matter how hard she sprinted. Ty Lee ran and ran, not exactly sure of where she would end up. The girl whipped her head up, thinking as her legs kept barreling her forward, nearly causing the girl to crash into a few of the walkway’s tall pillars. Much like the pillars, the wood which held up its roof too was made of strong, crimson colored wood, strings of rosy wooden patterns stretching across each pillar.

Eventually, Ty Lee ended up inside the royal palace. She ran still, running around the dizzying array of hallways, each covered in the same soft carpet, coated in the same bold colors of red and yellow, tall doors at each side of every corridor, it’s doorhandles made of intricately designed metal of lion heads. Before she knew it, Ty Lee had reached the monument which marked the academic section of the palace. Towering pillars held up a pagoda style roof which scratched the heavens, a dragon coiled around each pillar as they pointed towards a statue of Fire Lord Sozin, an inscription written under him Ty Lee couldn’t afford to stand still and read. The road forked off into three paths, Ty Lee opting to take the right most road as she figured that Azula would have a fondness for the library.

As the girl dashed down the stone path, the only thing indication that she was moving forward being the red ribbons tied unevenly around the stone fences, she witnessed a rather large pair of doors. Unlike the library, they had already been opened, no doubt swung as they flew all the way back to the other side of the maroon wall.

As the girl stepped inside, she saw a wide rectangular table at the very center of the room, scrolls, leather books and brushes littering its clear glass covering. Some were stacked on top of one another, ink splattering a few parts of the sleek wood. The table itself was fairly standard for the royal palace, made of no doubt expensive, regal wood painted with a dark finish. The chairs, however, Ty Lee took a liking to them. Not only were they tall, they were also comfortable. Surely, she figured that sitting was much better then kneeling, and wished that sitting too was granted the ‘proper’ status that kneeling did.

Of course, being the nature of the academic section of the palace, bookshelves covered both sides of the room, the wall facing Ty Lee’s front spared as it only had a painting of Fire Lord Sozin hanging on it. Gently, he swayed with the wind, Ty Lee nervous that the late Fire Lord might fall at any given moment. Next to the wise man were two tables, both of which were empty, save for a random brush and some scattered scrolls, some even unrolled to the ground as Ty Lee wondered if someone accidentally stepped on it.

As the brunette leaned back against her rather comfy chair, she wondered what sort of a person, or rather, persons were busy enough to turn the study area to such a mess. The girl placed a finger on her chin, wondering if a few generals gathered just a few hours earlier and forgot to clean up. Perhaps, in their super serious meeting, they were re-searching the best way to destroy the Earth Kingdom, or something along those lines. However, Ty Lee noted that such an idea wouldn’t exactly make sense, as such issues would be addressed in war meetings, not study areas. Another thing which didn’t add up was the mess. If generals or anyone that wasn’t apart of the royal family left the place in such untidy disorder, Ty Lee was sure that the Fire Lord would banish them as soon as he found out. And seeing as the doors were wide open, she figured that he already knew.

Ty Lee snapped her fingers as she was reminded of the gaping doors. “Darn, I forgot to close them.”

Jumping off her chair, she approached the large doors. However, Ty Lee was not intimidated by their size, for she placed her palm in the wood and pushed hard. Unfortunately for the girl, she lacked the physical strength required to close one door without using both hands, along with her body. One door closed, another still open. Ty Lee took in a breath, sighing as she walked towards the other. With much the same bone aching struggle, she finally closed both, sliding to the ground in exhaustion. Ty Lee leaned against them, sighing once more as she wondered why the royal palace needed to have such unnecessarily heavy gates acting as the entrance to almost every room.

“So annoying,” Ty Lee huffed.

Somehow, she got on her feet and sauntered back to the same chair, sitting on it as she leaned back.

“Ah man, this seat feels so nice, I should probably ask mom to buy us these.”

Ty Lee thought for a moment, of her mother, and if she’d even be able to talk to her that day and the next. Realistically, she knew it to be untrue, for her mother and father were busy people. They had fellow important people to meet and mingle with, leaving her with only her servants and sisters at home. Ty Lee looked off to her side, eyeing the tall stack of books beside her, wondering what sort of a madman would read six books in one sitting. And judging by the amount of paper scattered about the table, how many brushes and ink trays were stacked on top of one another, the person was supposedly studying them as well.

She leaned forward, grabbing the top most book from the pile. “Well, if I’m gonna be stuck here I might as well do something.”

Ty Lee opened the book and flipped to the first page. In it, there was a brief description of a nameless kingdom, seemingly under political turmoil from within, its citizens suffering as a result. So far, it was a typical ‘intellectual’ book Ty Lee would see scholars argue about. She flipped to the next page, introduction of the supposed protagonist. He had no name, other than his given title as king. The man looked to unite his kingdom, to reach his country’s true greatness, whatever that meant.

As the brunette quickly grew invested in the story, she realized that though the king had good intentions, he was not a good man. He would attack his enemies without a second thought, killing his prisoners and pillage any village that laid between him and whatever army he was fighting. He would make a point to deliver swift devastation to any one population or person which got in the way of ‘achieving greatness’, by any means necessary. To say the least, the man was a monster, for he didn’t even feel pity when beating his pregnant wife when she pleaded for him to end his bloody crusade. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be reading such horrid tales, but she couldn’t look away, riveted by the story’s graphic accounts and deep plot.

So invested was Ty Lee to the plot that she had neglected to use her ears. Entrenched in the story, Ty Lee failed to recognize the sound of wood dragging open. It was only until a hand landed on her shoulder did she realize she’d been caught, Azula staring at her with the same fierce glare she gave Mai. Ty Lee froze, unsure of what to do or say. She had yet to recover from the gruesome tale, and she was now facing the rather annoyed looking princess. She gulped, feeling to be under the microscope that was Azula’s stare. Nowhere near as exciting as she thought, rather, it was terrifying to be scrutinized by means of a single look. Her hands shivered as a chill traveled up her spine, Ty Lee pursing her lips as she did little else than look at Azula.

“What are you doing here?” the princess asked in a low voice.

Ty Lee stammered as she struggled to for words, dropping the book entirely.

“Oh, me? I was…um, uh, I was uh—reading, and stuff.”

Azula quirked up a brow. Slowly, her hand approached Ty Lee’s direction, the girl wincing as she questioned what Azula would do. However, the princess grabbed the book and dusted it off, neatly stacking it on its original pile.

“You should refrain from mishandling my books,” she said in a stern voice.

The brunette’s eyes widened. “Wait, that was your book?”

Azula scoffed. “I just said that.”

Ty Lee looked around. “Does that mean that all of these books belong to you?”

Azula nodded. “Indeed.”

“So, like, all of this stuff belongs to you too? The books, the scrolls, the brushes and the ink too?” Ty Lee motioned her hands to the objects listed, disbelief clear in her eyes.

Azula shrugged. “What of it? In fact, why do you care of what I do in my spare time?”

Ty Lee gulped. “Ah, you’re right, sorry about that. But I mean, it’s pretty cool that you study super hard in your spare time. Like, I can barely do my homework right.”

The princess chuckled, Ty Lee’s heart pounding fierce against her chest once more. Unlike last time, she could not look away, it would be rude. So instead, the brunette smiled along, repressing her urge to flee form the immediate vicinity and do breathing exercises.

“Hilarious as always, Ty Lee. This is not for school, I’m studying things far more advanced than what you or Mai will ever learn in your lifetime,” the princess said.

Ignoring the insult, Ty Lee placed a finger on her chin. “Wait, if it’s not for school, then why are you studying?”

“I’m not studying, I’m learning.”

“Yeah, learning what?”

Azula leaned in, Ty Lee taking in a breath as she did so. Faintly, she could smell Azula’s fragrant shampoo. Ty Lee resisted the urge to shake her head, noting how creepy it was for her to even think of something like that.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the princess said.

Ty Lee turned away, unable to meet Azula’s eyes. She pursed her lips, heat creeping up her neck. She clung on to the table, her fingers clawing at its wood to take her mind of the situation. But she knew, better than anyone that it was no use. No matter how hard she tried, to ignore and run, there was no denying the physical proximity between her and Azula. The princess was so close, so much so Ty Lee could practically hear her breathing, their faces only just a slight finger away. She wasn’t sure why Azula was doing such a thing, whether it be for her own amusement at Ty Lee’s expense. But whatever it was, the brunette hoped for it to end soon.

“Why are you so red? Are you sick?” Azula asked.

Ty Lee turned to the princess. She opened her mouth, though shut it as soon as her eyes met with Azula’s. Once more, she struggled for words, her attention stuck onto the princess. But soon enough, Ty Lee was able to force herself to speak.

“What? Me? Sick? No way. Nah, I’m totally fine,” Ty Lee said.

Azula was silent for a brief second. “You’re a horrible liar.”

The brunette sighed. “Yeah, I am.”

The princess spent another second or so staring at Ty Lee, much to the latter’s painful displeasure, her pounding heart practically cracking her ribs open. However, soon enough, Azula sat next to the brunette. With her arms crossed, she closed her eyes.

“Mai’s gone home, that’s how long it took for me to find you. How annoying,” she said.

Ty Lee couldn’t help but smirk, proud of her accomplishment. “Does that mean you get to tell me where kids come from?”

“I suppose. It depends, would you like to know?”

The brunette nodded. “Yeah, tell me.”

“That book you were reading, have you gotten to the section where the King met his future bride?”

Ty Lee scratched the back of her head. “Yeah, but I kinda skipped that part. It was getting…weird.”

Azula sighed. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The princess reached for a brush and paper.

“When the King first met his bride to be, he was so overcome with lust that he couldn’t contain himself. And so, in the dead of night, he snuck into her room.” Azula dipped the brush in ink.

“His bride had no knowledge of this, so she was fast asleep,” Azula folded the paper.

Ty Lee had absolutely zero idea what the princess was talking about, for the concept of lust and whatever strange happening Azula was talking about was completely new to her. And so, the brunette willfully listened to what Azula had to say, her ears wide open.

“The King spread the woman’s legs,” Azula placed the brush’s inked edge against the paper, “And went inside of her.”

The princess pressed brush through the paper, tearing it as Ty Lee winced. Now dirtied and torn, Azula set them aside.

“And that is how children come to be.”

Ty Lee furrowed her brows.

“So, basically, you…need to…uh,” the brunette couldn’t finish her sentence, unsure of what to say.

“I know what you’re going to say. And no, you don’t need to be in a bed. In fact, you can do it most anywhere, with anyone. It doesn’t really matter who or when, or even how it happens. So long as it does, there’s always a possibility for a child to be conceived,” Azula said.

Ty Lee leaned back against her chair, confused on what to do with her newly gained knowledge. She certainly couldn’t tell her parents about it, nor anyone she knew. So perhaps, she would carry it along with her, keeping it to her lonesome. But then again, the question arises once more, what exactly was she to do? Ty Lee fiddled her thumbs, staring off into nothing as she thought about what Azula said.

“Um, did the, uh, did the bride know what was happening to her?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” Azula said.

The brunette furrowed her brows. For some reason, what Azula said left a sour taste in her mouth. “Uh, I don’t think that’s okay.”

“In the eyes of the King, anything is fair game so long as he’s the one pulling the strings.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s pretty much his whole character. But, like, I don’t think you should just do that to someone without them knowing, you know? It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Since when did you start having opinions on literature?”

“Uh, since I read that book, I guess.” Ty Lee played with her fingers as she turned to Azula.

Much to her surprise, Azula had some semblance of a smile on her face. Not her usual snide smirks, or patronizing grins. Rather, perhaps, it was one of genuine amusement, how she didn’t expect Ty Lee of all people to take up the moral nuances of her book. The princess kept her smile as she leaned forward, resting her head on one hand, her golden eyes fixed on the brunette.

“What do you think of the King?” she asked.

“Well,” Ty Lee searched for the right words, “He’s a pretty bad person, so I don’t really like him. I mean, if he really wanted to unite his kingdom and achieve greatness and stuff, why couldn’t he just, you know, do it peacefully?”

“Well, his country has been stuck in a civil war for over a century, any chances of alliance between the warring sides was a mere dream,” Azula said.

“Yeah, you’re right. But still, even if he had to attack all those armies and villages, couldn’t he at least spare the innocent people? I mean, they had nothing to do with the war or the political plot, but they were massacred like animals. It just, doesn’t seem fair to me, you know? He wanted to help his people, but they became worse off under his rule.”

The princess smirked. “And how’s that?”

Ty Lee was taken aback by Azula’s smirk. “Um, you know, the economy and stuff. Since he burned downed and killed all the people in the farming villages, they had no crops or really any kind of food. He also destroyed the ports to stop his enemies from trading, right? So, he also can’t get any help from the outside.”

“What would you do if you were in the King’s position?” Azula asked.

“What? Me?” Ty Lee pointed at herself.

“Yes, who else am I talking to?”

Ty Lee stayed silent. She thought long and hard of what she was to do had she been in the King’s shoes, if there was even anything she could do to bring peace and ‘greatness’ to her kingdom. She knew that for one, she’d have to stop the civil war. But as Azula said, an alliance between the warring sides was impossible. She could try and try, and her calls for negotiations would fall on deaf ears. So perhaps, rather than trying the peaceful way, she’d have to bring them down herself to keep order. But then again, that would make her no better than the men who instigated the civil war in the first place. She would be just like them, a person who thinks of what she’s doing to be great and good, operating by her own moral compass.

Ty lee shook her head. “I…I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

“How so?” Azula asked.

“If I try the peaceful way, nothing will happen and innocents will die. But if I try the war way, more people will still die. There’s no winning.”

“So, is that what you see as winning?”

“What?” Ty Lee asked.

Azula leaned against her chair. “You want to bring peace to the kingdom with as little lives lost as possible.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“I see,” Azula crossed her arms. ‘Well, however you see it, the King won in the end.”

Ty Lee raised a brow. “What? How?”

Azula clasped her palms. “He sought to unite his kingdom no matter the cost, and so he did. Even after his kingdom fell apart and crumbled, he had by definition achieved his goal, and so won. I don’t deny that his actions are near sighted and foolish. However, the one admirable trait I found within the king was his drive, his resolve.

“He had made it his purpose to unite his kingdom, and by proxy cause it to achieve greatness. Throughout the entire story, he stopped at nothing to inch closer towards that very goal. Not even after his wife’s death did he bother to reconsider his plans, or even so much as think of possibly ending his crusade. No, rather, he had the resolve to see his plan through. And by the end of it all, it was he who sat on the throne, it was he who brought his country to unified glory, even if only for a brief moment.”

Ty Lee furrowed her brows. “So, you like the King? As like, a person?”

Azula chuckled. “As a person, I’d have him executed if he so much as grazed my presence. However, I can admire his traits, even if they belonged to an idiotic psychopath.”

Ty Lee had nothing else to say or add, and so the girl merely nodded. The two of them spent the rest of their evening talking, about the book, and of other things. Whatever they were, it was not important to Ty Lee, for she was far too busy savoring every moment she spent with Azula. For once, she was able to speak with the princess in a way that made her feel good. Yes, her chest ached at the very thought of her, heart pounding as if she were to be chased down by a hungry tiger monkey at any given moment. But through it all, Ty Lee was still happy. Quite honestly, that was all that mattered to the girl, and she wished the princess felt the same way as well—no matter how unlikely it was. A/N: Hey there :) If you've enjoyed this little chapter, consider reading the actual fanfic here Anyway, thx for reading, and have a nice day.

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

I know this isn’t an ask prompt but I would love to know if you had any ideas for a Kazumaji proposal?

Awww, you’re so sweet anon, thank you! Hmmmm, let me think. The problem with them is where to pick it up in continuity? End of 5? After 3? Even before 1? 

I’m quite partial to after 5 myself just because Kiryu’s this old gay man by then who seems to realize that he’s wasted a lot of time not doing the things that made him happy for the greater good and, in doing that, may have sacrificed the thing most important to him. It just feels like a good place for these middle-aged men who have known each other too intimately and too well to finally, y’know, be happy. Let themselves be happy. 

Majima, meanwhile, has been ready to marry and settle down practically since he met Kiryu. If you’ve seen 2, then you see how painstakingly Majima constructs (pun intended) a safe, stable environment apart from the Tojo Clan while not wholly divorcing from it. He’s still accessible when he needs to be, but he has total security living on top of the Florist so he has early warning for any and all threats and has amassed a reputable business with a lot of strong and loyal types that would deter petty disputes. I don’t know about you, but sounds like a pretty reasonable place to raise children if you were also someone who needed to do yakuza business and keep your flock of children safe. I’m Just Saying. And Majima... just waits. Just sits there and waits, ever ready for Kiryu to come to him, for whatever he needs, providing though he hasn’t been asked. I- ugggghhhhhh. Fuck. 

And after 3 seems like such a reasonable time for Kiryu to come back to the fold. I think it’s fair that Kiryu tries to find himself, that he isn’t sure being yakuza is really want he wants to do after all and he goes off to raise some kids because he thinks that’s what he wants. And let’s be real, Kiryu needs a family, he loves his kids, he loves having people to take care of and having people around who love and support him. It does him good. But there’s a reality check there. It’s cool that you want a family and all and you were left devastated by the yakuza life and all your family, all your identity markers were stripped from you because they’re all dead so you’re scrambling to make a new identity with new people filling in those gaps, that’s cool and all, but it’s too fucking late. You’re Kiryu fucking Kazuma, you’re the Dragon of fucking Dojima and you will never not be that. Whatever else you are, whoever else you become, you are always going to be that too. 

And this is what Kazama was trying to warn you and Nishiki about when he said don’t join. If you join, there’s no leaving, there’s no going back, the ink on your back will not fade. You are and always will be the third chairman of the Tojo Clan and because of that, people are always gonna come for you. You’re always going to be a target, and it’s fine, you can take it, but maybe your kids can’t. And in 3 that problem was Loud And Clear. No one would have given a fuck about that orphanage except you were running it. Those kids never would have been in danger except they were a way to get to you. And I'm not trying to make Kiryu feel shitty about his life decisions, again, totally good and reasonable to want a family, but you gotta understand your own damn position. There’s wanting what you want and then there’s ignoring the risks and consequences.

So, y’know, all the more reason to MAYBE find a safe place to have your fucking kids. Just... just saying. MAYBE you COULD have your cake and eat it too if you weren’t such a stubborn idiotic askdfjkjasdhfkjsdh. I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s not him, it’s the writing, it’s not him... it’s fine. 

Anyway. But you asked me for a proposal, I’m getting off track. I think there’s a strong and dangerous argument to be made pre-one. Hell I nearly backed that in Snowed Inn, so, I feel y’all. I feel it. It’s intoxicating, the idea that these bastards couldn’t help themselves, dared hell and high water, and just fucking did it at the worst time possible, when there was everything to lose, because they were just so fucking into each other. Like... fuck, and they would too. Because, in their hearts, it’s always been true. They’ve always been married, there’s never been anyone else. Or, not since they met. Why not get it in writing? Why not just own it? We’re this fucked up about each other, we’re this vulnerable and it’s just... true.

And I’ve also got a real soft spot for old, tired men who have sacrificed a lot for stability over happiness and that has come to such heartbreak that finally... it’s time. 

But I think what I’ll do this time is fix canon and give us the post-3 marriage that we all fucking deserved. It’s not the only thing canon fucked (and Oh Boy we don’t have time for my list on THAT. Send another ask anon ;) ) but it is a glaring one. Enjoy:

After Kiryu got down from Millennium Tower, shaken, bloody, but whole, the first place he went was Majima Construction. 

“Kiryu-san!” Nishida ran over to him when Kiryu came striding through the gates, shirtless and determined, “What bring you-?”

“Where’s Majima?” he huffed, not even stopping for the answer, scanning the layout of the site hoping to spot him. 

Nishida trotted to keep up. “We- we weren’t expecting you! The boss returned not long ago, he’s in his quarters-”

“Where?” Kiryu snapped, eyes on Nishida now. 

Nishida gulped and pointed to a trailer above the work site. “But Kiryu-san, he said no visitors,” Nishida tried to uphold his boss’ wishes. 

“He’ll see me,” Kiryu insisted, starting off in that direction. 

“But he really wasn’t looking like he wanted visitors!” Nishida supplied.

Kiryu stopped and turned to Nishida, forcing himself to relax for a second. “Thank you, Nishida-san,” he nodded gratefully, “I’m not here to fight him, I just want to talk.” 

Nishida’s worried frown loosened a little. “He had a bottle with him,” he muttered, “I think... talking to him might help.” 

Kiryu smiled for half a second. “I hope so.” With that, he nearly sprinted to the stairs like he was making up for lost time. There was no real need to rush, he knew where Majima was and he was unlikely to do anything drastic right now. There was just this tight pressure in his skull that demanded he get to Majima before he lost whatever it was he needed to say. 

He rapped on the trailer door. 

“Go’way,” Majima whined, slurring a little, “We’re closed.” 

“I’m not a customer,” Kiryu explained. 

There was silence, then a rustle, a small sound as Majima tripped on something, then the door swinging open. “Kiryu-chan?” Majima blinked at him, hair askew, leather pants wrinkled and hung unevenly on his hips, “Whatcha doin here?” 

Kiryu blew a breath through his nose. “I came to see you.” 

Majima’s eye widened and, for the first time ever, Kiryu saw a bit of blush rise in his cheeks. Did alcohol have that effect on him? Kiryu saw him try to school his reaction, folding his arms and leaning ineffectually against the doorframe. “Thought ya didn’t want anythin’ t’do with me,” he huffed.

“That’s not-” Kiryu bit his tongue. “Won’t you at least invite me in?”

Majima raised an eyebrow and then leaned back, letting Kiryu just enough room to squeeze inside, so long as he bodily brushed against Majima to do it. Kiryu did catch the sigh escaping from Majima as just for a second their body heat mingled and it became hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Kiryu pushed pass and tried not to get distracted. 

Majima’s snakeskin jacket lay disregarded on the floor, the camp bed under the windows looked rumpled, clearly recently vacated. Kiryu swallowed and looked for somewhere to sit. 

“The bed’s free,” Majima murmured behind him, not quite salacious, but not quite not. 

Kiryu glanced at him over his shoulder before taking the offer and sitting on the edge of the bed. Majima’s mouth twitched, but didn’t quite smile as he plopped down too, stretching out behind Kiryu. 

“So, ya came t’see me?” Majima rejoined, not drunk enough to forget the conversational thread. 

Kiryu breathed deep and focused on a patch of carpet in front of him. “Yeah... yeah I did.” He swallowed. 

The silence held for a moment, then Majima squirmed, sitting up a little more alertly. “Kiryu-chan?” 

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Kiryu finally said, licking his lips and glancing over at Majima.

He frowned. “Bout what?”

“About... everything,” Kiryu sighed, “I um...” His eyes drifted outside, unable to hold on to anything. “I, no, I’m doing this wrong.” He shifted back to the floor. 

Majima sat up properly now, swinging his feet in front of him so he could sit next to Kiryu. “What is it, Kiryu-chan?” he murmured, “You can tell me, I won’t tell a soul.” He grinned a little. “I’m good at that.” 

Kiryu smiled a little. “Yeah, I know. I know. I should have listened to you sooner.” 

Majima nudged his shoulder. “Ya scaring me now, Kiryu-chan, c’mon, just say it.”

“P-People are crazy in love, aren’t they?” Kiryu turned to Majima helplessly. 

Majima’s eye drew saucer-wide. A stuck noise came from the back of his throat. 

Kiryu licked his lips and tried to keep going. “It’s just... what I just saw... I just had a fight with Mine. Daigo’s alive, by the way, he’s fine.” Majima nodded vacantly. “And that fight, it got me thinking. I can’t keep running that orphanage.” He looked away. 

Majima’s sound finally restarted. “Don’t say that Kiryu-chan! Ya love that place!” 

“But I can’t, can I? I’m a danger to those kids,” Kiryu frowned, “You were right, you were just right when you offered me your protection.” He looked back at Majima. “And I’m grateful, I truly am. But I can’t accept.” 

Majima’s face didn’t just fall, it shattered into a thousand pieces on the ground. He dropped his head. “If that’s all you came to tell me, you needn’t have bothered,” he hissed. 

“I didn’t-! Move in with me!” Kiryu gasped.

Majima stared up at him quizzically. 

“I mean- me move in with, I...” Kiryu dropped his head to his hands. “I want to move here, Majima. I should never have left, I’m needed in Kamurocho and I’m needed by those kids and the obvious answer is just... to move here. Live with you. If you’ll have me.” 

Kiryu could hear Majima swallow. “Ah- O-Of course, we’d be-”

Kiryu looked up at him and cringed. “No, see, I’m still not saying it right. I don’t want,” he slid a hand over Majima’s, “your family. I want you.” His fingers wrapped around Majima’s, squeezing tight. “I’ve..." He swallowed hard, looking at Majima’s shoulder and not his face. “I want...” He bit his lip. 

“Kiryu-chan...” Majima whispered, bringing his free hand to Kiryu’s face, stroking the curve of his cheek just once, “will you marry me?”

Kiryu groaned something like a sob and crushed Majima to his chest. He buried his face in Majima’s shoulder so hard he didn’t feel Majima shaking for minutes as they both cried. 

“Yes,” Kiryu swallowed, nodding fervently as he realized he hadn’t actually responded, “Yes, yes, I... yes.” He panted, leaning back to look at Majima. 

Majima’s smile wobbled, his tears still running over, but the smile was there. “Oh, Kiryu-chan.”

Kiryu pulled him close again and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been real stupid, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Majima muttered, “Don’t ruin the moment. You’ve just... done more than I could ever ask for, Kiryu-chan.” 

Kiryu just held him close. Majima’s heart beat close to his and it was nice to know it would never beat from afar again.

[youraveragebtsstan]

A Namjin Fanfic: “Mono”

Genre: Fluff, Lime

Pairing: Namjoon x Jin (Namjin)

Word Count: 5.8k (5,889)

Summary: After a year of living in Monochromatic color, Namjoon reunites with his best friend Jin restoring everything as it should be. As unresolved tensions linger in the air, the rose-colored tints of their worlds begin to bleed together. But what happens when suppressed emotions bubble to the surface, forcing the two to pick up where they left off?

AO3 (Archive Of Our Own) Link: Click Here

—————–

With a crack of thunder in the distance, Namjoon suddenly became aware of the present. Stretching his neck above water, he gasped at fresh air, for the previous months of his life had done nothing but consume him, drowning him in memories of the past. 

Day in and day out, he relived them in his mind- recalling a man that meant so much, one word would never be enough to describe.

He was his safe haven.

The first, and sometimes only to know what thoughts truly plagued his mind; recalling a moment where pure adrenaline and just his words alone gave him all the strength he needed. After months of mental torment from a failing relationship, one fateful night resulted in Namjoon packing what little he could carry, leaving behind everything he could live without. Upon storming out of the apartment and exiting the building, it was the vision of Jin’s proud smile that allowed him to ignore his ex’s shouts of disbelief and step into the taxi along the curbside. It wasn’t until he sank into the backseat that Namjoon allowed himself to breathe. Pulling out his phone, he stared mindlessly into the light letting his finger do the thinking. There on-screen, laid a year’s worth of pain in the form of five simple words, ‘I did it, I left.’ It was then that Namjoon realized he was the first to know. Without fear or hesitation, he would always be the first.

He was his best friend.  

The only person never entitled enough to ridicule his decisions. Always understanding and never quick to judge, Jin was always by his side. Even when Namjoon faced the world alone, he was never truly unescorted. Recalling a time when only six boxes lined the living room wall of his empty condo, Jin was there to help carry the load. While embarking on a new journey, it was he who gave him a place to stay until he was able to find one of his own. Christening the home with laughter and the smell of local takeout, it was here where Namjoon felt solace- comfort in the realization he was the only one to truly show unconditional support. No matter the circumstances, he would always be the only.

He was his heartbreaker. 

A love that would always pain him to breathe as it sweetly passed through his lungs; recalling a time where his long-awaited bliss came crashing, falling to the floor around him. As he wrestled advantages and drawbacks in his mind, one true desire floated to the center of it all. But before the courage that followed could find its way to the surface, talks of a 166-mile void haunted Namjoon in the form of Jin’s voice. While an unsteady smile framed his face, Namjoon suffered in the feeling of heartache as the organ in his chest had never beat so clearly for one person’s smile in his life. It was at this moment he appointed him his love. No matter the outcome, he would always be his love.

He would always be his everything - and here he was.

Leaning against his condo door, with eyes tinted red- compliments of the wine lingering from an hour before. With his skin softly tanned- contrasting the dark rain stained clothes, Jin smiled with excitement. Namjoon laughed at the strange sense of humor the world had. It wasn’t until now, face to face with his daydreams, was he able to inhale.

The two wiped their feet on the welcome mat as they stepped through the door. Fearing the dark and unfamiliar space, Jin shuffled back toward the door. It wasn’t until he felt the wool of Namjoon’s coat scrape his fingertips, did he realize he had gripped onto his arm. Namjoon lowered his head as his smile widened. Blushing in the dark, he shook his head, quickly shaking off the embarrassment. Losing comfort for a brief moment, Jin stood still as Namjoon left his side, the wool once again scraping his nails. With the sound of a switch pressing against metal soon, the kitchen stove light revealed Namjoon silhouetted in its orange glow. 

And to think, Jin had just begun to breathe.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Namjoon said.

Leaving his jacket on a hook near the door, Jin felt his nerves slip away as he hung them to dry. He slipped off his shoes, lining them against the coarse mat with his toes, eventually making his way out of the kitchen and onto the living room carpet. Sitting in front of him was a couch, facing the wall to his left; and a small glass coffee table- housing a cooking magazine and a set of coasters- separated the two. Lining the left wall itself was a shelving unit only waist-high, allowing a tv, a few picture frames, and other small electronics to rest. Centered behind the couch sat a thin wooden console table, originally added to occupy the space accidentally provided more storage. In front of the console table, lining the wall to his right, housed a small office space, a place where Namjoon spent most of his downtime making music and working on his days away from the office. A modern office chair tucked perfectly underneath a glass table topped desk guarded with metal filing cabinets, plants, and a small trash can. Finally, behind it, all was the city. A prime view of Seoul on display hidden behind closed blinds.

“Oh wow, this place looks completely different.”

Jin wandered, eyes growing wider as his head turned. Suddenly he stopped. Placing his excitement on hold as he bent down pointing at a small picture frame next to the TV. Covering his mouth in embarrassment, Jin’s cheeks grew red.

“Oh no! Why is this out here in the open? This needs to be hidden.”

Panicking at the tone of Jin’s voice, Namjoon shuffled past the coffee table, huddling by his side. Picking up the small framed photo, he stared at the picture of two young boys nestled together. A younger version of himself stood on the right of the photo, barely managing his lanky limbs hidden behind an overgrown bowl cut; and standing to his left was a slightly older Jin, face framed by coke bottle glasses and newly discovered acne.

A smile crawled across his face.

Placing the frame down gently, Namjoon spoke with a soft assurance.

“I like this picture.”

“Of course you do,” said Jin as he rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Finding curiosity in the blinds that unevenly covered the window, Jin pulled on a small thin chain that hung along their edge. As he activated the pulley, the long panels separated from the center, revealing a blue-lit city as rain morphed the view.

“Ahhhhh,” he gasped standing motionless. “If I had a view like this, I would never close these blinds.”

Namjoon chuckled, now leaning back into the couch cushions as he watched him.

Stepping back, Jin inched his way to the couch plopping down in front of Namjoon never once taking his eyes off the window. He watched on as the raindrops decorated the glass in abstract brushes.

“This has to be one of the best views in Seoul… Even when it rains, it’s still beautiful.”

Lit only by the orange hue of the kitchen light, the cityscape provided very little brightness for the room. Though only casting a pale tint, no light was needed. Fitting like the final piece of the puzzle, the atmosphere was flawless; nothing needed to be said. Silence lingered between the two. 

“You don’t have a view like this?” asked Namjoon poking through the peace.

Jin turned to his left, raising an eyebrow in comical confusion.

“You’ve seen my apartment. A one-bedroom no bigger than the size of your kitchen, and you think that broom closet is going to have a view?”

Namjoon chuckled at the comparison.

Jin continued as he huffed in annoyance, “The closest thing to a view is an alleyway about ten feet wide.”

“Well, it is rent-free… Perks of being a peds surgeon at Chonnam National,” he added nudging Jim playfully.

He felt no shame from the bold brag, that fell from his lips. He rested further into the cushions, as his nervousness seemed to exist no longer.

Jin too sunk into the cushions but for a different reason. He sighed.

“ Former peds surgeon,” he quietly corrected.

With a shot to the heart, Namjoon sat up with a start. Eyes wide and mouth slightly gaped, he leaned forward bracing himself on his knees.

“You quit pediatrics?!”

“No,” inserted Jin, calm and relaxed as ever. “-Just Chonnam. I already put in my two months’ notice.”

Though Jin’s words of clarity were designed for comfort, Namjoon still felt uneasy. The words ‘pediatrics’ and ‘Jin’ always fit so perfectly together. From the moment the two met, pediatrics had always been the number one goal for Jin. Which is why when Jin called after passing all of his doctorate exams with flying colors, Namjoon was most elated. Despite being reassured Jin still intended to pursue his pediatrics career, having Chonnam out of the picture just didn’t seem right. Namjoon almost found it comical- casting it off as a practical joke, but the comedy soon faded to tragedy.

“Where are you transferring to?” he asked.

“Seoul National.”

“Seoul!?”

For a moment he thought he had misheard. For a moment he thought it was a mistake, but when staring a little longer at Jin’s eyes, Namjoon was granted confirmation. Namjoon’s eyes grew wide again. Suddenly, the fear that lingered turned into something different. Namjoon gave in as his heart fluttered him to the skies; he bared down the rosey grin that came with it, choosing the lesser of two evils.

Jin nodded in conformation.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking for an apartment for about 3 months now. I found one 20 minutes away from here about one month into the search, put in my notice a week later after I got the apartment.” 

Turning away from Namjoon, Jin continued his gaze out the window. He traced his chin with his finger as he continued, “Now the view’s nothing like this, but it’s still beautiful.” 

“So you left for the view ?”

Namjoon’s curiosity grew hungrier in the silence lasting longer than expected.

“Come on, what made you leave Chonnam? It was your dream job, especially for pediatrics. You had been applying there for so long.”

“I was homesick I guess,” Jin confessed. “Plus, Chonnam was number eleven on Newsweek last year, Seoul National was number three. I was hired the same day I notified Chonnam, I quit after I found out of course.”

“How long ago did you apply for Seoul National?”

“About four, maybe five months ago,” Jin said with a nod.

“Well, congratulations,” said Namjoon with a smile.

Jin bowed playfully, “Thank-you. Oh! And you’re helping me move in a few weeks, just to let you know.”

Namjoon laughed at his advise.

“It’s only right considering I helped you,” Jin reiterated.

“I only had a few boxes when I first moved here, and you watched most of the time!”

A smack echoed through the room, as Jin’s hand playfully hit Namjoon’s shoulder, “It doesn’t matter, you’re still helping.”

“And it’s not like I’ll have a lot of things, most of the things I have now came with the Chonnam apartment, and with it, they’ll stay. Plus, I won’t be at home most of the time anyway, I’ll either be at the hospital or here enjoying the view from your couch,” he added with a raised brow.

Namjoon chuckled.

The mood of the room became overwhelming, pausing conversation. Succumbing to relaxation, Jin turned to face the window completely. Crossing his ankles over the arm of the couch, he wormed his way to the bottom, lazily resting his head on Namjoon’s lap. Jin tucked his hands into his sleeves as he swaddled himself. 

It was now that Namjoon allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. His breath fell calmly, as he stared out of the window. Sounds of the room flooded in; the hum of the heater acted as white noise, while the light rain played in the background. Raindrops slid down the window, swirling and blurring the sky’s paint. It was almost film worthy.

“I still can't believe you had these blinds closed,” stated Jin.

Matching the tone of the room, Namjoon’s voice poured out with a softness, “I never really had a reason to keep them open.”

Puzzled at the mystery that always has and always will be his best friend, Jin turned to face Namjoon. His hair rustled against Namjoon’s thigh as he looked up at the man.

“Do you have a reason yet?” Jin questioned.

Remaining focused on the view, Namjoon answered without thought, “Yeah, you'll be out there.”

Jin's shoulders shook as he chuckled at the comment.

“I've always been out there,” he said gesturing to the window.

Trailing his eyes away from the sky, Namjoon shook his head in disagreement.

“No, you’ve been in Gwangju, but now you’ll be here, out there in Seoul.”

Jin grew silent. 

Urged by the voice inside him, he too retracted from the view, only to have his eyes meet Namjoon’s fixated pair. Staring down at him softly, the gaze was all but intrusive. Coupled with honesty, Jin found a new wave of comfort wash over him. It was now he, who lost track of time. There was something so tranquil about the vulnerability in Namjoon’s eyes, he could get lost forever; wanted to get lost forever.

Involuntarily, Jin blinked pulling himself from the void. Soon he met with the realization of how many seconds had passed. Heat spread across his face, leaving a small tint of red in its place. Restlessness kicked in as his fingers found themselves clawing at the lining of his sweater’s hem. Blinking sporadically, Jin’s embarrassment began to show. Sparing him from more shame, Namjoon’s pupils faded away as he returned his gaze to the window. Feeling exposed and in need of reassurance, Jin glanced around in the dark before flowing suit.

Namjoon sighed as he continued, “I don’t really know. I guess Seoul felt empty; almost like it was missing something. After a while, I just stopped looking.”

“I felt the same way about Gwangju,” Jin said as his nerves settled. “I over exceeded my expectations, making it all feel underwhelming I suppose,” he admitted.

Namjoon agreed in a hum.

“Did you figure out what was missing?”Jin asked.

Namjoon looked down in confusion.

“Did you figure it out? You said Seoul was missing something, did you figure out what was missing?”

Namjoon huffed out a deep drag of air. He smirked at his hyung, always concerned and caring for others.

“I did,” he confessed. “I knew what was missing all along, actually. For a while, I avoided it; I tried ignoring the fact it was missing in the first place. But when that didn’t work, when I did find it, I realized some things just don’t want to be found, so I stopped. I stopped waiting and looking altogether.”

The words fell heavy on Jin’s shoulders. Already wrestling with self-inflicted guilt, Jin felt like toppling over at the sweetly crafted innuendos. For months he had been restless, fighting with a decision that weighed on his heart. And an evening of Namjoon’s fragileness added to the pressure, bursting him at the seams. Jin sat up slowly.

Namjoon blinked at the frown that crinkled Jin’s brow.

“Namjoon...I never- I never tried to…” Jin said sighing in between words as they struggled to find their way out.

“Jin,” Namjoon said softly.

“Namjoon, we- we need to talk about this.”

Namjoon’s heart began to race. He let out a quick sigh as he closed his eyes. 

He thought he had avoided it. After arriving at the restaurant fifteen minutes too early and finding Jin already waiting at the table for two; after the two-hour dinner and ten-minute walk home in the rain, Namjoon assumed everything was fine. Nothing had come up in conversation; no hesitant smiles or hollow periods of silence followed by scraping forks haunted their reunion. Everything had fallen into place; slipping into grooves so easily as it did before. So why now, after all this time did the glass finally shatter? Stained with cracks, everything crumbled around him. He assumed everything had been forgotten and for the first time tonight, Namjoon felt foolish.

“We’ve been avoiding this all night. We can’t act like- I can’t act like this never happened,” replied Jin.

Namjoon responded with silence.

Jin stammered as he spoke, “I- I don’t want you to think I was running or hiding, because I wasn’t running or hiding from anything, especially not you. I didn’t- I didn’t even know until you came to visit. If- if I had known, I wouldn't have-”

Namjoon interrupted, head tilted to the side with a slight squint in his eyes.

“-left?” he questioned softly.

Jin quickly shook his head in agreeance, “No, I wouldn’t have.”

The mood had shifted.

The once mellow skies morphed into a harsh, tense cloud that grew only in that very room. Yes, yes! Jin’s heart raced as he nodded wildly, swallowing the lump in his throat; Finally some clarity! But no, enough was enough. Namjoon grew exhausted from the games. Thinking he could pick and choose what to keep hidden in the dark when it came to Jin was ignorant. Allowing himself to be open with the truth had only gotten him more bruised. Reopening old wounds had nearly drained him of his pain- leaving only frustration. 

Standing from the couch in a rush his hands swung by his sides, clenching into fists resting by his hips. He glared at Jin, staring up, hopeful and wide-eyed. Growing slightly on edge, Namjoon’s voice rose in pitch as he spoke. He felt guilty even doing so.

“Come on Jin. You’re saying you wouldn’t have left Seoul if I told you how I felt sooner, not even for Chonnam?!”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Jin trying to lower his own voice with no avail.

Namjoon huffed in a chuckle.

“Namjoon, you would have known that if you didn’t leave Gwangju early,” said Jin continuing with reason. “You left before I could give you an answer.”

“I left early because I didn’t want to ruin the weekend. I shouldn’t have said anything. You were having such a good time showing me around and I ruined it. I shouldn't have even-” 

“-Good time?!” Jin questioned.

His voice peaked at a screech. His eyes now vexed and body stiff, Jin stared at Namjoon in hurt and confusion. His heart continued to race.

“Namjoon I was 268 kilometers away from home and miserable. Gwangju was not a good time for me! Namjoon I had no friends, no family, no social life. I worked sixty hours a week and barely got any sleep. I was homesick! I missed Seoul, I missed my family, my friends, I missed you. That weekend you came to visit, I was only excited because you were there!”

And with that fell the guilt. The rant-like memoir bared all of Jin's burdens. Namjoon's face dropped in sorrow. Only a whisper could escape.

“Jin.”

“I didn’t handle it as well as I should have and Soju didn't help at all, I admit; but you telling me you loved me, made my day. Hell, it made that year worth living.”

Namjoon stayed quiet, the lump in his throat grew larger by the second. 

“Before I could give you a sober answer, the next morning you were already on a train back to Seoul.”

“I didn’t know… I- I just thought I messed up. I wanted to take it back and pretend I never said it. I thought it would make it easier if I just left… I never thought- I never knew you were unhappy,” said Namjoon as his voice cracked.

Jin replied softly, “I guess we both had a rough year.”

Namjoon didn’t know what to say. Now that everything was out in the open, what was there left to say? Nothing; everything. Namjoon could barely think; his mind flickering between blank space and crammed emotion. Feeling tears well in his eyes, he dared not to blink. Turning toward the kitchen he trailed his fingers along the countertop, tapping them as he cleared his throat. He crouched behind the counter, disappearing from view. As he fumbled with the grooves of the small cabinet doors, tears spilled over his lashes. Taking a moment he paused, letting the tears roll down his cheeks. Nodding to himself, he cleared his throat, this time with a little more subtlety. Wiping away the tears with his shirt, Namjoon cleared his vision, opening the cabinet door grabbing a single bottle of wine. 

Placing the bottle on the counter, he grabbed two glasses from a nearby rack housing various shot glasses and other ceramic cups. Tapping the faucet’s handle, he rinsed them; their glass clinked under the stream. Not caring to dry them off, he placed the warm glass on the counter filling them with the cool white wine. The bottle’s aluminum top creaked as it spun. As he sloppily filled each glass, the sounds of sniffles broke threw the splashes of the liquor. He ignored them just as Jin had done for him only moments before. Sliding on of the now half-filled glasses across the counter, he raised his own to his lips waiting. Standing in the glow of the kitchen light he waited, watching over its rim.

Jin’s shoulders raised as he sniffed. Eyes wide, he tucked his fingers in his sleeves as he wiped away the tears that capped their water lines. Once again the night sky became clear. 

Rubbing his arms out of restlessness, he sighed. 

Turning his back on the city, Jin walked toward the counter, careful to keep his head trained on the glass. He glanced up, noticing Namjoon’s stare drop from his position to the contents of his glass. Jin did the same. Slumping down onto his forearms, he raised the glass to his lips. Only after feeling the sting of its scent did he drink.

Namjoon spoke as he swallowed, “I couldn’t tell you to stay.”

Gaging the sound of his voice against the rain, he paused taking another sip.

“Telling you to stay, meant telling you to leave your dream for me. I wanted to… but I couldn’t.”

Tapping his nails on the glass, Jin swirled his wine with the shake of his wrist. Watching the wine wrap into a funnel, he pressed his lips together, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

“Do you remember when we spent the night on the living room floor in my old condo? It was about a month after you came to live with me and it stormed so bad it knocked the power out in the whole building.”

Namjoon chuckled, “You lit so many candles that night, you didn’t realize some of the wax melted down the counter and into-.”

“-Into the carpet, yes! And they never gave me back my deposit either,” interrupted Jin as he pushed off the counter with excitement.

“Yeah, I remember,” smiled Namjoon.

Taking another sip, Jin lowered himself to the counter again.

“Well, while you were scraping the wax out of the carpet, I realized my dream was worthless without you in it. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor- even before I met you, you know that- but having someone there for it all was important too. I didn’t just want to go to work, come home and do it all over again. I wanted someone I could come home to, and you being there made me realize that.”

The two locked eyes. Frozen, inches apart, they stared.

“I had just submitted my application for Chonnam and you had just moved in. I couldn’t tell you I was in love with you and then a few months later leave you, the timing wasn’t right,” said Jin as he shook his head.

“And besides, I definitely couldn’t ask you to move across the country to live with me even if I got hired, you had just started to enjoy Seoul again. You were smiling and laughing. You hadn’t looked that happy in a long time and I wasn’t going to be the reason you stopped; I couldn’t. But yeah… being in Gwangju by myself made me realize I didn’t just want someone to be there… I wanted you.”

Namjoon paused, tracing his finger inside the rim of his glass. Placing the glass down, he slumped further into the counter, fully resting on his forearms. He glanced up at Jin.

“And you figured this out while I was hacking your carpet to pieces?”

Jin laughed. Placing a hand over his mouth, he leaned his head back as his shoulders shook. Elated, to say the least, he almost felt the need to cry. He had not realized how long it had been since he heard Namjoon’s voice. The voice of a man not laced with frustration, secrecy or embarrassment, but filled with his usual hints of sarcastic curiosity.

A smirk appeared on Namjoon’s face.

“I guess I had known for a while, I just...I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Jin responded.

Namjon nodded allowing a few moments of silence.

“So where do we go from here? Do we jump right in, give us a chance or do we even try to begin with?”

“We can try. I mean, we already know how we feel. There’s no harm in that as long as we don’t force anything.”

As Jin put an end to his ramble, he noticed the space between the two had shortened. Namjoon’s face was now inches away; his tone, dark and raspy.

“So let everything happen… naturally?”

Jin could feel his breath on his nose. Searching for Namjoon’s eyes, Jin found them- hiding under their lids, as they set fire to his lips. He felt the urge to lick them, feeling them crack under the heat. His words choked out in a whisper as he swallowed.

“R-right, naturally,” said Jin as he trailed off.

But before he could lift out of the haze, Namjoon’s lips met his, a fire blazing between the two. Mind blanking on contact, Jin’s thoughts reverted to one-word syllables. Lead by a string of, ‘oh my god’ s and ‘wow ’s, his synapses began to fire again, flashing like fireworks on the Fourth. Trying to rein in the chaos, Jin focused on the first coherent thought that came to mind; his lips. 

Namjoon’s lips were rougher than he had imagined.

In his occasional daydreams, while his best friend went on rants about musicality, Jin had always noted his lips to be quite full and sultry; imagining they would be sweet to the taste, almost fragile. Or perhaps after waking up in the middle of the night, dragging himself into the shower, as his hands continued the fantasy, Jin recalled the dreams of Namjoon’s lips leaving wet delicate kisses on his neck, as they trailed over his collarbone, tracing the center of his stomach. 

But this, this was different.

This kiss was far more rigid than his dreams. Filled with a rush of reality, it was electrifying. Hungrily, the two kissed. Starting off quick as they explored, slowing to an agonizing crawl, giving Jin only but a moment to breathe before eventually regaining speed. It was more breathtaking than he could ever imagine. The insides of Jin’s mouth were painted with a mixture of wine and saliva. His lips now tender and raw, Jin whimpered in between gasps. Reaching for Jin’s face, Namjoon trailed his fingers over his jaw. Cupping his cheek, he caressed him, holding him closer. Feeling the effects of the evening’s wine, Namjoon buzzed with warmth. Jin’s breath hitched as Namjoon moaned. 

Wow, Jin thought as his eyes rolled under closed lids. He had imagined that too. 

Letting his mind ponder at the sounds Namjoon would let slip from his throat if he were to have just one night to let his hands explore like his wandering eyes. 

Jin’s head began to swim. He could feel the fire travel from his lips to his core, tickling his spine on the way down. Blood thumped against his eardrums, mimicking the steady pulse within his jeans. Jin scolded himself mentally, now was not the time to fantasize. There was no point, no need for imagination; this was real. 

This… could be real.

Jin marveled at the idea. This could be his routine- his morning, noon and night. He could finally have that ‘someone’ he had been looking for. That ‘someone’ to crawl into bed with after 24-hour shifts, or that ‘someone’ to lay on the floor with spending hours scraping wax out of carpet on long stormy nights. He could finally have that ‘someone’ he had been missing for over a year. 

Namjoon could be that one. 

It could finally be reality; his reality. A reality he so desperately longed for.

Bringing their tango of tongues to an end, Namjoon’s kiss grew gentler by the second, easing himself down from a high he had not realized he was on. Opening his eyes, Namjoon held Jin’s gaze. His hooded eyes were a faded pink and parted lips slightly swollen. Soon the humid fog in the air disappeared. Namjoon’s cheeks flushed as his dimpled smile widened. 

He dropped his head, “I’m sorry, that was definitely the opposite of not forcing it.”

Jin smiled as he withdrew from Namjoon’s touch. Letting adrenaline fade from his veins, he raised from the counter breathing fresh air once again. Careful not to stand completely, he too blushed, feeling waves of arousal rock as the storm passed.

He cleared his throat as he mocked Namjoon’s coyness, “Actually, that was far from forced. Almost as natural as you can get.”

Namjoon clenched his eyes shut. Dropping his face in his hands, he laughed.

“Ahhh, babo… Babo, babo. I shouldn't have done that.”

Staring into the distance, he raked his hands through his hair. Dragging them to his cheeks, he patted them softly.

“Why did I do that? Ahhhh, I feel red.”

Leaning back onto the counter, Jin reached for the bottle of wine discarded to the side.

“Maybe it was the wine. Here, have some more,” questioned Jin as he tipped out more liquor into Namjoon’s glass.

Namjoon groaned as he watched his glass be filled to the brim.

“Ahhhhh.”

Raising a brow at the man, Jin quickly refilled his own glass.

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow anyway.”

Walking around the counter, Jin grew closer to Namjoon, almost disregarding the chunk of marble between them. Propping himself on the counter, he swung his feet back and forth, careful not to hit his heels on its base. Taking a sip of the wine, he turned to his returning his attention to the window.

Namjoon looked on at the man that watched the rain. 

Chuckling at Jin’s fascination, Namjoon glanced out the windows into the night sky. Watching the city lights twinkle as rain smeared their shine, his cheeks no longer radiated with embarrassment. A blanket of content wrapped around him. Swaddling him in happiness and fulfillment, Namjoon welcomed the long-lost sensation. 

Finally, he understood why Jin found his lack of interest in the view so absurd. From the moment Jin entered his home, he had found everything he needed; everything he had missed all wrapped in one. It wasn’t until now, as Namjoon stared into the cosmic void, that he realized everything had aligned as it should. Colliding like the moon over the sun, Jin cast a shadow on his world whenever he was away. And oh, what a cold and long eclipse it had been. 

But now, his warmth had returned. What was once lost, was found; what seemed so far out of reach was now within his grasp. And even the most muted of grays seemed beautiful against the rain.

Glancing at the glass in front of him, Namjoon raised it to his lips, sipping with caution. As he placed the glass down, he walked along the edge of the counter eventually stopping in front of Jin- the older had not noticed. Still distracted by his muse, his stare on the view remained still. Only when he felt the subtle tug of his glass being pried from his hands did Jin turn away. Namjoon gently removed the glass from Jin’s lap placing it next to his own. Resting his hand along the side of Jin’s jeans he stared at the seams, trailing his fingertips across the thread. Gripping at the denim, Namjoon’s palm pressed into Jin’s thigh. Heat radiated across his skin like wildfire. With unspoken permission, Jin spread his knees apart, allowing Namjoon to grow closer. Trailing over Namjoon’s arms, he wrapped his arms around his neck. As his hands hung inches away from his shoulder blades, he marveled at their newly found confidence. 

Once again, Jin found himself helpless under their magnetic pull. Leaning in he paused, only inches away from the lips of the other. 

With a whisper, he confessed, “I love you too.”

Before the breath from Jin’s lungs had time to cool his dampened lips, Namjoon found himself melting into Jin’s kiss. Jin’s fingers ran through his hair, raking and rummaging his scalp as they shared a more genuine kiss. More delicate and patient in nature, this kiss allowed for more time. More time to explore; more time to feel the warmth of content rather than the fleeting sting of lust.

Rocking its way in between the rhythm of the kiss, Jin’s words echoed in the back of Namjoon’s mind. Carrying him to that day in Gwangju where the sun spent most of its time soaking he and Jin in its rays all afternoon. The day that started off as an adventure through the city eventually turning into a drunken night encouraged by one too many shots. The day that concluded with the confession of Namjoon’s true feelings; his first true ‘I love you’.

Though months had passed since the once regretful encounter and the unspoken tension had well over been resolved, Namjoon felt the butterflies in his stomach flutter to the surface. Once suppressed and often ignored, Namjoon could disregard his feelings no more. Rather it be more than a year ago, lying on the floor under a blanket of thunder, or now, resting on cold marble wrapped within his touch, knowing that Jin felt the same way made Namjoon feel complete. Pulling away from the kiss Namjoon rested his head against Jin’s. Lightly, he nuzzled his nose against the other as he caught his breath. Careful not to grow too far apart for fear if they did he wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. 

Here Namjoon remained, calmly reveling in a moment he had waited so long for. But in that moment, the wait itself no longer seemed to matter.

At that moment, the only thing he cared for, was him and his love; a love introduced and encouraged by rain and a view from a ten-story window.

At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the view and the rain itself; and oh how he hoped it would rain forever.

Completed On: Feb. 7th 2020

Written By: Carmen Feaster (YourAverageBTSStan)

Feel Free To Reblog- Just Give Credit

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Blow By Blow ch.6 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

~~*~~

Read Chapter 6 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Much as Edge enjoying the feel of Stretch sleeping in his arms, breathing soft and even in the same rhythm as the pulse of his soul, the entertainment value eventually waned. Especially in the middle of the day. Gently, and with no few teasing kisses, he nudged Stretch awake and helped him totter to his feet, watching closely as he made his fumbling way upstairs.

Stretch’s clothes had taken the brunt of their earlier play and Edge gathered them from where they’d fallen, grimacing at their state. They’d already been suitable for the dustbin even before, but he would add them to the laundry. Their service in keeping his own clothing free of stains was a worthy sacrifice.

When Stretch came back downstairs, he was dressed in the spoils of raiding Edge’s side of the closet, down to his socks and even a plain t-shirt, something he rarely did. Not that Edge was going to complain; if Stretch was choosing to take his comfort from being wrapped up in his clothes, like a hug made of cotton and thread, that was fine by him. Though Edge did wonder if Stretch had noticed yet that he’d started buying his jeans a little longish and cuffing them, so that when Stretch inevitably borrowed a pair, they would fit. Stretch bypassed the last three steps to hop straight to the landing, and managed to not land on his coccyx. He dusted his hands briskly. “okay, now that that’s out of the way, what’s up for the day?”

“Do you need a moment to mark sexual intercourse off your chore chart?” Edge asked dryly.

“nah, might have to do it again, make sure it got done right.” That cheeky grin would normally have filled Edge with exasperated fondness. Today it was closer to relief.

Edge glanced at the clock. There were a few hours before he needed to do anything about Antwan’s situation. He could get some work done, but Stretch had already spent his morning misery-binging reruns. And he still hadn’t had lunch.

“We can do whatever you like, but lunch should be somewhere on the agenda.”

“well, call me a crazy romantic, but i’m starving. feed me?”

“Gladly, Seymour.” But instead of letting him slouch back on the sofa, Edge took his hand and tugged. “Come on, you can help.”

“what? nooo, that is a terrible idea.” His socked feet slid along the carpet as Edge pulled him determinedly along. “seriously, i’m a shitty cook, babe, you know that!”

“Actually, I know no such thing.” His tactic stalled at the kitchen door and instead Edge picked Stretch up, ignoring his squawking and carrying him in. “You’re a decent baker when you try. You aren’t bad at cooking, you just don’t like it, which translates into poor effort.”

“see there!” Came from about the middle of Edge’s back. “poor effort!”

“But you’ll put in effort today, I’m sure. Since I’m injured and need your help.”

Silence, then sullenly. “dirty pool, babe.” Stretch sighed and dangled for a long moment over Edge’s shoulder before grudgingly, “okay, okay. i’ll help.”

Edge set him on his feet and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheekbone. “Thank you.”

“yeah, yeah. what do you want?”

What he wanted was Stretch in the same room with him, until he could be sure his dark mood wasn’t going to pull the shutters again. What he said was, “Get a loaf of the sourdough bread from the pantry. It’s marked.”

While Stretch did that, Edge rummaged in the refrigerator, “I know that mustard isn’t your preferred condiment, but I find it gives this sandwich a much-needed tang.”

“tangy, yeah, no wonder your brother likes it. got a hell of a tang, doesn’t he.”

Edge hummed in agreement, unwrapped the cheese he’d chosen. Gruyere and sharp cheddar, and pulled out the grater. “I suppose that’s a way to put it. What were you two talking about earlier?”

It would be a refreshing change to have even one person in his life that responded well to the direct approach. But it wouldn’t be happening today. Stretch only plunked the bread on the counter and shrugged. “nothing.”

“Nothing. Hm.” Edge eyed the pile of shredded cheese measuringly. A little more. “The two of you stood around in silence, then. It must’ve been very boring.”

“nah, your bro is never short on entertainment. “ He stole a pinch of the shredded cheese, dancing back before Edge could swat him and munching it happily. He licked his fingers and said, more seriously, “we’re okay, babe, you don’t need to worry.”

“No?”

“nope. we got an understanding, me and Red.”

Edge paused as he sliced the bread. “That sounds utterly horrifying.”

“probably is. what are we making, anyway?”

“Grilled cheese.” Eight slices of bread used most of the loaf. That was fine, he’d already planned to make more on Saturday.

“fancy.”

“Good doesn’t need to be fancy, and you like grilled cheese.”

“i like your grilled cheese.” Stretch dragged one of the stools from the small breakfast bar over and sat, chin propped up on one hand. “why do you shred the cheese?”

“I find it melts more evenly.” Edge began spreading mayonnaise on the bread slices. “Grilled cheese may not be considered fancy, but there’s no reason to not do it right.”

Stretch only nodded, watching intently as he carefully mounded the cheese on the bread, adding a slice of onion and smear of mustard. With only a little nudging, Stretch did the same and if shreds of cheese were trailing out of his imperfectly balanced sandwiches, Edge ignored it.

He set a pan to heat on the stove and waggled a finger at Stretch in a silent ‘come hither’. It was crowded with both of them at the stove, all elbows fighting for space and Stretch ignoring the toasting sandwiches in favor of trying to get a hand under Edge’s untucked shirt. In the end, they had four imperfect toasted cheese sandwiches, unevenly browned and with melted cheese clinging in long strings to fingers and mouths whenever they took a bite.

Edge thought they might well be the best sandwiches he’d ever eaten, and his soul was calm.

Afterward, they curled up on the sofa together to watch new episodes of The Great British Baking Show, and it never failed to amuse Edge how invested Stretch was for someone who claimed to be such a terrible cook.

“it’s a genoise sponge,” Stretch huffed. He was mostly lying across Edge’s lap, allowing him to trace the suture lines on his skull with a gentle finger. “he already over-mixed it and now he keeps opening the oven!”

“It’s going to fall,” Edge agreed. His phone lit up with a text message from Alphys, confirming that she could see them in the morning. He closed it discreetly and listened to Stretch rant as they waited to see if the poor sponge cake would be worth elimination. Honesty was important, yes, but he thought it could wait a few hours yet.

It was late afternoon and at the end of the available episodes when Edge finally told Stretch, “I need to go over your brother’s for a moment, I won’t be long.”

That dragged his attention from the Netflix menu. “my brother? what for?”

“Penance,” Edge said dryly. “I won’t be long…unless you want to come along?”

“nah,” Stretch rolled off him with a groan and settled on one of the sofa cushions, a distant second when it came to places to lay his head. “i’ve been seeing him every day since andy moved in and if i tag along, it won’t be a moment.”

That was true. Edge took a moment to straighten his shirt, adjusting it with the sleeves rolled up, then dropped a kiss on Stretch’s skull before stepping into his shoes.

It wasn’t a far walk and the weather was nice enough to take in the fresh air. Since he’d skipped his run that morning, he could settle for this. The sidewalks were mostly empty, only a few children still playing before getting called in for dinner, and when Edge arrived he was pleased to see the delivery he’d requested was right on time.

Blue answered the door on the first knock, beaming up at him, “Edge, hello! Did you come over for some more healing?”

“No,” he stepped inside as Blue held open the door. “Actually I was hoping to speak to you. It’s about your brother.”

That made Blue perk up like a prairie dog out of its burrow, as he’d known it would. He’d been trying to think of a plan on how to get Blue out of the house most of the afternoon, and this one had only occurred to him on his walk over. It would work, but there would be consequences, he knew.

“What’s wrong?” Blue could always be counted on his brisk efficiency when it came to Stretch. “Nothing is wrong, exactly,” Edge said, “and he hasn’t said anything specific. But I think your brother has been missing you lately.” The stars that made up Blue’s eye lights widened into a brilliant gleam, “He has?” “Yes,” Edge said gravely. Silently, he sent up a prayer to whomever might listen to LV-scarred Monsters that his husband would forgive him for chucking him under the proverbial bus that was his brother’s concern. Blue frowned, considering, “But he’s been over every day!” “Ah, but Jeff is here. I think maybe he misses it being just the two of you. Would you mind stopping over?” Edge coaxed. “Just for a bit? I need to see Jeff for a few minutes, it should give you a little time to talk.” Blue was already stripping off his apron. Edge only watched him go, already guiltily thinking up ways to make it up to Stretch. Hopefully before his husband started contemplating the death part of till death do us part. But he couldn’t deny himself a tiny shred of smugness. Call him a bad liar.

The door was barely closed when one opened upstairs and Jeff came out, calling down, “Did you want to get started on dinner...oh! Hi, Edge.”

“Hello,” Edge said evenly. “Blue stepped out for a moment. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to give you this.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key ring.

If he had to guess, Edge would think that a year ago, Jeff wouldn’t have squealed in delight in front of him, dashing down the stairs to reach for the keys.

Edge definitely wouldn’t have deliberately held them higher, out of his reach. It made Jeff laugh and give him a little shove, “C’mon, you shit, give!”

“I’m sorry, I must be having trouble with Human customs,” Edge told him blandly, holding them higher as Jeff made to jump for them. “That didn’t sound at all like thank you, Edge. I appreciate all your hard work, Edge. Please let me have the keys to my new car, Edge, I will forever be grateful.”

That earned him a somewhat tremulous laugh. “Thank you, Edge.” Jeff’s smile was nearly as bright as Blue’s eye lights. “I mean it. Thank you, for everything. For the job, getting me into New New Home—

And that was enough of that. “We’ll see if you’re thanking me after the first public relations crisis. Now, come look at your car.”

He followed Jeff outside to the sedan parked in the driveway. It was as green as grass, with top of the line safety features, and Edge was about to remind him of his promise about seat belts when his phone buzzed. what in the name of fuck did you tell my brother, you asshole! you just bitched at me and now you’re pulling this??? The variety of angry emoticons that followed made him wince and Edge hastily texted back. That you missed him so Antwan would have a chance to speak to Jeff in private so they can work out whatever their problems are. There was a long pause and then, you’re lucky. next time let me in on the schemes to dupe my bro.

His sigh of relief was heartfelt. Sofa banishment averted, this time. While Jeff was busy examining his car, Edge took a second to send a text to Antwan that the coast was temporarily clear.

Now it was up to him.

~~*~~

Marrow hitting the snow, steaming wet crimson, and screaming, endless screaming. He can’t see, can’t find his brother, and there is so much screaming—

Edge woke with a gasp, his soul hot and throbbing, lying on sheets soaked with his own sweat as he struggled to breathe in the cooler air.

“edge?”

He jerked at the sound of his name, barely registering the hushed concern. Stretch was on the far side of the bed, making no attempt to touch and there was the faint crackle of his own magic in reach, ready for a hasty shortcut.

That was good, yes, allowed him to relax a little. That was the promise he’d gotten from Stretch the night before. They could sleep together if Stretch promised him he’d go if he thought…if he were afraid…if it seemed like a bad episode.

"Talk to me," Edge said. His voice was in ragged threads and he was still concentrating on taking deep breaths, but he desperately wanted to hear Stretch. "Tell me something unusual. Something hardly anyone knows." Stretch’s eye lights flickered as he blinked. “um. okay…did you know that there are five recognized dwarf planets in our solar system?”

Perfect. “I did not know that.”

“yeah, i mean, personally i think that’s some bullshit and that pluto deserves to be up with the big boys again, but no one’s pounding down the door for my opinion. anyway, so right now there are five, but there’s like, a hundred or so proposed ones and—“

Edge closed his sockets and listened to the winding ramble of his husband’s voice extolling the various attributes of heavenly bodies and whether they had earned a planetary legacy. The agitated throb of his soul slowly eased, gentling to a more normal pulse. Stretch’s voice only paused once, a startled hitch when Edge settled a careful hand on his ankle, the only place he could reach.

Stretch followed that gentle tug across the bed, settling against Edge’s side without a care for the damp sheets, tugging the blankets over them. Talking about hydrostatic equilibrium and orbital eccentricity and Edge listened to that well-loved voice speaking unknown, beautiful-sounding words until the first light of dawn crept into the window, letting them chase away the night.

~~*~~

tbc

[bitofthisandthat]

dragcnsden said: ( ❋ Glad and Panch - I had to do it to 'em... Panch hates me right now but I HAD to lol)

Send a ❋ for our muses’ to share a stupid, drunken kiss [ CLOSED MEME ]

[ NB: Takes place POST College years, right before ‘the weekend’ ]

Don’s having noisy apartment party with his roommates---and though Gladstone wasn’t DIRECTLY invited, his other two lively pals encouraged him to come. Besides, D-man would get over it if he brings some provisions and a couple of girls he knows Don liked with him. MAYBE. It didn’t seem to work in high school but meh, he’s going to keep trying. The door’s already open but Glad arrives in his usual attention-grabbing self-created fanfare, making his way through the throng, shaking hands and poking anyone he passes. Even if they’re people in his cousin’s past classes, not his, and he doesn’t know them? He’s greeting them all like old friends. A slap on a passing chick’s rump here, ( getting a surprised but happy shriek ) a high five there, and everyone seems entertained. Glad can feel his cousin’s tired disapproval from across the throng already. Glad finally singles out ‘the trio,’ and yes, he’s getting the ‘angry eyes’ from of his cousin; who ONLY loosens up when he swings an arm around him, whispering something that stills the famous Duck family temper. Crisis. Averted. He gets to stay.

“Heyyyyyy Redman!---ZE-ZE.” A quick slap on either man’s shoulder and he’s already spilling his guts about the stuff he’s brought to the party--a fresh, untapped keg he found JUST ABANDONED outside on the way here, and 20 FREE pizzas he’s won from a flyer the other day. Another pat to each their shoulders, and he slides past Panchito, a stray hand squeezing his bicep roughly in jest, as he heads to the booze...

One drink after another, a few stupid sing alongs with the rooster, and the gander’s back to peppering himself amongst the crowd...And going head to head in beer pong with some meathead who is trying to hold his massive body upright, but clearly he’s beyond wasted. A TIMBER!! is called out from the crowd as his eyes whirl and he collapses forward. Glad won THAT round, of course. He’s toasted too, but the smug gander treats this kinda thing like a pie eating contest, and paces himself to win, never minding Fortuna’s always nearby to guarantee it. The jock’s pulled off the carpet as he mumbles something about a bus, and in the blur of chaos, Glad now sees Panchito sitting across from him on the coffee table’s ledge, blinking unevenly and LOUDLY challenging the gander to the next round. “Oh man...I need to take a f-fiver, or I’m gonna diiiiiiieeeee...but we can do a-another game, Redman.” He chuckles, hiccuping again and rising shakily to his feet. They’re both blitzed and laughing at the other’s clumsiness, the pathetic attempt to cross the room without falling on people or knocking stuff off surfaces.

Halfway down the unlit hall, they see a couple people leave the bathroom, and Glad stops. “Oh....oh nooooooo...what were we doing?” He turns on his heels and laughs brokenly, amused that he led them down here with no plan. 

He’s about to say something inane again, but the rooster’s hand is on his jaw, crooking him to a rushed kiss, falling against Glad with clumsy force. The sudden contact wins a muffled “WHAT?” Seagreen eyes widen in the half-dark hall, while his friend sinks his tongue against his, the gander’s jagged edged tongue involuntarily coiling in tandem with Panchito’s. Dear LORD. Fire spurts up Gladstone’s neck and cheeks, and his eyes slit, closing in blurred submission. As soon as he slumps into the wall, the rushed, clumsy, passionate kiss ends as soon as he was relaxing into it. Panch stumbles backwards, panting unevenly, mumbling an ‘oops’ and a hasty retreat to the bathroom ahead of the gander.

Gladstone’s eyes blink widely at his exit, rubbing his jaw and stretching out his tongue to shake off whatever THAT was. Suddenly, he’s feeling sobriety creep up his spine; and slowly, he turns back to the party. Wheels turning in his partially inebriated brain. And ideas starting to percolate for later. Eh, Panch and him’ll probably forget about all this in the morning.

He shakes his head and stretches his shoulders back, reentering the party with his usual jovial manner,  “Okaaaaay I need a fresh drink and lapdance---who’s going to do the honors? Jessssssica...I know you’ve been eyeing me like a steak dinner all week---”

@ducktales-wco-oo​ @dragcnsden​

[rileywrites-parker]

Tell me you see it

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You decide to take a photography class to help Peter out with some work endeavors. He takes the class with you. It goes much better than you expected.

This one works a little like ‘Have I told you?’ where the italicized bits are flash backs. Peter is older. (Also, I have no idea how pictures are processed in a dark room, so if you do, excuse my descriptions and hastily researched process.)

Just some good ol’ fashioned fluff.

Words: 3,160 Warnings: None.

It hadn’t taken too much convincing from your friend to finally sign up for the Photography workshop your college was offering. Taking photographs had never really been much more than a hobby.

It was Peter who had a knack for it.

His passion for capturing the world had recently turned into a way to make money to help his Aunt out with a few bills; his pictures of Queens’ very own friendly neighborhood vigilante gracing the cover of the Bugle nearly every issue.

The quality of the photos were astounding and frankly a little unbelievable; the angles and perspective such that it was difficult to comprehend how someone could possibly be in the right place and time, every time, to even obtain images of such class. How did Peter get up there? What was Peter even doing hanging around that part of town? What kind of lens was Peter using to get so much detail?

Why was no one asking these questions?

It was obvious to you, but then you also had the advantage of knowing that Peter was in fact taking photos of himself. 

Easy to take pictures of Spider-man when you’re Spider-man.

Which was why it had been an easy decision to sign up for the class; you were going to start helping Peter with his photos before anyone had the opportunity to develop any suspicion.

He had then signed up with you.

Your first assignment had been to pick a partner and over the course of the next week, work on taking portraits. ‘I really want you to focus on the quality of light. How does light affect the subject matter and vice versa?’

Peter stood from his seat next to you, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and adjusting the camera around his neck. Stepping around to the front of the table he gave you a grin, arms spread wide open, “Ok,” he brought his hands together with a clap, “so, let’s get started,” his eyes bright with excitement.

Your fingers fiddled around with the shutter speed dial of your borrowed camera, turning it back and forth as you looked up at him.

He had been late to class this morning, sliding in through the door in the back of the room and quietly slipping into the seat next to you, greeting you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Looking at him now, your breath caught a little. Catching on the way that his naturally wavy hair was a little unkempt, a few stray curls loose over his forehead, that funny eyebrow of his a little more out of control than usual. The collar of his flannel shirt uneven and poking up towards his ear, the sleeves rolled up a little unevenly on each arm, showing off the smooth, tanned skin of his forearms. He hadn’t even managed to do up the buttons properly, the flannel not quite lining up at the wrinkled hem above his belt.

At least the jacket he wore looked in one piece.

You chuckled a bit as you worked to get the lens cap off, bringing the camera up to your eye as quickly as you could, snapping a few shots in succession.

You put the cap back on, standing to gather your things, tucking everything into your bag before walking around the table and reaching for his collar. He tensed as your fingertips brushed along his neck, and then into his hair, putting the loose locks back into place with the rest of his curls. Stepping back to look over your work, you gave him a grin and a nod, deciding to forego undressing the boy in public to fix his fumbled buttoning.

“You’re a mess, Parker.”

Bringing his hands to his chest and tilting his head a bit at you, looking down at you through his lashes; “Come on, me? Peter Parker,” leaning in so that only you could hear, “Spider-man? I don’t think so.”

A curl had come loose again, sitting comfortably above the wild hairs of his eyebrow.

Shaking your head at him as you laughed and walked towards the door, “Yeah, sure thing, Pete.” You looked back over your shoulder to see him following close behind, reaching a lanky arm above your head to push the door open for you.

“Maybe you should learn to put a shirt on first before you go saying things like that.”

You wished you had your camera ready to catch the look of confusion on his face.

A week had passed quickly between work, your other classes, and the instance where Peter had come to your window the night before last after a particularly nasty run in with a group of armed burglars.

You swore these guys were getting better; like they were training or something. Peter kept coming to you with fresh bruises and gashes, although, luckily never deep enough to warrant sutures.

You suspected he wouldn’t ask you to sew up any wounds of his anyway, based on how patching up his suit had gone the last time he asked you to use a needle and thread.

He had given you his camera to take with yours to process the film. He had rushed off on the way to class, ripping the camera from his neck and thrusting it at you, giving you a hurried, sloppy hug before splitting off and into an alley.

The sight of an old tennis shoe being thrown over a dumpster and into the wall would’ve been funny if you didn’t know who it belonged to and what he was more than likely swinging off to.

You waited until he was out of sight before stepping into the alley to gather up all of his strewn articles of clothing. You muttered something about leaving clothes in a nice pile, and no wonder he couldn’t even button a shirt up, before tucking them into his backpack, pushing it behind a gutter, but only just, so that he would be able to find it.

That was how you ended up in the dark room enlarging the negatives from both cameras, working carefully with the CYM exposure settings, trying to get the timing and color density ratios correct. Peter had teased you about being a fan of doing things the hard way. ‘You know, there are these crazy things called digital cameras, where you can literally plug them into a computer, and print your photos out in seconds.’

You assured him they would be better this way. Besides, you were here to learn, right?

You took your time carefully hanging up each photo as you finished them. Looking forward to seeing the finished product in the light. You hoped you had managed to get the coloration right on all of them, especially the ones you hadn’t taken for yourself.

After hanging up the last print on the line, you worked to clean up your mess. Your neck and shoulders were stiff from hunching over the baths and various equipment for hours. Wiping down the sink and workstation, you crossed the room to toss the paper towel in the trash and flip the light switch on. You took a second to stretch and to allow your eyes time to adjust before turning around to look at your work.

Peter was the only person who could affect your breathing without even being present.

You ignored the photos you had taken all together when the first of his series caught your eye. Seeing the negatives had been nothing like this. There had been no way to prepare yourself in the dim light for what you were seeing. Peter had talent. He had an eye. He was magic with a camera. Something.

He had made you look beautiful.

The first was of you laughing, your head thrown back, lips pulled tight across your teeth, eyes closed, hair caught in the breeze. One of your hands clenched at your stomach, the other reaching off camera. You were beneath a tree, the leaves in various shades of red and orange, contrasting against the bluish purple color of the sky. Your features were dark, but you were glowing all the same.

That had been the first day. You had gotten coffee and spent some time in the library researching dark room processing techniques; you couldn’t remember him pulling the camera out.

The next one was of you in the library, your form overshadowed by the endless rows of books lining the shelves that seemed to go on forever. He had caught you reaching for one, your arm extended above your head; you stood on the tips of your toes, long, slim fingers grasping; your hair tucked behind your ear, the ends curling around your jaw, brows pinched in effort; the hem of your shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin above your hip. This person looked graceful, with elegant lines and curves; the light shining down from the ceiling above catching your features in all of the right ways.

He was a sneaky little dweeb.

He had made you look beautiful.

As your eyes passed over each picture, your chest began to tighten and your eyes grew watery. Your fingers found your lips, worrying the flesh as you looked over the last image. You remembered him taking this one.

He tossed his bag in first before tumbling into your room, one of his feet catching on the window ledge as the first half of him hit the carpet. You were on the floor in an instant, sliding your arms under his to lift him up and get a good look at him, pulling the mask off and brushing his bangs back from his forehead.

He swatted your hands away from him, “I’m fine, stop fussing.” You stuck your tongue out at him, laughing when he gave it back.

“Obviously not, you only show up at my window when you’re hurt.” He threw you a slightly dirty look, wiping at his mouth with a gloved hand.

“That’s not true.” His eyes were on said hand and his dirty look was now directed at the blood he had collected. He looked at you then and immediately looked away when he saw your raised eyebrows and pointed expression.

“OK, so maybe it’s a little true,” he pushed the emblem on his suit, rolling it down to his hips he began to assess himself, fingers pulling at his skin this way and that. You stood from your desk and walked around him, helping him to check his back and shoulders.

While it was funny watching him try to contort himself so that he could get a look; the fluttering in your stomach was telling you to ease up on the ogling of his torso. Not that getting up close and personal with his back was really any better.

He sat still as your fingers walked across his skin, gently prodding at the bruises you could see, apologizing when he winced at the ones you couldn’t. You reached into the drawer of your night stand for the antiseptic and gauze you kept for nights like this one.

He had made showing up injured a habit, so you had made it yours to be prepared.

“OK, that stings,” he looked at you over his shoulder, his lower lip jutting out in a rare pout.

“OK, what happened to ‘I’m the amazing Spider-man, look at my muscles, I’m so tough?’” Even with your teasing you worked more gently, carefully passing the moistened gauze over a particularly nasty scrape on his shoulder blade. You could see his features pull into a smile through his reflection in the mirror hanging off your closet door.

You stopped momentarily to watch how he fiddled with the sleeves of his suit, at how his messy hair poked out around his ears, the way the strands of muscle in his forearms moved in time with his fingers.

“Ouch. You know, not even the punks who did this to me were so harsh.” His eyes met yours in the mirror. You felt your cheeks flush at being caught watching him. You moved on to the cut behind his ear.

“How did you even manage this one?” He hissed as you patted at the wound with the gauze, murmuring an apology, blowing on it to help ease the sting. You smirked as he tensed and shivered, the tops of his ears flushing red.

“One of them had a knife,” he shrugged his shoulders, a few of the freckles he had splattered across his back dancing as the skin stretched, “almost didn’t see it.”

The nonchalance absolutely killed you.

“Oh, well if that’s all.” You moved around to his front now, sitting on your knees as you wet a new sponge, tossing the first in the trash behind you. He hissed as you dabbed a little harshly at a scrape over his ribs, the muscles of his chest tightening, brows furrowing as he looked at you.

“Yeah, but he didn’t get me.”

You stopped cleaning, and dropped your hands onto your lap, “Peter, are you serious? You have a cut, from a knife, behind your ear.”

“Yeah, but I stopped him.”

“Peter, that’s a little close to, I don’t know: your face, your brain, your eyes,” he was smiling at you now, and it was pissing you off, “stop me if any of those things sound important to you.”

“It’s been worse before. It’s a scratch.”

“Yeah,” you got up from the floor and moved to the seat at your desk. You looked down at the bloody sponge in your hand, a frown on your lips, hair falling around your face, “until it isn’t.”

You both remained quiet for a minute; you kept your eyes on your hands. You could feel his eyes on you.

“That’s it.” You looked up at him in confusion as you watched him unzip his bag and pull his camera out.

“What?”

“That’s why I come to you,” You continued to look at him, waiting for him to explain, not exactly hating the stupid smile on his face, “you care about me.”

A frustrated sound passed through your lips and you rolled your eyes at him, “Of course I do.”

“That, and I mean,” he gestured at you, his hand motioning at your face, a sound not unlike the one that had just come from your lips left his, “look at you.”

The lighting was soft, the only source of it being from the lamp on your desk. Your hair fell around your face framing it just so.  Even with your eyes cast down, long, dark lashes hiding the color of your eyes, the look on your face was one of happiness. He had caught the blush on your face, the warmth of it spreading down your neck; how you had trapped part of your lips between your teeth to keep from beaming. You hadn’t succeeded; a delicate little smile was still there. You were glowing. You were radiant. You looked like light itself.

He had made you feel beautiful.

“Thank you,” You jumped at the sound of his voice, the picture you had been holding falling onto the table. You hadn’t even heard the door open. “You know, for collecting my clothes.” You gave a quick nod.

For a moment you just stood there smiling at each other, before he moved around the room, following the line that hung from wall to wall, looking at all of the photos the two of you had taken of the other. You watched as his actions mirrored what yours had been, his eyes lingering on the photos you had taken of him when he had been unaware. His eyes wrinkling as he smiled at more than one.

“You did a great job with these,” he stepped up to the table, leaning across from where you were standing and reached for the last photograph, the one of you he had taken that night.

Every part of his face softened as he looked at it.

He looked up at you with humor in his eyes, “Someone should tell this guy he’s good at this.” You laughed at him and watched as his eyes continued to roam over the print, setting it down on the table, fingers resting alongside it.

He let out a sigh, looking up to meet your eyes, “Tell me you see it.”

It wasn’t what you had expected him to say; you shook your head at him to show that you weren’t following.

“This.” He gestured to the cameras on the table in front of you and then around to all of the moments the two of you had captured on film, before pushing that last photo over for you to look at again.

“We’ve captured how we see each other,” you were smiling now, fingers playing with the edge of the photo, ghosting over the lines of your face that he had so perfectly captured; the point in time he had managed to save, “and look at how beautiful you are.”

You were glad that he turned around to pull the rest of the pictures down from the line, giving you time to calm your rapidly heating face and chest. 

You watched as he fumbled a bit, his fingers shaking. The backs of his ears were red.

He walked back over to you, pushing the stack of images in your hands, his fingers holding onto yours, steadying, as you looked down at the picture of Peter you had taken resting on top. It was a lot like the one he had caught of you laughing; you remembered wanting to make sure you got the way the light shone through his hair and around his face, the way his eyes pinched at the corners, the lines of his neck and jaw as he laughed.  

You wanted him to know that you thought he was made of light, too.

His thumbs ran across the tops of your knuckles.

Before you really knew what you were doing, your lips were on his. It was quick and a little sloppy, but the smile he gave you when you pulled away told you that he didn’t care.

He took the photos from your hands and sat them on the table before reaching for your face and pulling you back to him. His sureness encouraging you, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, the pressure of his lips increasing as the heat between you built. The ticklish sensation of his fingers gripping at your waist, his thumbs brushing against your ribs causing you to let out an embarrassing sound into his mouth; you could feel his answering smile against your lips. He pulled away from you then, resting his forehead on yours, that stupid smile on his face.

You continued to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the ends, “So are you wanting me to tell you that I think you’re pretty, too?”

He laughed at you, shaking his head, gesturing to the photos and then kissing the tip of your nose, “No, you’ve already told me everything.”

[sumisuchan]

Strangers Ch.3, Song

All three stood around the room, still, like the monuments erected of them. They nearly formed a triangle with how they were placed. Yellow looked at White and Blue looked at Yellow, but White looked at no one, having given up upon her chair and staring at the floor. The clear parts of her eyes had grown pink around the edges, as well as the expanse of her cheeks. Each part of her expression sagged, and wild hair that she had usually trimmed and controlled branched out past its usual points.

“So, is this it?” Yellow spoke, digging into the eldest of them with a glare like claws. “You’re just going to leave?”

White gulped and produced a few more tears, but she couldn’t meet her accuser.

“Why? Because it’s hard? You just can’t take it anymore? What kind of Diamond are you? What about your gems?”

“Yellow, stop it.”

“No!” She took a hard turn toward Blue. “If she’s so insistent on leaving, she had better have a damn good reason! We’re already out one Diamond and now she’s trying to saddle us both with enough work for four! Do you remember how many colonies she has?!” Yellow then placed her focus upon White, who only moved in wiping beneath her nose. “Let’s hear it. What’s the reason you’re abandoning your gems? Why are you abandoning us?”  

Slowly, White warmed up her lips and after a gulp, spoke, “After corrupting all of those gems—”

“Most of them were traders!”

“But all of them were mine!”

They finally looked at one another.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” White began to cry anew and reflected a rainbow from her gem in turning away. All the while, Yellow stared, not bothering to prevent the sneer warping her lips. “If things can be so horrible, I don’t want to rule. I never want to repeat what I’ve done.”

For a moment, neither Blue nor Yellow spoke. Neither moved. They merely watched as White cried and cried. It wasn’t long, however, before Yellow moved closer, until they were centimeters apart, and said between clenched teeth, “If you think things are bad now, you’re not going to believe how awful they’re going to be if you leave. If you intend on abandoning your court—your gems, your fellow Diamonds, you had better go and never come back. Because if I ever see your face again, I don’t know what I’ll be liable to do.”

White gasped and replied, “Fine. I’ve made up my mind. I guess I’ll never come back.”

The final word had left her mouth and Yellow grasped her by the highest point of her hair, ripped her from the seat, and threw her to the floor. White screamed; Blue screamed, and Yellow released some of her lightning. It set fire to a few patches of the carpet and White’s cape, but before any of them could speak, Yellow left the room, leaving Blue to come and put out White’s outfit and sooth the raw skin of her scalp.         

She ended up going to a planet in a galaxy far away from Homeworld. They had found it millennia ago, rotating in the fourth position away from its star, nearly barren aside from several craters and pale dust. Despite these features, however, it was of decent size and pleasant temperature, and held a lovely view of all the stars around them.

White had taken the closest members of her court—her Pearls, her guards, her sapphires and a few others to this planet where there were neither warp pads nor surroundings. She had her Bismuths build a palace and erect a force field to blast away the meteors, and there, within the never-ending silence of multicolored space, White lived in retirement.

One day, she stood within her music room, singing an old song in an ancient language as two Pearls played from their instruments. The Diamond filled her body with air and turned it to audible gold and delicate high notes. Her voice slipped into them as though she slid her elegant hands through silken gloves, and the sound poured from her in smooth waves that echoed around the room, packaged in beauty. She never seemed to run out of air, like a star lighting the sky, or the way her gem flashed a thousand colors any time she moved her head.  

Once White had finished her song, she received a round of applause from her attending Pearls, one of which spoke immediately, “My Radiant, Lustrous, Glorious, Fabulous, Talented, Well-read Diamond, Madame Sapphire has predicted that Blue Diamond will come to visit you very soon.”

“Blue Diamond? I wonder why she didn’t call first. Did Sapphire mention if she’ll stay for long?”

“She didn’t, Your Luminosity.”

“Very well, then.” White adjusted her long and loose skirts by running her hands over them. A lacy collar grew around her neck, and her outfit frothed as it became more refined. Stretching out her arms, White said, “Pearls, would you mind preparing some tea for us?”

“Certainly, Your Clarity.”

“We had a lovely practice today. Very well done, everyone.”

Her Pearls replied in unison, “Thank you, My Glittering, Sparkling, Wondrous, Fashionable Diamond,” and started right for the kitchen to put on the tea.

The empress went to her leisure room, and began to pick up the yellowed sheets of music left upon the table, as well as rearrange the pillows on the sofa. They had slumped over and weighed unevenly in their obesity, having grown indents where White Diamond had put her head and elbows. With her considerate long-nailed hands, she fluffed them and set them back into place, and sat in the center of the couch. Not one part of her body touched them as her attention wandered towards the window, where the stars arranged themselves into words and images from the past that played out as if the gem on her forehead projected them.

Three-fourths of the walls were glass, but White had still hung pictures upon the one that wasn’t. Many of the multicolored frames held photographs of her subjects, such as her Pearls standing and posing together, or the picture of her two Agates she had taken with both of them beaming into the camera. White had posted images of all the gems that lived with her upon the one solid wall, and given their color, were speckled like stars around the old paintings of the other three Diamonds. Like pretty galaxies with their various colors, they stood out in rich pigments and specific detail. The artist had made their eyes shine with metallic paint—something White caught when she turned around briefly to take her knitting from underneath the sofa.

But as soon as she secured one of her enormous needles, the door came open and a Pearl announced, “Presenting Madame Blue Diamond, Your Purity.”

“Oh—” White sat straight up to regard her guest, taking her hand from her great ball of string. “Welcome, Blue.” She stood and came to the other Diamond, outstretching her arms. “How was your journey?”

Blue filled in White’s embrace and received several kisses upon the cheek as soon as the eldest empress had her. “Oh, White—” She returned the gesture, touching just beneath the ivory woman’s right eye. “I hope that you’ll forgive me for not calling ahead. I realized how long it had been and I wanted to see you.”

“Of course,” White gave her a squeeze before releasing her, but placed her hands upon her guest’s shoulders. “You’re always welcome here. Please, come sit. My Pearls are preparing some tea for us.”

“Thank you.”

Both Diamonds sat upon the sofa together, crushing the pillows waiting on either side as a silence commenced. Neither spoke to fill it, and while White set her palm upon Blue’s knee, the other empress unveiled her tired eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Blue started, “I don’t know why I came here, other than wanting to see you. I’m not sure what to talk about. Certainly, this must seem odd.”

“Not at all,” White took her unintentionally intense eyes from Blue. “I was just thinking about the both of you, and I wondered how you were. Has Yellow…” White began her sentence, but paused halfway through it, as if wading through heavy sludge. “Has she forgiven me?”

Blue furrowed her brows.

“I’m sure she never mentions me, does she?”

Still, the guest said nothing.

“I’ve wanted to come visit. I miss Homeworld. As boring as it is here, she couldn’t let me retire there.” White looked into space from the well-polished windows and didn’t turn back for several seconds. “But how is she? I do worry about her.” The fingers White had set around her guest’s knee squeezed a little, and both pairs of diamond-shaped pupils finally aligned.

“She keeps herself busy. I don’t think she ever stops working unless it’s to visit me, and even then, it takes a lot to get her relaxed. She came to my bath recently—”

White raised an eyebrow and Blue stopped talking, cheeks flooding with pigment while the eldest Diamond placed her hand delicately upon her chest.

“What is that face for?”

“Your bath?” White’s lips took up a crooked and playful shape. “I thought Pink only ever went there, and things might become…”

Before Blue could speak, White kept talking. “Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I promise, I’m not trying to make you feel embarrassed. I suppose I’m just taken aback.” Her face burned grey with steamy implications. “She’s admired you a long time. Can I ask, how was it?”

“We didn’t get very far. She told me she had never been with another gem before.”

White blinked, “Well, I’m not sure who she would have ever been with. You were practically taped to Pink and she’s never been interested in me.”

Just then, the doors opened and the Pearls wheeled in two enormous cups of hot tea upon separate push carts. The steam drifted from the near rose-colored drink and obscured the servant’s faces as they approached the Diamonds.

“Thank you, Pearls,” White took her cup, as did Blue, and both of them bowed only to leave more quickly and quietly than they came.

The eldest empress blew away some of the steam as her colorful nails scraped past the vibrant flowers painted upon the porcelain.

Once the doors whispered shut, and the room emptied of foreign ears, White Diamond took a sip and spoke more softly than normal, “It may feel odd, to be with Yellow in a romantic sense.”

Blue stared deep into her cup of tea, not yet taking a sip, and allowed the steam to obscure some parts of her face. Within the liquid, she observed the bags beneath her eyes and the crinkles she made along her forehead, finally admitting, “I feel as though I’m betraying…”

“I don’t think you should.”

A silence passed where neither Diamond looked at one another, but gave their attention to the volume of the surrounding space. The stars lined up a thousand different ways and both took it in for a few moments, until finally having enough and studying the finite depth of the rose-colored tea.

“I don’t know, White. As demanding as she is sometimes, Yellow keeps me from becoming lonesome. She worries about me, and I appreciate that. In a lot of ways, she’s all I have and is so resilient, but sometimes their bodies are just too similar, and all of the memories come back in a rush. It’s overwhelming, and I feel…” Blue trailed off and never came back.

“If Pink were still with us, you would consider it infidelity, but given the unfortunate circumstances, I don’t think you should allow any guilt to tarnish your relationship with Yellow. Even if you find yourself wildly in love with her, it will never take away the time you’ve shared with Pink.” White took another sip and ran her finger over a rose.

“I can’t deny that she cares for me.” Finally, Blue drank. “There are many things I admire about her. Sometimes I catch her at such an angle, and she looks so beautiful, and other times, she’ll be so caught up with her work she doesn’t pay any mind to what she looks like at all, and there’s something charming about that.” Most of the steam had bled away and those sad eyes regarded themselves. “But sometimes these feelings are so familiar, and it seems I need them as desperately as I want to push them away.”

White touched her shoulder. “I’m not sure there’s a cure for that, but I would suggest giving it time.” Her fine brows bent. “I don’t think you can do anything else.”

“I only wish the pain would stop.”

“Oh, Blue.” White set down her tea and wrapped her arms around the other Diamond, holding her near, despite the fact that Blue still held her cup carefully in her right hand. With the other, she wiped the heavy tears from her face and used it to drape over the elder’s shoulder. Their cheeks touched and White Diamond squeezed the younger one until she stopped crying, having spilled a few fat droplets of tea upon her floor.

They separated with a kiss to Blue’s cheek.

White caught her free hand inside both of hers. “When I feel horrible, I try to sing. It usually helps. Shall we do a duet? We rarely see one another anymore.”

A smile warped the sad corners of Blue’s mouth. “You would always sing when you were happy too, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, when I’m happy I want to sing, and when I’m sad, I want to be happy, so I sing anyway.” The ex-empress grinned. “You had to have guessed I would want to sing with you when you came here.”

“Of course.” Blue wiped the last of her tears and gave into the upward curve of her lips.

“Well, come along. I’m already warmed up.” White stood up from the sofa and placed one fabulous hand upon her hip, outstretching the other for Blue. “Finish your tea and I’ll warm you up too.”

The two ended up going together to White’s music room, and copied the notes the eldest empress played. Her fingers commanded the keys and Blue met them with her voice, until both of them came to singing several duets together, as White played her instrument in unison.

Blue stayed for a long time, until so many hours had passed that she couldn’t spend any longer. She left with White walking her to the ship and nearly clinging to her embrace, but the original queen finally returned to her secluded palace and Blue drove back to all her responsibilities before Yellow began to wonder.

[linseysezines]

Screenplay: There’s Something Rotting In Your Basement

There’s Something Rotting In Your Basement

Linsey Bollegala

FADE IN:

EXT: 335 GEORGE STREET PETERBOROUGH ONTARIO

It’s a bleak chilly fall morning. The skies are grey and the sun is nowhere to be seen. The only sound that could be heard is the rustling of the trees as the wind gently caresses by. There is no one in sight in the area of George Street in  Peterborough, Ontario. There is a house, 335 George Street. The two story house is beat up and rugged. It’s evident that the current owner does not maintain the property. The grass on the front lawn is unevenly cut. The windows on the second level are cracked but still intact.  

The camera is in a worms eye perspective showing us the entire house. The grey, bleak sky can be seen in this angle too.

CUT TO:TITLE CARD

CUT TO BLACK.

Television can be heard, but the words are not clear.

FADE IN:

INT. 355 George Street

A long shot of the kitchen is shown with a evident door that’s wide open which seems to lead to a basement which is oddly unfitting to the bright yellow

(Continued)

themed kitchen although it isn’t much clean. The camera cuts to the living room which is also a mess. There are papers and flies scattered around on top of chairs, tables and on the floor which contained dirty carpeting of a dark military green. The carpeting is only on the living room floors and stops once they reach the hallway. The door of the china cabinet is left slightly ajar.

Dr.Brown is stretched across his couch sound asleep with heavy snores.

The television is on and can be heard in the background. Dr.Brown’s snores overpower the sound of the television.

DR.BROWN- Male, middle aged, medium build, average height of 5’6. Messy brown hair that once was combed with a well groomed moustache. He is wearing suspenders and a dress shirt with dress pants. One of his shoes are still on with his laces undone while the other shoe dangles half way on his foot. Most of his clothes are brown except the dress shirt he is wearing. His mouth is gaped open as he snores.

There is suddenly a loud bang. The sound appears to be someone hitting a wooden door. This disturbance wakes Dr. Brown with a jolt.

The muffled screams of a woman can be heard followed by a banging on a wooden door.

(Continued)

The camera is set on the level of the centrepiece table in front of the television. Dr.Brown’s hand could be seen reaching for his bottle of Jack that’s still less than a quarters full.

The Camera switches to a medium long shot of him taking swig from the bottle carelessly.

The muffled cry of the woman can be heard once more as Dr.Brown puts down his bottle of jack back on the table with a thudding sound as the bottle hits the wood of the table.

DR.BROWN (grunting)

Dammit...

What is it now lizabeth?

Dr.Brown runs his hand through his hair in stress letting out a huff. He sits up but hunches down and brings his hand together to show his stress. His legs are spaced apart and he starts thinking.

Dr.Brown puts his shoes back on properly and gets up from the coach. His heavy footsteps can be heard even on the dirty carpets and start echoing through the house once he reaches the hallway with the wooden floor boards. They creek on contact as the he walks across the the living room towards the staircase. His heavy footsteps pound the floor as he gruffly walks up the staircase.

The camera angle is a dutch angle, low shot and the camera

follows Dr.Brown’s feet as he goes up the staircase.

(Continued)

The staircase leads to an open space that is attached to four bedrooms and a washroom. All the doors are closed except for the washroom door which is left ajar which gives off an off vibe.

The camera follows Dr.Brown as he walks towards one of the bedrooms and he whips the door open. Simultaneously, a glass cup can be heard shattering.The camera switches to a first person perspective where the bedroom can be seen through Dr.Brown’s eyes.

Elizabeth- Female, innocent looking, petite, shorter and evidently younger than Dr.Brown. She has big brown brown doe eyes and hurt is evident by the look she gives Dr.Brown.She is wearing a floral and light yellow dress that goes past her knees. Her hair is in a low ponytail. Dr.Brown is her fiance.

The camera turns to the window that has been freshly broken by Elizabeth as she is holding an ax and then back at her.

DR.BROWN (panic)

WHAT ARE YOU DOING LIZABETH!!

ELIZABETH

You’re not going to keep me in here

any longer

DR.BROWN

Put. It. Down. (Referring to the ax)

(Continued)

ELIZABETH (Soft tone)

Cal.

Dr.BROWN (tone lightens)

No..

You don’t get to call me that.

No not anymore.

ELIZABETH

You can’t keep doing this to me ...Cal

Dr.BROWN

But you did this to me.

Quit making me that bad guy here!

ELIZABETH

But Cal I-

DR.BROWN

I LOVED YOU!

THEN-THEN THE MINUTE I GO OUT OF TOWN

THE MINUTE I WALK OUT THE DOOR...

You waltzed right into his arms. (quieter)

Elizabeth walks towards Dr.Brown still gripping onto the ax with both her hands.

ELIZABETH

Cal please listen it wasn’t like that I-

(Continued)

DR.BROWN

Don’t make me say it again.

You’re going to hurt yourself. Give that to me.

Dr.Brown reaches for the ax but Elizabeth does not let go. He tugs the Ax harder but she still doesn’t let go.

ELIZABETH

You never listen to me, at least he-

The camera is facing Dr.Brown. Anger surges through Dr.Brown and he releases the ax with a hard push towards Elizabeth. The camera switches to Elizabeth. Elizabeth isn’t able to handle the sudden strength. This results in her falling backwards onto the bed with the ax hitting her head. The ax spits her skull at the sudden contact and she is bleeding from her head wound. Her eyes are left open in shook but no words are coming out of her mouth.

Elizabeth dies from the sudden impact to her brain.

The camera cuts back to Dr.Brown who is in shock and all his emotions hit him at once as he realizes what has happened.

DR.BROWN

Oh my god no... Oh my god.

Oh my god! LIZABETH.

LIZABETH!

LIZABETH!!

(Continued)

Dr.Brown runs up to Elizabeth who is on the bed lifelessly still bleeding out.The camera switches to Dr.Brown’s perspective and we see Elizabeth through his eyes for a moment until the camera switches back to an over the shoulder angle.

Tears are streaming down Dr.Brown’s eyes as he shakes her holding her shoulders to try to get her to say something. Although Dr.Brown is a doctor, he is suddenly unsure of what to do.

DR.BROWN

I’m so sorry.

I love you...I still love you

Please just say something.

He tries shaking her, but there is no response. He decides to pull out the ax out of her head himself and throws it on to the wooden floor..The camera angle switches to ground levels showing the ax fall onto the ground which creates a dent and a distinct thud sound. His foot is seen kicking the ax underneath the bed. The camera switches back to Dr.Brown’s perspective. He takes Elizabeth’s dead body and swings it over his shoulder. He exits the room with a trail of blood following behind him as he carries her down the stairs.The camera does not follow Dr.Brown but stays in the room. The only thing that can be heard are his heavy footsteps going down the stairs and a door opening but very distantly.

CUT TO BLACK.

                                         CUT TO: TITLE CARD (ONE WEEK LATER)

A dripping faucet can be heard.

FADE TO:

Int. 335 George Street house

The camera follows the trial of dried blood that was left behind

from last week’s incident. One week has passed but Dr.Brown hasn’t cleaned his house. There is still evidence left of what may have happened.Dr.Brown is once again passed out on his coach. There are bottles of alcohol scattered on the teapo.

He is stretched across his coach with his mouth ajar. He jolts awake as if he dreamt of something bad. As he wakes up up abruptly he looks around the room in fear and takes a deep breath in relief.

CUT TO:

The camera is at an overhead angle showing Dr.Brown pacing around the kitchen. The camera angle changes to a medium long shot as Dr.Brown continues pacing around the kitchen in the house of 335 George Street.The kitchen has a dining table in the center that is unclean with plates scattered all over the table with half eaten meals. An unusual door can also be seen towards the back He is in deep thought. He finally stops in his tracks as if he has come to a conclusion or a final decision in his spot. Dr.Brown was away from the kitchen into a long narrow hallway.

FADE TO BLACK

The sound of a scrubbing brush can be heard against the wood as if someone hard at work cleaning.

FADE IN:

The camera moves up steadily showing Dr.Brown using a scrubbing brush as he is on his knees cleaning the stairs. For a moment, we see Dr.Brown’s perspective as scrubs the wooden stairs

CUT TO:

Dr.Brown is seen painting the staircase in an off putting brown tone that is much closer to orange as an attempt to cover up the dried up blood stains that’d barely faded after his clean up.The (Continued)

blood stains appeared to have soaked into the wood and still show after the coat of paint he has put making the paint seem translucent. Dr.Brown is seen flustered about this, but proceeds to finish his sloppy paint job.

CUT TO:

The camera is at a longshot angle as Dr.Brown is seen cleaning the rest of his house. His living room is no longer a mess and is now spot less. The floors are no longer carpeted and there are no longer papers all over the place. This all shows that Dr.Brown didn’t tell anyone as to what happened on the evening of last week.

FADE TO BLACK

A steady knock can be heard at the door of 335 George Street.

FADE IN:

The camera cuts to a shot of Dr.Brown’s brother who can be seen through the window next to the door where the camera is set.

MADDOX- Male,slender built, taller than Dr.Brown with brown hair covered by the top hat he is wearing. He is wearing formal attire which consists of a suit with dress shoes.He is the town’s best detective but also Dr.Brown’s brother. Dr.Brown hasn’t even told his brother who is the the closest person to him. He is unaware of the situation that took place last week.

Camera is in Dr.Brown’s perspective as he walks towards the door to open it. He opens the door, but Maddox is turned away.The camera is at a medium long shot as the door opens. As Maddox hears the door open he turns to greet his brother with a genuine smile.His nose crinkles a bit as he seems to notice a smell.

(Continued)

MADDOX

Ah little brother, it is

good to see you!

DR.BROWN

There’s that line,

There must be something important

you want to speak about.

MADDOX (smiles)

Ah no! Not that important!

DR.BROWN

(Attempting to digress from any serious talk)

How’s the weather out there?

MADDOX

They say there’s a storm approaching.

The camera switches to Dr.Brown’s expression which shows that he isn’t too comfortable with his brother’s presensence. Dr.Brown can be seen very subtly trying to block his brother from the direction of the basement door which evidently looks much different from when it was first seen in the beginning.The camera is focused on Dr.Brown. The camera is a medium shot. Behind him the door can be seen nailed shut.

The camera switches to a long shot of Maddox as he steps into the house and notices that a lot of things have changed and that there’s something off putting to all these new changes.

The camera pans into Maddox as he notices little strange details.

The camera switches to Maddox’s perspective as he looks at the basement door. He is seen brushing off the strange difference. Maddox proceeds to follow his brother Dr.Brown into the living room. As they pass the narrow hallway to the living room, Maddox notices the weird sloppy paint job on the once worn out oak wood staircase that once gave a vintage vibe.They reach the living room. The camera switches to Maddox and he is shown looking around the place as it has changed since he had been here previously.

Camera cuts to medium shot of Dr.Brown.    

DR.BROWN (nervous)

Maddie, I’m glad you decided to come

around here, maybe we can head out for a drink.

MADDOX

Don’t stress, here is fine.

Maddox says this as the camera switches to a long shot of him twirling his foot on floor. The camera briefly switches to

floor level as his foot pivots, meaning he has noticed the change to the floors of the even though he does not speak of it to his brother.

DR.BROWN

Ahh, uhh...that should be fine too!

I think I have a bottle in the kitchen.

Stay here, I got it.

Dr.Brown quickly goes off to the kitchen leaving Maddox in the living room. It doesn't take long for him to realize that the place is unusually clean. There were no more scattered papers everywhere, no bottles and no dirty carpet.

Maddox (laughing)

I see that you’re finally

getting settled down. Cause it’s about

damn time.

Camera is at Maddox who paces around in thought.

Maddox (smirking)

Now where’s that girl of yours?

(Continued)

Maddox is clearly happy for his brother. The camera follows behind him as he walks into the kitchen to see his brother. Dr.Brown is evidently alarmed at the question that is directed at him but he tries his best to hide it. The camera follows Maddox as he goes into the kitchen. The camera is in his perspective. We can see through his eyes that there is a bin with strange rags with red stains but put off distinctly to the side in attempt to hide them. The camera cuts to a medium shot of Maddox.

Maddox (disgust)

Something smells fishy and it’s not the fish.

Camera cuts to a medium close up shot of Dr.Brown. Fear and guilt are evident on Dr.Brown’s face. Camera cuts to Maddox as he is seen covering his nose as there seems to be a very evident pungent odour in the kitchen area.

Maddox

Calvin, where is Elizabeth?

The camera cuts to a close up of Dr.Brown who is looking rather nervous and suspicious.

Dr. Brown

S-s-she went out of town

for a bit.

The camera is cut back to Maddox as it’s a close up shot of his face.

Maddox

I don’t think so…

Dr.Brown is in loss of words or excuses. He remains silent as Maddox is astonished by him.

(Continued)

Dr.Brown

S-she did.

SHE DID GO OUT OF TOWN!

The camera cuts to a long shot of Maddox as he marches up to his brother in anger and grabs him by the neck and looks him in the eyes.

Maddox (gritting)

If I find what I think I’ll find…

I won’t let you stand a chance

The camera follows Maddox over the shoulder. Maddox shoves his brother aside and kicks open the door to the basement.There is a worms eye view from the basement as the camera looks up at Maddox. The camera cuts the opening of the door which releases a strong wave of an odour which hits Maddox in an instant.The camera switches to a closeup of Dr.Brown as he gulps. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallowed nervously.

The camera cuts to a medium close up of Maddox’s expression which can be seen changing to slight fear, but he quickly becomes serious. His hand rests on the holster of his gun and he clicks it but does not take it out.

Camera cuts to a close up of Maddox.

Maddox

There’s something rotting in your basement.

FADE TO BLACK

END.

[beelieveinfandom]

A Better Birthright - Chapter Five

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9                          AO3 Link

The post-storm plane was a strange place. Fallen grass stocks were strewn about like bodies on a battlefield; long enough had passed that the majority of the grasses could no longer deny the reality of their own death.

Things were still. The wind was calm. The humidity had evened out to something fairly reasonable.

Despite the stillness it was impossible to miss the storm’s absence. The scattered plants were intermingled with the frozen stone replicas of their former brethren. Small amounts of ash drifted through the air from an unidentifiable source. A fine layer of crystal covered the ground, cracking and crunching when disturbed.

Plessy led Nav and Mizar with a modified compass. A few flakes of rust on the needle tip would ensure that it would always point to the sled. At least, it would under normal conditions. It was currently being difficult, skittering away from whatever direction it had been facing whenever it seemed to get a fix. Plessy was leading about as much by memory as she was with the device.

“So…” Nav said, as they passed a strange mound of crystals and greenery that smelled disturbingly meaty. “Fred. She’s got to be the Stormwaker, right?”

“What?” Mizar exclaimed. “No way. There is no way that they’re real.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nav put a hand on their hip. “Cause I have it on the great authority of a friend of a cousin's sibling-in-law that they’re definitely real.”

“Isn’t the Stormwalker supposed to be like, a twenty-foot-tall Dryad?” Mizar crossed her arms.

“I don’t think so; the Stormwalker’s definitely supposed to have horns.”

“There are horned dryads,” Mizar said, carefully walking around a pile of sharp petrified grass. “I’ve met a few. They’re great!”

“You’ve met multiple dryads?” Nav stared at her disbelievingly. “Multiple strange dryads to boot?”

“Well,” Mizar shrugged, “they do tend to live in groves, so If you run into one there are likely more around.”

“Plant things aside, Fred’s gotta be at least part of the origin of storm-parter legend.” Nav spread her arms apart. “It’s too big of a coincidence.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, feet crunching on the crystal covered ground.

“So,” Nav said, “do you think she knows?”

Plessy shook her head, smiling. “She has no idea.”

“Should we tell her?” Mizar asked.

“What, just go up to here and ask if she knows there are folk songs written about her?” Nav laughed.

“Ma'am, excuse me ma’am,” Mizar said quickly, “are you aware that you’re actually a massive dryad?”

“I can’t believe I met the Stormwalker and she’s shorter then I am,” Nav said.

“Her horns are pretty long.” Mizar pulled on a piece of bright orange ex-grass as she passed it, stretching it for almost a foot before it snapped. “I bet things started with describing her as having huge horns, and then she grew with the tale.”

“I’ll buy that.”

“So,” Mizar flipped her palms over, “what do you think’s the deal with the hand thing?”

“There’s a hand thing?” Nav asked.

You haven’t heard the hand thing?” Mizar leaned towards Nav. “There’s supposed to be like a bunch of hands that follow the Stormwalker around.”

“Follow her?” Nav scrunched their face. “As in they exist near her but are unconnected? Just wrists for days, stretching off into the void?”

“I think they’re supposed to be cut off at the wrists?” She frowned slightly. “I was never really clear on that.”

Nav crossed their arms. “That sounds incredibly fake.”

Mizar laughed. “Everything about her seems fake! Excuse me for not bothering to rank how likely each part of the ‘Massive horned parter of storms’ myth was.”

“Is that the sled?” Plessy asked.

A massive mound blocked the path ahead of them. It was easily twenty feet of mostly dirt, which presumably came from the moat-like pit that encircled it. Interspersed with the dirt was torn grass, small crystals, and the occasional limb of an unidentifiable animal. The pit was filled with a suspicious clear liquid whose fumes stung their noises and made their eyes water, even from the distance that separated it from them. The sled was stuck in the mound about two thirds down, underside strobing bright blue lights of distress. The front of it had been entirely subsumed by the mound, hard packed earth slightly cracked around its pathetic twitches.

Outside of some mild crystallization around its ancient control panel, the sled looked to be in pretty good shape. Or at least in comparable shape to before. It would, admittedly, be a pretty significant feat for the old machine to manage to get into a significantly worse condition without being cleaved in two.

Its useless twitching became frantic at their approach.

Mizar pulled her staff out of her belt pouch.

“Overkill much?” Plessy said.

“You know it! Or at least, you know it would be if I was gonna smash it. This staff’s absurdly enchanted - it wasn’t even a staff when I got it. The thing just became one because it’s what I wanted. It can absorb magic from other things, which is part of how it’s so damn effective against corruptions. Not that unlike Fred actually, just a smaller scale…”

*Nope. It has over a thousand years of enchantments on it and it’s much too small an area of effect for your purposes. Wouldn’t be able to make another one in your lifetime, either.*

She narrowed her eyes and glowered at him. “Anyway. Should be absolutely no problem to subdue the shit outta that cocky old board.”

Mizar took a few steps back and charged the moat, slamming her staff into the noxious liquid to pole vault over. With a firm yank she freed her weapon and, like a monarch conferring knighthood, bopped both of the sled’s sides with the star-shaped tip.

The sled went still.

Mizar eyed the mass of dirt that bound it to the mound and set to work freeing it. It was pretty firmly stuck, but with bit of work and some staff prying it slid out.

“So how do you work this thing, anyway?” She asked. “It��s a little bit big to throw back over.”

“On the left side there’s the control panel,” Nav shouted back.

“You mean this grid of identical and unlabeled buttons?”

“That’s the one,” Nav said. “The top left one will turn it on. After that there’s a sequence of three buttons you want to press, the first one twice -”

The sled roared to life and shot backwards, its bottom blazing bright green. Mizar barely managed to grab onto it before it raced over the moat, absconding with the priestess from its owners.

“THE POWER BUTTON,” Nav shouted. “YOU NEED TO PRESS THE - she can’t hear me anymore, can she?”

//I’m sure it will be fine. The sled is very durable.\\ Plessy was grinning. //I must say I’m impressed though, I didn’t even know it could go that fast.\\

“I know, right? What did she even do? Just, nyoomed outta town.” Nav stared after where the sled had gone. “So we should probably go after that, huh?”

//I suppose.\\

Mizar had managed to turn the sled off again fairly quickly, so catching up wasn’t much of a challenge. From there it was little effort to return it to its normal settings and go back to the others. And then they moved on.

The storm-wrecked field was still now, and full of strange monuments to the storm’s presence. The area was almost entirely dead, but the plants that had survived were enlarged, thriving, and in some cases eerily animalistic. A swarm of flies, flying in eerie synchronization, moved past. A few of the unnaturally large ones carryed those who hadn't fared the storm so well. The wreckage covered everything in view, like the whole world had been irreversibly altered in the process of a few hours.

And yet they passed through it quickly enough. Grass, normal golden stalks swaying in the wind, started sporadically appearing along the path again. Soon it was all the horizon contained, the storm’s path not even a dark blotch behind them. Birds returned to fill the air with chirps and caws, screaming out in greeting and warning. The taste of smoke on the air was replaced with that of the late flowers and the slight decay of autumn.

The seemingly endless grass became peppered with small trees. The distant mountains were starting to loom.

On one side of the road the grasses and undergrowth sharply cut off, replaced by a field of tall orange flowers. There was no currently tending the field, and no other clear signs of a settlement, but the small, dense grove of trees obscuring the road ahead could easily be blocking a town from view as well.

Barking could be heard from ahead. Most were high pitched and in quick succession from one another.

The trees all looked to be the same species and were crowned in colors. They carpeted the ground in their red and gold. Ivy with soft pink blooms clung to bark and hung down from branches. Clusters of deep purple bushes bunched against the trees, hiding shiny red berries beneath their leaves. Iridescent bees bumbled from flower to flower. They weren’t very large for bees, only a bit over an inch long.

A large puppy, about knee height, tumbled through the trees into the path in front of them, watching a bee closely. They could hear more barking in the woods behind it. Slowly the pup turned towards them, and jumped up when they caught its eye before running in a small circle yapping.

Nav stopped, gesturing at the others to stop as well.

“Isn’t that a wolf?” they asked.

“No.” Plessy answered. “They-”

Before she could finish her thought a massive wolf barreled through the undergrowth, sliding between them at the puppy. It was grey, mostly, with patches of red-brown. It wasn’t growling, but it was hunched over the pup in a very protective manner, eyeing them cautiously.

“Hello.” Mizar held her palms out passively. “We mean no harm to you or your child. We were simply following the path. May we pass?”

The wolf crouched low and growled, taking a step forward. Most of the party took a step back. Mizar reached into one of her pouches, whipped out her staff and held her ground.

The wolf started to grow, but unevenly. Its front grew out and larger and its stomach bulged out and segmented itself, becoming a brighter orange and shiny. The front legs had moved upwards as the front grew, and the rear legs were now shooting forward, leaving the creature supported by its weird stomach bulge, which finished splitting into two rows of fleshy prolegs. An extra set of legs had sprouted somewhere along the line, and rested between the other two pairs.

The whole thing took less than a minute, but it was an extremely gross and uncomfortable less than a minute.

The werewolf started laughing. With their larvaesque rear, ridged carapace, tiny vestigial wings and dual tails they could now be identified as a goblin, even if their midform was covered in fur and had a wolf head.

“Oh man, you should have seen the looks on your faces! Ya’ll really thought I was going to-” He turned to Mizar. “You’re terrifying, by the way.”

“A girl does her best.”

“I’m Swift.” He smiled. “He/him. And seriously though, it’s a good thing you ran into me first - there’s some nasty characters in these woods.”

“Really?” Fred asked.

“Oh yeah. The woods mauler. He’s this HUGE wolf who roams about, wears a coat made of the skins of everyone that he’s offed. They say that his skins hide him from anyone who shares their species. And he’s not the only one, there's also-”

“No there’s not,” said someone coming from the trees behind the goblin. They looked human, although were quite short, barely breaking four feet. Their proportions matched up with that of an adult human, not those of a dwarf. They had olive skin and wore purple robes accented in gold. “I don’t know what he was telling you but he was almost certainly lying.”

“What?” said Swift in a mockery of offense. “I would never lie about something as horrid as the Stillgrove Thrasher.”

“There is no stillgrove thrasher. Please stop trying to scare travelers.”

“Outright denial, eh?” Swift put his paws together. “That sounds exactly like something the Thrasher would say.”

“I hate you.”

The goblin dramatically gasped, covering their heart with a paw. “Such lies! And in front of children no less. I was so wrong, the Thresher would never stoop to such lows.”

A fit of giggles exploded from the pup in the road, who was lying on their back in a humanoid form.

“Hey kiddo,” Swift nudged the youngster with his foot, “what have we said about being bipedal without pants?”

“But you’re not wearing pant…”

“And I’m not bipedal. You know the rules. Less legs, more covers. You go from four legs to two legs you gotta wear pants. If you go to zero we put’cha in the sac. You go to fourteen and well…” He looked away from the kid towards the person he had been arguing with earlier. “Then you ask your bestest sister in the whole world if she brought your skirt because it’s actually pretty cold and you weren’t planning on needing vocal cords while on this outing.”

“You know one day I’m not just going to plan ahead for you without you asking me to,” she said, pulling out a large piece of cloth from her pack.

“Sure you will, Lorny dearest. Because you love me, and are the greatest sister in the world, and if you don’t I’ll just embarrass you even more.”

“Please never call me ‘Lorny’ again.” Lorn turned to newcomers. “You’ll have to excuse my brother, he’s-”

She stopped, staring at Mizar. At her staff.

“Swift, what were you doing?”

“Um.” Swift looked from Mizar to Lorn. “Is this some kinda trick question?”

“I’m…” Lorn was looking around quickly. “I’m going to go get the Bright One.”

“What’s so important that you need to get Malissa involved?”

“You would know if you would ever paid attention!” She shook her head. “And I realize the concept is foreign to you, but please try to be polite in the meantime.”

Growing wolfier by the second, Lorn dashed off into the woods.

Swift stared after her for a moment, before turning around.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister, she just… does this sometimes. Gets it in her head that something Matters and nothing can stop her.” He shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Who’s the Bright One?” Mizar asked.

“It’s a title, passed on to whoever has the strongest affinity for the beelessed instrument. She’s a pretty big figure in our pack, I guess,” Swift said. “She communes. Mostly with bees.”

“You can talk to bees?” Fred asked. “‘You’ in the general sense, that is. I wouldn’t think from that sentence that, personally, could talk to bees, although it would be pretty neat if you could.”

“Anyone can talk to bees. The hard part is getting the bees to understand what you are trying to say,” Swift said. “And it’s only sort of talking. We have a magical instrument that can be used to get basic ideas across. We’ve been using it for generations to live closely with them.”

“So if you’re using an instrument,” Fred said, “wouldn’t that mean that they can’t talk back?”

“Bees generally only really want to be able to tell other species to back off and are pretty good at doing this without any help.”

“You live closely with bees? Aren’t you worried about the kids?” Nadeau said.

“Not really.” Swift shrugged. “That’s the whole point of the instrument. Bees are only so aggressive because they don’t know our intentions and are trying to protect their hives. We can let them know that we don’t mean them any harm and they let us be as a result. We’ve also been breeding them for a while, so they’re a lot less aggressive than normal bees.”

“And the bees just trust whatever you tell them?” Nadeau asked.

“It wouldn’t be much of a spirit forged magical instrument if the bees didn’t believe it, now would it?” Swift put his middle paws on this hips. “Anyway, I don’t think bees really have a concept of lying. With most of what they use their communication skills for, any lie would be pretty quickly exposed and just waste everyone’s time. And bees are pretty intelligent but I don’t think they are quite smart enough to appreciate a good prank.”

“Considering the aforementioned lack of communication methods, that’s probably for the best,” Nav said. “I have trouble picturing bee pranks that aren’t ‘hey, let’s go sting that guy, it’ll be hilarious’.”

“I was thinking about pranks bees would play on each other. ‘Cause again, they don’t really interact with others outside of telling them to buzz off.” Swift tilted his head to the sky. “So like, one could tell the others she found some great flowers, just the perfect blooms, and when everyone goes to get them it turns out there’s just a bunch of rocks or something.”

“That seems kinda cruel.” Fred said. “I don’t think that bees would do that to each other, even if they could grasp the idea of it conceptually. I like to think that bees are full of love.”

Nadeau took a hard look at Fred. “Bees kill people.”

“Well, yeah but like Swift said, they don’t know what we are. We’re just huge lumbering things that crush their hives with our huge lumbering feet. But bees live in very close contact with each other, and I would hope that anyone living in that close of quarters really loves those they’re with, and I don’t see pranks fitting into that very well.”

“I don’t see what love has to do with not pranking.” Swift crossed his upper arms. “Maybe that wasn’t the best example in the world, but pranks don’t have to come from a place of malice. They’re just a way to have some harmless fun, and sometimes try and get someone to relax and stop treating everything like it’s of absolute importance. Not that that always works, but what can you do.”

“Who gets to say what exactly counts as harmless?” Nadeau asked.

“I mean, you gotta gauge your audience. One man's laugh is another's panic attack, and that’s no fun for anyone involved. It’s an art, and like any art it takes practice and sometimes you make a mess of things and you just gotta apologize and clean up after yourself.”

The sound of footsteps came from where Lorn had dashed off to.

Still in wolf form, she dashed back, followed by another goblin. There was no question that she was the bright one. She carried herself with exquisite posture, seeming to glide rather than walk over the ground. She had similar coloration patterns to the less wolfy parts of Swift, but she was darker and had light green spots scattered across her body, like freckles, that glowed softly in the low light of the woods. She was adorned in dark silks patterned like the night sky with golden stars. The light fabric flowed around her in the light breeze.

She looked Mizar over.

“I can see why Lorn requested my presence,” she said. “It would seem that we have an ally in common.”

“Hey, Dog Star.” Alcor popped into the physical plane. “Fancy running into you here, in this place that you live.”

“And hello to you as well, Star Cloaked One.” The Bright One bowed her head. “What brings you to our humble woods?”

“You should probably ask them that; I’m just along for the ride. It’s nice to see you again though.” He drifted closer. “The kids are looking well.”

“It is always an honor to be graced with your presence. The times have not been kind, but we have been blessed with good health.” She turned to Mizar. “You must forgive me, for it seems I have been ignoring you. I am Melissa Rex, Bright One of the Pack of Even Hands. Might I have your name?”

“I am Mizar, High Priestess of Alcor. My companions and I are simple travelers, passing through.”

“It seems you sell yourself short.” The Bright One smiled. “It strikes one as unlikely that travels with the Light in the Darkness could be described with such a word as ‘simple’.”

“There is certainly truth to your words,” Mizar conceded. “My goals are lofty and my ambition high, but I still have a long journey before I can achieve what it is I seek. In the meantime, I strive to do what I can along the way. These three are seeking a new place to spread their roots, and I am to make sure that they find it.”

The Bright one cupped her hands together. “If you would have it, I gladly offer to you the hospitality of the Pack of Even Hands.”

“Nothing could please me more than to accept. Our path has been a harsh one.”

The bright one led everyone down a well worn path through the woods. The prints of many species cut deeply into the moist soil. There were a disproportionate number of paw prints, but also humanoid, avian, equestrian, goblin, and the long treads of the legless. The tracks came in a wide array of sizes, and from the gaggle of children around them it wasn’t hard to guess why.

Mizar fell back and started talking quietly with Swift.

“So just to be clear, not everyone talks like that here, right?” she whispered.

“Nah,” he said. “Mum’s just weird.”

“She isn’t being weird!” Lorn interjected. “It makes perfect sense to default to more respectful language when dealing with a large number of unknowns. Part of her job is to maintain our relation with the Star Cloaked One, so it stands to reason that she is going to make an effort to not offend someone who bares his symbol.”

“It’s ‘cause Mum’s weird.”

*It’s ‘cause they love me.* Alcor floated incorporeal behind Mizar. *It turns out that actually honoring deals even when you aren’t magically bound to is a great way to get a dedicated following; other demons are dumb.*

“Well as long as I’m not expected to keep talking like that. I hate having to think before I say things!”

“You’re really going to leave that out in the open?” Plessy asked.

Mizar shrugged. “I’m comfortable with who I am.”

“I’ve never really understood what people meant about thinking before you speak.” Fred slowed to walk closer to them. “A lot of the things I say are because I think too much before I speak and can’t keep up with it. Talking slows me down a bit so I can understand what I’m thinking.”

“It’s less about whether or not there are thoughts so much as how much focus is put into the exact words you’re using. I like to just say things as the ideas pop up in my mind, you know?” She scrunched her face. “Wait, since when is this a group conversation?”

“You,” Plessy said, “are really bad at whispering.”

“That’s fair.”

The undergrowth opened up into a large clearing. The carpet of leaves thinned out, becoming occasional boats in a sea of dark green and purple groundcover. A small pocket of trees was in the center of the clearing, with a huge oak reaching for the edges of the town with its massive branches. Buildings made of stone and wood were scattered across the clearing, placed very haphazardly towards the center and arranged much neater along the edge of the treeline. Waist-high hexagonal structures were placed periodically along the edge of the clearing.

The village was bustling. People of every species hustled about, many turning to watch the group come in before returning to their business.

A cluster of eyes watched them unwaveringly.

A group of kids charged at them, talking all at once.

“Swift!”

“You’re back early. You said you wouldn't be back until the evening.”

“Who are they?”

“Did you get me anything?”

“Why is Mall- I mean why is the Bright One here?”

“Now, now.” The Bright One spoke out. “These are our guests. Let us give them some space.”

The children took a few steps back but still watched the group intently.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I don’t mind.” Mizar said. “I like kids.”

“You’re really tall!” A child cried.

“Yeah I am.” Mizar grinned at the kid. “It’s great!”

“What’s it like to be tall?”

“Can I touch you?” she asked.

The kid nodded.

“It’s like this!” Mizar scooped the child up and put them on her shoulders. “Except you hit your head on things way more often.”

“Hey,” a kid whispered to Fred. “I like your horns.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “It’s nice of you to say that.”

“Are you a tree?”

“I don’t think so, no. Which might be a point in the favor of me not being a tree, because I don’t think trees think, do they?”

“Trees can think!” The child stamped their foot. “The First Mother knows everything and she’s a tree and she has big horns like you but not like you hers are more branchy and smooth but she said that there were others like her but you obviously aren’t because anyone like her would know everything including that they were a tree.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah!” They gave Fred a wide toothy grin. “I wanna be a tree when I grow up!”

Fred squinted in thought. “Is that really a thing that you can be?”

“Why not?” They crossed their arms. “I can be a wolf.”

“Not that I’m anything but a frog two skips from the swap about this sort of thing, but I think wolves are a lot more complicated than trees are, so if you can turn into a wolf it’s probably also possible to turn into a tree. Although, wolves are a lot closer inside-ways to most people then trees are, so that might make them easier to turn into? You wouldn’t have any guts anymore if you turned into a tree, which might be a problem...”

“I don’t care about any of that. I’m gonna be a tree and it’ll be great!”

Stepping away from the mob of kids, Nadeau went up to the Bright One.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, “why is it that there are so many children here? Unless I’m missing something the adult to kid ratio seems off.”

“Our community has a strong affinity for children, and we have the resources to take in those who are unable or unwilling to raise their own, or who walk paths unsafe for little ones. It is not uncommon for scavengers to have us watch theirs while they go on an expedition, for instance.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I grew up rather sheltered. What is a scavenger?”

The Bright One shook her head slightly. “You have nothing to excuse, we have people from all walks of life pass through. A scavenger is one who seeks out artifacts of the ancients in the ruins they left behind. Between the physical hazards of decaying structures and the potential for corruptions, it is a dangerous path to walk, but the rewards can be of tremendous value.”

“There are enough things that still work after all this time that people are willing to risk their lives to get them?”

“Our ancestors had a unfathomable mastery of craftsmanship.” She turned her head upwards. “It is said that they shaped the Earth and sky to their liking; to manufacture a few trinkets that could last the centuries would be nothing for them.”

“Magic can really do a lot, huh?”

“Indeed it can, however little of what they left behind that still works is magic. Mechanical things are much less susceptible to corruption, and were far more likely to survive the Calamity.”

“What was the Calamity, do you know?” Nadeau asked. “Beyond just the end of the ancients.”

“I know not. You would have to ask that of the First Mother if you truly want an answer.”

“She knows?”

The Bright One nodded. “She was there for it.”

“Really? I didn’t realize it was possible for anyone to be that old.”

“As you so succinctly put it, magic can do a lot. That said, her age has been catching up with her of late, and she spends most of her time in deep sleep. Regretfully there is not much hope for you to meet her soon.” The Bright One paused. “But that does bring me to something I’ve been meaning to ask. The High Priestess said that you were looking for a new place to settle; I realize that you have just arrived, but have you any idea if you would like to stay with us?”

“I’m not sure, really, “Nadeau said. “The bees do make me a bit nervous, even if they are relatively safe. And I don’t think I’m really ready to start worshiping a spirit.”

“Then don’t. We require nothing more than respect for the Star Cloaked One; respect it is wise to give to any being of such power.”

“Really? He doesn’t think it disrespectful for people to lack veneration?”

“He has done much for our community, and there is definitely a communal reverence for Him as a result. However, individuals are free to feel how they wish.”

“That’s a very different way of looking at things,” Nadeau said. “I think I like it.”

“Well.” The Bright One tilted her head. “It is not really true devotion if you are forced into it, is it?”

“I’m not being forced to join this community,” Nadeau said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be unreasonable to have it as a condition for who is permitted residence. I’m rather surprised you don’t, actually. How do you ensure homogeneity?”

“That isn’t really something we value.”

“Then how do you ensure order?” Nadeau said with surprise. “Especially with all the outsiders that you permit entry?”

The Bright One Laughed. “The opposite of homogeneity isn’t mayhem. We still have rules, we just don’t think beliefs should be regulated. And there is a traveler's code of conduct that most of those ‘outsiders’ hold themselves to, so incidences that threaten the status quo are very rare.”

“And that works?” Nadeau asked skeptically. “How long has this community been around?”

“The pack was formed shortly after the Great Calamity. The precise date the pack abandoned nomadism to form the larger community has been lost, but was within a generation of the pack’s formation.”

“Huh,” Nadeau said. “Hey, would it be possible to sit? My legs aren’t really happy right now.”

“Of course it would be.” The Bright One covered her mouth with one of her upper hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it. It isn’t your job to know what my legs need.”

The Bright One led her to a pastel green hexagonal table that was near by. Cool shade was provided by a flower shaped parasol.

“Are these chairs a good height?” The Bright One asked. “If not I could-”

“It’s fine.” Nadeau interrupted. “They’re fine. I’ve been wedged in a pile of stuff for the past two days. It doesn't take much to be an improvement.”

“Right. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can get you.”

“Can I be curt with you?” Nadeau leaned towards the Bright One.

“Of course you may.”

“Would you actually want someone like me to join your community? These are hardly decorational,” she waved at one of her crutches, “and I don’t want you to take my brother and me in just because you feel some weird debt to Mizar. And don’t get me wrong, I am completely able pull my own weight, but I don’t want to live someplace that acts like I can’t again.”

“Of course you would be welcome here. Why-” She shook her head. “If I were only willing to let you join us as part of my role as liaison to the Light in the Darkness, I wouldn’t have offered without being asked to. As a community we are perfectly capable of supporting additional people, we have no reason to contrive such arbitrary barriers for membership as walking endurance.”

“Is this just some kinda magic thing? You don’t care because you can fix it?”

“Not at all. Magical healing is tricky at best. If you weren’t born with whatever it is that ails you then you could be Turned, but such a ritual should not be undertaken lightly. An attempt at healing could be made with magic if you so desired, but it is a slow and painful process, and depending on what exactly causes the problem is not guaranteed success.” The Bright One smiled slightly, “Unless the circumstance is dire, we tend to stick to the mundane methods such as crutches, braces, and stretching.”

“Braces? What are those?”

“They must be called something else where you’re from. It’s a device that corrects bodily positioning to help with movement and reduce pain.”

“Seriously?” Nadeau exclaimed, “you’re telling me that there are completely mundane methods of helping with this that are relatively well known?”

“You’re telling me that they didn’t even have the concept of them where you are from? It’s a very widely spread knowledge! Manufacture can be a little complicated, but... “ The Bright One shook her head. “No matter. Come with me, we’ll get you fitted for some at once.”

“Wait, what?”

“Unless you don’t want any?” She paused. “I shouldn’t presume, I suppose, but I’ve been told they are immensely helpful.”

“No, it’s not that I just… you know I haven’t settled on staying here, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You would waste communal resources on some outsider?”

“It is hardly wasteful to give someone something that will improve their life,” the Bright One said. “And anyway, it’s just some cloth and plaster or something. I hardly know the specifics, but it is nothing we cannot afford to part with at any rate.”

“But you said manufacture can be difficult.” Nadeau was looking at the goblin like she was slowly transforming into a sculpture made of goslings taped together, as unidentifiable and strange as only such a technique could produce.

“That’s why we have specialists, dear. Now come on, Glory’s always excited to start with someone new.” She held up a finger. “Just give me a moment to let everyone know I’ll be leaving them.”

With a quick word to the others, the Bright One briskly lead a bewildered Nadeau through the crowd towards the center cluster of buildings.

“What was that about?” Ladik asked, waist deep in some puppies he had started playing with.

“Sounds like something activated Mom’s mom mode.” Swift shrugged.

“But she didn’t look that much older than Nadeau…”

“Oh, Mom will mom anyone.” Swift laughed. “I’m pretty sure she’s fussed over the First Mother before, and she is ancient.”

“Gotta have a pretty strong mom game to mom someone with that title,” Nav commented. “And if you don’t mind me asking, who is the First Mother? They sound important.”

“The First Mother is the founder of the pack of Even Hands,” Lorn answered. “She’s a survivor of the Great Calamity. She was the first one to contact the Star Cloaked One, and has lead our pack with her wisdom throughout the centuries.”

“Can everyone here turn into a dog?” Ladik asked.

“If I had to guess I would say that only two thirds of the pack is actually comprised of werewolves. Getting Turned changes who you are. It’s a very personal decision, and we don’t want to pressure anyone into it.”

Ladik’s eyes went wide. “You can make it so that other people can turn into dogs?”

“Yes, but the ritual of Turning is taken very seriously here. It isn’t, well, under normal circumstances it isn’t something that happens quickly.”

“I wanna be a dog,” Ladik said, not really to anyone.

“Well like I said, it isn’t just being able to take a canine form. It adds a whole new layer of instincts that can be hard to control, which alters your personality permanently, even when you’re still in your original form. We aren’t just going to bite someone who doesn’t understand the consequences.”

“I can’t believe I could be a dog,” Ladik said. “I wanna be a dog.”

“You checked out at ‘yes,’ didn’t you?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Farha shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “But, do you… like living here?”

Lorn blinked. “I… yes. It’s much, um, friendlier, then where I came from, which was a little hard to adjust to at first, but I do like it here. Even if I did end up with the world's most annoying brother.”

“What community did you come from?” Nav asked.

“I’m not sure, actually. My parents were trying to send me someplace via magic and I ended up getting caught in a storm nearby. It was very different then anything I’ve encountered since. The plants weren’t green and there was something wrong with the rain. I was caught in a rainstorm once and got fairly badly burned. I was afraid of the rain for years after that, even after getting Turned healed the scars.”

“That sounds like a pretty bad place to have to live,” Farha said.

“It wasn’t all bad.” Lorn looked distant. “I don’t remember the corruption having any significant presence there. I don’t think we had magical storms either - part of what was so terrifying about the one that I got caught in was that I had no idea what was happening. And from what I recall the magic there was significantly beyond anything I’ve witnessed here. There were really neat interactive illusions all over the place, that would tell you stories or play games or teach you things. I still have one, actually! Only I can see what it’s displaying but it remembers everything I tell it. It’s really quite useful for keeping notes on things.”

“That sounds a lot like some of the things the ancients had,” Mizar said slowly. “Do you remember how you got here?”

“Unfortunately I don’t know anything more specific than that it was some sort of magic. My parents were very secretive about what they were doing. They were worried that something would go wrong and someone would stop them before they could get me away. I don’t even remember what was making them so desperate to get me out - I suppose I shouldn’t discount the possibility that I never knew - but they spent years working on what it was that got me here. I doubt I will have the knowledge or skill to reverse engineer it for some time.”

“You’re trying, though?” Mizar asked excitedly.

“Of course I am!” Lorn clapped her hands together. “With how dangerous travel can be, a proper teleportation spell would be revolutionary. It would have to be modified of course: even ignoring how I presumably missed my intended destination, the journey was rather unpleasant to the point that people might not be willing to undergo it, but I’m sure by the time I get that far into development it will be a cinch to fix that little issue.”

“How unpleasant would this have to be if you think people wouldn’t tolerate it for actual teleportation?” Farha asked.

“It felt like someone stabbed an unfathomably cold trident into the very core of my being, triggering total paralysis. Everything burned and I couldn’t move or do anything. It could really be a deal breaker for the whole thing, but it might not have been the fault of the original spell, just the storm’s influence.”

“And you’re still... you want to do it again?” Farha asked.

“Well yes.” Lorn waved her hand. “You can’t let one bad experience shake you from something this big.”

“I’m pretty sure you can, actually.” Swift muttered.

“Anyway, the unpleasantness was actually useful. I’ve thought a lot about what happened and I’m pretty sure the reason I couldn’t move was because I had been pulled into the Mindscape and was trying to move a body I didn’t have.”

“Why’s that significant?” Mizar asked.

“Because the Mindscape is the key!” Lorn pounded her hand with her fist. “Other experiments I’ve heard of about teleportations have focused on moving things through physical space and how to overcome the severe physical limitations of that. But by utilizing the Mindscape you’re operating under different rules so you bypass those limitations completely. It brings its own challenges to the table to be sure, but they’ll fall into place in time.”

“So.” Farha shuffled his feet. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Lorn asked.

“Living here,” Farha said. “You said that it was friendly… well friendlier than where you were before. And that probably means friendlier than where I’m from. But besides that. What is it like?”

“Well,” Lorn tilted her head back. “There’s a lot of room for me to pursue my research, which I appreciate. Um. The full moon can be rather obnoxious because pups tend to lack much self control over their wolf instincts. We’re basically the only supplier of honey, which brings in a lot of trade, so there’s almost always new people and we get a lot of news about other areas. Things have been a bit busy lately because a sickness passed through, but normality is steadily returning.”

Swift shook his head. “Lorn, no offense, but you suck at this.” He swept his six pawed arms wildly. “It’s great here! The community has a rich history stretching back to the Calamity. We got lots of really nice people who know lots of awesome things. More honey than the rest of civilization combined. The gardens are wonderfully scenic, the young pups keep the rodents out and the kids are always a blast to be around. There’s -”

“I don’t think he was looking for a sales pitch, Swift.”

“He’s looking for a new place to settle down and I just wanna make sure that our wonderful community is given its proper due.” Swift turned back to Farha. “The long and short of it is this is a good place to live and we would love to have you.”

“What I’m seeing so far does seem, well, it certainly looks interesting, I’m just.” He shook his head. “I’m worried about what happens if it turns out I don’t fit in well. I don’t want to be stuck like that again.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out you could always just head out with a trading caravan to somewhere else. They’re normally pretty happy to have an extra set of hands.”

“They would let me just leave?”

“Well yeah.” Swift said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What kinda place would force someone to stay in it? Outside of the weird hell dimension that Lorn came from, that is.”

“We don’t know it was a different dimension,” Lorn corrected.

“I guess that is a little weird.” Farha’s neck was pushed down into his body. “But are you really… have you ever left? Personally?”

“Nah, I like it here too much. But lots of people leave, even people who do like living here, because they want to do some trading with our neighbors or made friends with some travelers, or just want to see the world. Many of them come back, but someone’s always finding somewhere else to spread their roots.”

“Would it be possible to stay a few days? Just to, you know, try and get more of a feeling for this place?

“I was assuming you’d be. Mom doesn’t joke around about offers of hospitality, if you aren’t in a huge rush she would probably be a bit offended if you just ran off right away.”

“I was hoping to stay a bit,” Mizar said. “We could all use some real rest after that storm.”

“I suspect it will be awhile before Mom returns,” Lorn said. “Do you want us to show you to where you’ll be staying?”

“That’d be good.”

"We have some fairly nice accommodations you can use," Lorn said.

"It's just a really nice bit of the woods,” Swift cut in. “Softest bushes around."

"Because nothing says hospitality like ticks." Lorn shook her head. "No, there is an inn, complete with walls and other normal inn things."

Weaving through the crowd, the siblings led them to a large building towards the center of the town. It stood out from the surrounding structures, both for its unusual three stories of height and the fact it was grey and yellow brick rather than pale wood. Even with the crumbling edges of the aging bricks, the building had a comforting solidness to it, a stability that transcended architecture and made everyone feel a little more in place just with its presence.

Inside was quieter, but there was still a number of people milling about. The lower floor was open, with large, soft looking couches and chairs scattered about. Around the room on small tables were a handful of mid-sized crystals, each roughly a foot from end to end, which gave off light and heat.

Making a magically formed crystal give off energy was easy, although making them release it at a slow and steady pace was a bit more complicated. It was very easy to make crystals explode. As such it was slightly rare to see them used like this, to do so safely required a level of stability and confidence in magic that many places lacked. The degree of comfort that crystals could provide was enough to make it worth the effort, though - fire couldn’t provide the same even warmth and was hard to read by.

A nixie man greeted them, and after a quick discussion with the siblings led them to three rooms. The rooms weren’t the largest in the world, but they had enough beds for everyone, and after sleeping on the road, soft mattresses were really all it took to make them the best of all possible accommodations.

They slept. It was good.

They stayed in town a few days. Mizar and the Bright One talked a lot. Farha, Nadeau and Ladik decided they liked the place enough to try staying. Even if Nadeau hadn’t started to like the place - and she actually did, to her own surprise - she really liked the idea of not traveling with Mizar anymore.

And before they knew it, it was time for the rest of the party to move on.

“It’s been an honor having you.” The Bright One put a hand on the center of her chest. “I am glad fate crossed our paths.”

“The honor is mine to be had.” Mizar bowed her head. “Your hospitality has been beyond generous; is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Your company was payment enough. I wouldn’t dream of asking more of you.”

“Uh,” Swift cut in, “actually, there is something.”

“Swift,” Lorn whispered loudly.

“Don’t ‘Swift’ me, This is important.” Swift intently gazed into Mizar’s eyes. “How serious are you about that offer?”

“I don’t say things I’m not prepared to commit to.” Mizar said. “What is it that you need?”

“I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do this, you don’t owe us anything for staying, but we can’t currently do it ourselves and it’s really important that it gets done.” Swift stopped and took a breath. “There is a child that found his way to us, and he wasn’t in a good place before and at some point his emotions were Taken by the Unkindness. He’s doing a lot better now and I want to get them back, but we just had a sickness pass through and can’t really afford to send an expedition to the Unkindness.”

“What does the child want?” Mizar asked.

“Nothing. He said that he was fine with doing this but…” Swift shook his head. “Wanting things requires emotions. He literally cannot care one way or another about this, or anything else.”

“So how do you plan on getting them back?”

“The Unkindness has a home not too far from here where they keep the things that they Take. Apparently they can be convinced to return things if you want them enough.”

“They actually have a physical base?” Fred asked. “I always figured it was something more abstract then that. Is there just like, a mountain of things surrounded by guard crows, constantly growing as a stream of crows brings in forks and couches and stuff?”

“I’m not sure how physical the place is. There is certainly a physical entrance, but it’s been described as an impossibly deep hole. I haven’t heard anything about what’s at the bottom, it might be all that.”

“So,” Mizar said, “you want to just walk into crow city and ask really nicely for them to give this kids emotions back?”

“I know it’s not much of a plan, and I understand if you aren’t willing to just go in on so little.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mizar practically shouted, “that sounds awesome!”

“Really?” Swift took a step forward. “You’ll do it?

“Heck yeah I will. I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to go to the heart of the Unkindness for the world.” She paused and put a finger to her mouth. “Well, that’s probably a lie. I wouldn’t pass it up for much less than the world though.”

“That’s great!” Swift was bouncing on his many legs. “Let me get Jorge and we can head out whenever you’re ready.”

He scuttled off, returning after a few minutes with Jorge. Jorge looked to be in his early teens, with long black hair hanging messily around his pale elbows. He glanced at Mizar and the rest of the party, but didn’t react in any observable way.

“Jose, this is Mizar, and the people behind her are Fred, Nav, and Plessy. We’re going to be traveling with them for a bit.”

“Okay.” Jorge said quietly, and then after a moment, like he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, “hi?”

“Hello.” Mizar smiled at him. “Are you ready to face the Unkindness?”

“Um.” Jose Shrugged.

“Fair.” Mizar said. “How’s everyone else feeling? Ya’ll want to do this?”

“Not gonna lie, I’m actually pretty psyched about the potential to see where the Unkindness is based,” Nav said.

“I’m with Nav,” Plessy said.

“I agree with them too,” Fred said. “It never even occurred to me before that there might be an actual place that the crows bring things, and it’s really a ripe snipe that there is.”

“Alright then!” Mizar grinned. “Let’s do this.”

Swift led them for about a day to the Unkindness’ stronghold, in the foothills of the mountains. To say that there were a lot of crows was like saying that someone's gut has a lot of bacteria - not inaccurate per se but completely understating the scale of the situation. Crows lined the many trees like leaves, holding fairly still and staring at the travelers. Dense streams of crows would periodically move through the sky, blocking out everything behind them.

The entrance was impossible to miss. It was a massive hole, lined with a thick metal exterior that rose about a foot out of the ground. The hole was so large a house could probably fit in its circumference. The metal was unidentifiable, about six feet thick, seamless, and silvery, and the interior of it was hugged by a narrow staircase. A wall of crows was perched along the edge of the metal, and those near the stairs parted as the party approached.

The late evening sun cast a bit of light down one of the sides, which did little to alleviate the pitch blackness of the hole. There was no indication of how deep it went.

A thin stream of crows entered, and clouds of them flew out in bursts.

Since no one seemed particularly determined to climb a presumably huge number of stairs into a pitch black hole after a day of walking, they decided instead to set up camp, and prepared themselves to enter the unknown.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 

Sorry that took so long, this chapter really didn't want to come out. I'm still not really thrilled with it but hey, it's done.

Melissa, Swift, and Lorn are reincarnations of Hank, Stan and Ford. I figured souls would be more likely to jump species when there are just less options in general, so long as they can be something similarly cognizant.

The next chapter should be out much faster. I've been excited to write it since last summer and already have some large chunks of it done.

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #160 - Charlie and Daddy Goes Away

Me: a prequel to #158 - Charlie and Elliot's First Birthday. Owen tells Claire about his new job offer + the subsequent events that follow.

‘tis a little bit of a mess but I was so eager to get through it all.

AO3 - C&E Index 

CHARLIE AND DADDY GOES AWAY

Owen’s favourite part of the day was coming home. It had been like that since he was a little boy, reaching the home stretch on their walks from the park, or the drive from the supermarket. At school, he couldn’t wait for the final bell before he passed through the gates. In the military Owen always counted down the days until training was complete, mission over, the task at had signed off before he could leave.

Whether he was returning to his childhood home or base housing, even the bungalow, he occupied on Isla Nublar. Owen was happy to head for it. Even once Jurassic World fell apart in his hands, moving from the island with nothing to a small hotel room in Costa Rica, eventually a slightly bigger apartment before he and Claire shared in the down payment for a modest house in San Diego. Home was wherever Owen could lay his head. In recent years, since the birth of his daughters, Owen was able to redefine the definition. Home was where his family was, specifically that of his wife and daughters. Even his mother had managed the move to San Diego, packing up the home she had built to be closer to her only grandchildren.

It was exhausting days that drove him home a little harder. He itched to walk through that door, to hear Charlie’s excited voice squealing with laughter as she barrelled towards him, arms flung wide. That afternoon was no different, gruelling day weighing on his shoulders as Owen slid from his car. He could hear Charlie already, the upstairs curtain in her window shimmering with movement, telling him the girl had spied his arrival from her bedroom. She was calling out ‘daddy’s home’ as she moved, loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear.

Owen had his key in the door before she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes alight at the sight of her father in the doorway. With butterfly wings strapped unevenly to her back, Charlie ran full pelt for her father, Owen scooping the girl up and into his arms before covering her in kisses.

‘Was work good?’ The girl asked, watching her father’s face.

Owen sighed, ‘Work was horrendous’. He told her with a heavy sigh, the girl frowning as she accepted his words with a kiss to his cheek. ‘And school?’

The girl mocked her father’s sigh, shoulders sagging as she sat in his arms. ‘I like school,’ She told him easily, matter of fact slipping from her tongue with a nod of her head. Owen chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her cheek again.

Claire appeared around the corner with a welcoming smile, grinning at the sight of her husband home, his arms filled with their child. She kissed him sweetly, quietly asking about his day as her finger swiped over his cheek. He grumbled in response, savouring her touch with a promise that they would discuss it later; minus the child.

She nodded, easily accepting his aversion as her eyes lit up. ‘Guess what Elliot did today?’ She asked him, eyes on Charlie as the girl wriggled with excitement, seconds away from screeching in her father’s ear. Owen practically forgot about the second addition to their family, the child not present in the hallway, her mother absent without her. He took a single sidestep into the living room to see the baby lying on her back arms not quite long enough to reach the noisy toys above her head.

His eyes lit up just as Claire’s had done, Charlie’s excitement vibrating in his chest. ‘What?’ The girls were marvels, magical creatures who managed to keep him on his toes whenever they could. Owen knew he was capable of pride so deep it grew in his bones, the Velociraptors he raised on Jurassic World filled him with a similar passion. Every time they learnt something new and acted on it, Owen couldn’t help but boast. He was the same with his daughter’s the slightest achievement award worthy in their home. Everything Charlie did was met with a whoop and cheer, it was no different for Elliot.

Owen toed off his boots before stepping any further into the carpeted room. With Charlie on his hip and Claire a step in front of him, he moved for Elliot. ‘What did you do, baby?’ He asked the child in a warm tone, words animated to catch her attention. Despite being impartial to her father, Elliot always managed to turn her head for his voice. This time was no different.

He put Charlie on her feet to get down on his knees beside the six-month-old. His finger reached out to touch her small hand, as his youngest child stared at him blankly. She blinked before giggling, the same cheerful sound she met her mother and sister with, small legs kicking as she reached for Owen. ‘What did you do today, Elle?’ He asked again, voice pitched higher than usual for his baby speak.

Charlie climbed on his back, small arms wrapping around his neck as she rested her weight on him, glad that he was home. ‘She rolled over!’ Charlie exclaimed, letting go of him for a second to throw her arms out.

‘Did she?!’ Owen asked with excitement, a hand reaching out to rub Elliot’s belly. ‘Did you roll over, baby?’ He asked like she would look at him an answer in perfect English.

‘Mhm,’ Charlie answered for her sister, ‘almost nearly right off the bed!’

Owen turned his head, looking for Claire behind him. He found her, leaning against the archway, arms crossed over her chest. ‘I caught her.’ Claire offered, reassuring his worries as she shrugged. ‘No more turning our backs on Elle, hey, Charlie?’  The girl on his back chuckled, her head shaking against his shoulder blades. There went their easy, peaceful lives, only Charlie the trouble maker and Elliot their easy going babe. He forgot she was going to grow up that one day soon she would start walking and talking, asking for money and from him to pick her up from parties. Six months and already it was going too fast. He wanted to stop the clock, freeze them all there and never move from it.

He made sure Charlie was holding on tightly before he moved, arms reaching for the baby as he scooped her into his arms. Once standing, Owen made sure an arm supported Charlie as he cooed at Elliot. ‘You girls are getting so big.’

‘Elle will be as big as me soon!’ Charlie echoed, cheering in his ear. That was exactly what he was afraid of.

[…]

The lights were down low in the master suite when Owen returned from tucking Charlie in for the third time. Claire was sat in the middle of their bed, legs tucked under her and glasses perched on her nose. He knew what she was looking at, without asking, her fingers tapping at the keyboard of her laptop for a second before she sighed and rubbed at her temples.

‘How’s the budget doing?’ He asked, pulling off his shirt and throwing it in the laundry basket, thankful that he had already showered and brushed his teeth before dealing with Charlie.

Claire hummed, ‘not good’. He knew that was the case. They had been in a sticky spot for a little over a year in regards to finances. ‘The bills are paid, the food is in the fridge, the girls are happy - it can’t be that bad.’ She worried, teeth grazing her lip. ‘But, if something falls apart, be it the car or the house, if any one of us gets seriously ill; we’ll run the risk of losing the house.’ She loved that house like she loved a spring breeze and there was no way Claire would let go of it without a fight. She also liked the financial security, and the fact that they were living on the edge was clearly wearing at her. She didn’t want to regret it, to say the last round of IVF shouldn’t have happened. If she did, she would be calling regret on Elliot, on succeeding - and if they didn’t go through with it, they would be struggling with a heavier mental battle than that of a little extra spending money.

‘It’ll work out, Claire, I promise.’ He leant over to kiss her cheek before climbing across the mattress and settling his head in her lap.

‘I hope so.’ She gave him a smile, her hands finding his hair as he sighed. ‘What’s been going on in your head tonight?’ He couldn’t deny it, Claire saw how distracted he was, how clingy he was with Elliot when he hadn’t been before.

Owen sighed, eyes closing in her lap as her fingers played with his hair. ‘I had a meeting today.’

‘Everything okay at the zoo?’ The last thing she needed to hear was budget cuts or low on funding they couldn’t tackle that like they used to.

‘It wasn’t a zoo meeting.’ She let out a small sound of question, the noise disappearing into the quiet corners of their bedroom. ‘I was approached by the Marines, again.’ He felt her energy shift, Claire’s hands in his hair ceasing their movements for a split second. ‘They want me for a project. Say I’m the only one who can help.’

‘No.’ Claire shook her head, her answer definitive. No, he wasn’t going anywhere, they had daughters who needed their father. There would be no ‘need-to-know’ tasked in the centre of the Middle East - at least, not for Owen.

Owen shuttered a sigh, shoulders falling as he turned to look at her. ‘The pay is good. Really good.’ Claire shook her head regardless. ‘Claire, I don’t want to take this job —‘ she told him not to take it then. ‘— I need too. We need the money. It’s four months. I’ll be able to call every day, you’ll hardly notice I’m not here.’ She pulled away from him, sliding herself to another part of the bed as his head fell out of her lap.

‘Charlie will notice.’ Owen sat up. ‘I can’t handle her on my own, Owen. You want me to juggle them both. What if Elle gets sick again? What am I going to do? You won’t be here.’

‘Mom and Dad are right down the street, they’ll help.’

‘Have you asked them?!’ She felt her voice rise, sound almost cracking as she tried to keep quiet. Owen shook his head, he didn’t need to ask. They moved for them without Owen so much as suggesting the idea. Heather and Henry Grady wanted to be close to their grandchildren so they could help raise them, something Claire had never been scared to ask for before.

He understood her fear. Alone with Charlie and Elliot, Claire would be their soul provider. On a good day, she couldn’t juggle between Charlie’s often melodramatic needs and Elliot’s cries to be held. Even when Owen was only down the hall, she struggled. It took a lot to suggest she spend four months with them like that, no Owen walking through the door to save the day. He was insane.

‘You’re going, aren’t you?’ She asked quietly, knowing the answer just from the way he looked at her. Owen had decided before they even had a chance to discuss it. In preparing his argument, he figured it all out.

His nod was slow, remorseful. ‘I need to do what’s right for my family,’ he watched her open her mouth in protest. ‘What’s right, currently, is making sure there’s money in the bank, so my wife doesn’t ever have to worry that she’ll lose the house she loves, and the home for her children, or that her husband will have to work himself to the grave to make sure they’re all provided for. I want to see you retire, Claire. I want to know the mortgage will be paid off and that the girls get cars for their birthdays. If I have to miss four months of their lives - especially Elliot, who is changing every day - then so be it, I’m going to have to make that sacrifice to ensure, down the track, I never miss it again.’

He didn’t know how to tell her Christmas was going to be void of his presence. Owen just hoped she had already realised without his explanation.

‘When do they want you to leave?’ She couldn’t look at him, his heart breaking in his chest as he reached for her hand.

‘A few weeks.’ He watched her try not to react, pulling down the covers as she climbed into bed.

‘You have to tell Charlie.’

The last thing he wanted to do was tell Charlie. Owen nodded, softly, knowing that everything was in her court now. Whatever he did from now until god knows when was eligible to be manipulated by Claire. He was leaving her to fend for herself and their two daughters, without consulting her first. She could throw whatever she wanted at him, and Owen would only claim it as fair game.    

He watched her settle into their bed, her back turned to him for a moment before he leant over and kissed her cheek. ‘I love you, you know.’ He promised her with a second kiss.

‘I swear to God, Owen Grady if you get yourself killed - I’m coming out there to kill you a second time.’ She still pulled away from him, despite the humour in her words. Owen knew he wasn’t off the hook, that if he wanted Claire to warm back up to him that he would have to wait until she didn’t want to rip his head off.

[…]

Telling Charlie was easier than he thought. Initially, she didn’t understand. She blinked at him innocently, asking what his new job entailed. She missed the part where he would be leaving until he had to repeat himself, over and over for weeks until he left.

‘You have to go before they wake up.’ Claire offered one evening, Charlie sprawled across her father’s chest, soft snores lifting from her deep sleep. They had good days and bad ones like they always had. Weaving in and out of Charlie’s reluctance to let her father go. She had missed school too much in the last fortnight, screaming blue murder if she was forced to leave his side, scared they he would get up and leave while she wasn’t looking. It was how it needed to happen, Claire decided. He had to leave while the girls were asleep, hours from rising, or else he would never be able to leave at all. Drawing out a long goodbye with the child who had been undeniably attached to his hip from the moment she was born, wasn’t going to be good for either of them.

Charlie knew regardless of their plans, bunkering herself down in their bed as she had for the last month since Owen said he was going away for work. She was there in the morning, sunrise barely poking through the windows of the master bedroom as he held Elliot in his arms. He was trying to soak them both in, Claire had only just filled Elliot’s stomach, handing over the still sleep warm girl with her drooping eyelids. Elliot wouldn’t give him away, not so long as she remained warm and her needs were met. The next time he saw her, she would already be so much bigger than her small form. Four months for an infant changed everything.  

He held her until he couldn’t any longer. He bowed his head to kiss her forehead, inhaling the familiar baby smell he was going to miss just as much as he missed the presence of his family. He would miss their physical beings, the sound of them up the stairs or down the hall, Charlie’s noisy ‘music’ or her games she played on the living room floor. He was going to miss the way Claire continued to smell like Vanilla despite all the years he had known her, Charlie’s mix between dirt and her too sweet children’s soap, and the way Elliot smelt like every baby did, warm and comfortable, like hope, like every dream he poured into her, tugging at his heart strings, making him want another.

Owen settled her down beside her sister, Charlie sprawled across his and Claire’s shared bed. She didn’t move when Elliot was placed inches from her body, her sister wrapped in blankets from her crib. He grabbed a throw from the end of the bed, and unravelled it, tucking his daughters into it as Charlie stuttered a sigh and Elliot mimicked the sound.  

He kissed Charlie’s head gently, careful to not stir her too much before he pulled away and dragged himself out of the room. He had to hope that the sight of them both, sleeping in his bed, had burnt itself into the back of his eyelids enough to remain there for four months.

Claire had been right. Saying goodbye while their eyes were open and their minds were awake, would have been the hardest. He could kiss their hair and say goodbye without the tears on their part. He couldn’t do the same with his wife. Owen could see the tears in her eyes, despite Claire’s best attempts to keep them at bay. He held her head in his hands like he held their daughter, gently as he kissed the top of her head. Owen tried to ignore the grip of her fingers on his shirt and the desperate hold she had on him. If he focused on it, even for a second, he wouldn’t be able to leave her.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I get settled.’ He promised with a kiss to her forehead and a second to her cheek. ‘You look after my girls okay?’ He kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘That includes you.’ She nodded, eyes closed against his touch.

‘Go,’ she urged fists pushing at his chest. ‘Go before I beg you to stay.’ He kissed her, long and hard, a last goodbye before they were reunited. His hands squeezed her, accepting his last hold before he tore away and turned out the door.

She barely managed to catch her breath, tears stinging in her eyes before she heard Charlie stir, the little girl not measuring herself in fear of waking her sister. Claire cringed, waiting for the wail of her baby followed by Charlie’s inevitable screams. She could hear the panic rising in Charlie’s voice, the child calling out for her daddy as her voice bounced off the walls.

Claire met her daughter on the stairs, forcing a tight-lipped smile as she locked eyes with Charlie and her bedhead. ‘Charlie, you have to keep your voice down.’ She warned easily, knowing that she had to dash back up the stairs to move the baby her husband had left on their bed without barriers.

‘Where’s daddy?’ She asked with a quiet voice, worry blurring at the edges of her eyes. Claire suspected Charlie already knew the answer, little girl fidgeting on the spot as she waited for her mother to respond.

Claire bit her lip, hands gently coasting over Charlie’s hair as she leant forward to kiss the girl’s head. ‘Daddy had to go to his new job.’ She could see her daughter trying not to break, bottom lip rolling forward slowly as it started to wobble.

Charlie shook her head. ‘But, I didn’t get to say bye.’ Her small hands pulled at her sleep shirt, tugging the hem down and stretching the fabric. There was nothing Claire could say, nothing she could do to stop the outburst that was ready to break any second. They planned it this way, despite her not wanting to deal with Charlie’s upset. This was better than peeling the girl off her father, or so Claire hoped. Maybe they should have let her say goodbye.

‘He’s going to call us as soon as he gets there, okay? You can talk to him then.’ She felt like he bad guy, villainous and evil in Charlie’s easy going story. Her daughter broke, five-year-old, pushing her mother’s hand away as her face crumbled into a mess of tears. Her legs gave out, the child falling to the step she had been standing on as her cries grew with her mother’s attempt to touch her. Claire couldn’t watch her fall apart, not if the girl didn’t want her help. It took some effort, but she managed to tear herself away, stepping around Charlie on the stairs so she could move Elliot to her crib before the baby rolled right off the bed.

Claire feared waking the baby, her movements gentle as to not cause any more tears. She could hear Charlie howling, mother terrified it would wake her baby and only add to the sound. Claire couldn’t juggle both at once. She knew, once Elliot was securely tucked within the four walls of her crib that she could focus on Charlie; if both were crying, Claire would be left with no other option but to cry with them.

Elliot barely roused as Claire lifted her from the centre of her shared king bed and returned her to the crib below the window. They were trying to move her from their room to her own, co-sleeping a habit Claire was desperate to break since they brought the girl home four months ago. She couldn’t bring herself to be any further from the girl while they slept and with Owen gone, Claire didn’t see the crib moving from their room until he was back. Elliot grizzled her back on a new surface, sheets of her crib cooler than where she had been lying with Charlie only minutes earlier. She settled immediately, Claire plucking the baby monitor from the bedside table and sliding it into her back pocket. She stopped at the dresser, before leaving the room altogether, sliding the middle drawer open and plucking a shirt from it’s folded stack.

Charlie had moved from the staircase to sit a few feet from the front door. Claire was only thankful that the girl had not realised she could open it to chase the memory of her father down the street. She was still crying. Her cheeks were red, eyes almost turquoise as she stared at the door, undoubtedly waiting for Owen to walk back through it.

‘I brought you something, Charlie.’ Claire offered, announcing herself as the girl grunted. She didn’t move only continued with her sobs, the force substantial enough that she was going to make herself sick. Claire held the shirt to her nose, taking in the smell of Owen and flannel before she draped it around Charlie’s shoulders. The girl accepted it immediately, tugging it around her neck and breathing deeply. ‘Do you want a cuddle?’ Claire asked, crouching down beside her daughter, hopeful that Charlie would want comfort from her. She shook her head. ‘Do you want me to leave you alone?’ Charlie nodded. ‘Okay, you can get one later when you’re ready.’

[…]

It took Owen all night to call. The sun set outside their windows, basking the house in an orange glow. Heather had appeared a little before five, setting herself to work in the kitchen, prepping a meal to give Claire a hand. Charlie hadn’t moved from her vigil by the door, not even when her grandmother arrived. She was unbothered by the world around her, determined to wait her father out and be the first to welcome him home.

Claire had settled in the living room, her laptop opens on the coffee table as she waited for her husband’s call. She was starting to feel a little like Charlie, staring off into dead space as Elliot nursed in her arms. She almost missed his call altogether, computer on quiet as the screen lit up with an incoming video call from Skype.

‘Charlie, daddy’s calling.’ Claire called over to her child, unsure if her daughters conscious was still on their plain of existence or if she was in an alternate reality where Owen had walked through the door. Charlie responded immediately, scrambling from her place on the floor to run into the living room. She climbed on the couch delicately, mindful of her mother and sister as she tucked herself under Claire’s arm at Elliot’s feet.

Owen was on the screen within a second, his eyes tired and his grin wide. ‘There’s my girls!’ Owen cheered, his excitement radiating through the screen. It was all it took for Claire to snap, the realisation dawning on her and breaking through her throat. She couldn’t hold back the sob. She knew he wasn’t coming home that night, had known for weeks, but it didn’t seem real until now, sunset, dinner in the oven, his face on her computer screen.

With their mother upset, both girls started to cry each of them clinging to her as Owen had no choice but to watch. He knew it was going to be hard, almost impossible. But, Claire had gone away for business more than once since Charlie was born and they had managed just fine. She was never gone for any longer than four days. They spent several weeks away from Charlie when Elliot was born, and though neither parent was there to witness her behaviour, the young girl seemed to be fine. He needed them to get through that, plus a few more weeks. Owen was sure he would be home before they realised he was gone, ready for him to leave again after a few hours.

He hated being helpless in regards to his family, unable to wrap them in his arms while all three cried. He was trying his best to help them, working hard in a job he didn’t want to return to make sure they were financially stable for the rest of their lives.

‘I miss you.’ He offered them, knowing without their words that they felt the same.