#its not even raining anymore but the ground is still wet and my socks are wet

[reki-of-the-valley]

Someone remind me to buy new shoes next week

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.

[catboyshinsou]

wings and cuddles

pairing: hawks x gn!reader

warnings: mention of heartbeats, crying, comfort, “feather” nickname for reader

word count: 1400

summary: you come home from a bad day and seek comfort in your boyfriend who wraps himself around you to calm you down

The rain dripped off your umbrella, partially grazing your exposed arm on its way to the ground. A tingling sensation went up that area, goosebumps forming rapidly. Your shoes squeaked, your socks clung to your skin as you walked down the crowded road on your way home. Strangers bumped into you from left and right, low apologies coming from both you and them. A burning sensation spread across your cheeks as the cold wind hit them, pulling you back with your umbrella.

It was supposed to be a sunny summer day but as soon as you left your workplace it started pouring mercilessly. Not only did your old umbrella spontaneously break, making you spend unnecessary money on this new one, your way was riddled with puddles, one of them catching you off guard as you stumbled into it and soaked your shoes and socks in the process. You cussed under your breath as you looked at the now brown grey socks and shoes and splutters of mud against your shins.

The door slammed shut behind you, a sigh leaving your lungs as you kicked off both your shoes and socks and waddled into the bathroom. As you leaned on the sink, looking into it as if the white porcelain would give you an answer as to why the day had been like this. Lukewarm water drizzled over your arms, washing away the disgusting feeling the rain had given you. ‘Acid rain is a common occurrence in major cities due to the high levels of air’, your old geography teacher rang in your head.

You sat in the tub and let the water run over your cold to the touch legs, a stinging sensation spreading where the hot water hit first. Your muscles contract and relax, as if they were sighing themselves to let out the frustration of the day. You looked at the shower head. After a few minutes of thought you got up and dried off your legs. If you went into the shower now, you were sure you would collapse from exhaustion and hit your head to end off the day.

A rustling came from the living room, the wind and rain getting louder for a minute before muting again. “Anyone home?” Your boyfriend called from his self proclaimed door while taking off his wet coat and hanging it next to the window.

Before you knew it, you were headed towards the sound of his voice, your feet almost flying over the ground. You could feel your cheeks burning again as you swallowed the knot in your throat and blinked to hold back the tears.

“Hey feather, how was-” Before Keigo could finish his sentence, you crashed into him. Head first you landed in his arms, pushing him back a few steps. Your head rested on his shoulder, your arms around his waist.

It took a few seconds for him to understand what was going on, slowly wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you just the right amount. You felt his chest rise and fall, his shoulders tensing up as he moved his arms and the calming pulse of his veins.

There was something about his scent that calmed you down. He didn’t wear cologne or anything. Just his natural smell made you feel at ease, as if it was a signal that you were okay now. You snuggled yourself in the crook of his neck and let out a shaky breath.

“Rough day, huh...” Keigo pressed you closer to him, your chests pressing against each other. He had just finished his last patrol for the day, earlier than normal but the other agency in his area had a new intern so they lifted some weight off his shoulders.

You replied with another deep breath and closed your eyes. The urge to cry didn’t leave but somehow it felt wrong to burst out in tears. Even though everything inside you begged for you to let the tears roll, you held back and just tried to calm yourself or let your boyfriend's presence calm you.

“Oh, feather…” His low voice rang in your ears, your lips trembling. “It’s okay… I’m here now…” He wrapped his wings around you, completely enclosing you with him. His scent and presence wrapped around you like a blanket on a cold winter’s eve. He rubbed your back, tracing little circles with his thumb.

“I can feel that you want to cry… I don’t mind, okay? Just let it out…” Keigo simply couldn’t ignore your hitching breath and your hands gripping his shirt. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, okay? We can just stay like this and you can let it all out…” His warm hand wandered up your back and landed on the nape of your neck, his thumb caressing the back of your ear. “It’s okay feather…” With that the waterworks started, tears welling up in your eyes and rolling onto his shoulder. In a silent sob, you held him tighter and tried controlling your breath so he didn’t have to worry as much. His wings wrapped around you more and he just held you close.

Not only were you incredibly close but his feathers could sense every so small movement of yours, from the irregular breath to your shaking from holding back your sobs. Even the muffled noises in your throat set Keigo off. He just wanted his little feather to let it out, not keeping it in because you felt like a burden.

“Want me to talk, feather?” He kept his voice quiet, making sure to not irritate you more. There were times you just needed his presence and times where you needed something to calm you down. His workplace stories seemed to work best when it came to that, something about his sidekicks’ shenanigans just put you at ease with a smile. Especially whenever he talked about his newest intern, Tsukoyomi, an UA first year, you seemed to calm down just a little faster.

You took a few seconds to gain enough control over your body again to nod into his shoulder as you sniffed. The tears found no end, burning in your eyes as if they were some type of punishment. Your lungs were on fire, your chest hurt from keeping in the wails. It was like you couldn’t breathe, your throat lacing up with the sobs.

“So Tsukoyomi had to leave earlier today… You will never guess what he said his reason was.” A small chuckle rumbled in his chest as he repositioned his arms around you. “He left for a study session with a friend.” The Pro scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I know I’m not the youngest chick in the bunch anymore but even I know that was code for something. We have a little bet going at the agency who his little lover is… Now don’t tell anyone but we looked through his class pictures and my bet is either the frog girl that interns at Ryuku’s or the one with the mask and the big arms. I’m gonna show you the pic too, I have it somewhere in his internship folder I think-” You started chuckling against him. Some tears still flowed but your body slowly came back under your control, you took a very urgently needed deep breath and relaxed against him. 

He felt you falling against him, your grip on his shirt loosening and the sniffling decreasing. “You’re fine, kid… I love you so much, okay?” “Cheesy but I’ll take it…” Your voice was still shaky and it burnt a little when you talked but it felt good. A wave of relaxation just washed over you as Keigo’s arms tightened around you once more.

“Yeah, yeah…” He tucked his wings back, the cold outer air hitting your back unexpectedly. “Wanna talk about it?”

You took a deep breath. “I want to eat something... and take a shower…” “I think that can be arranged.” He pressed a kiss on the top of your head and started swaying around. “We’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the day and you just say when you want to talk, okay?”

You nodded. “I love you too…” “Ha, weirdo.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Protea (Part 7)

Mai hasn’t stopped by yet, Snapdragon supposes that it is just as well, she hasn’t finished her gift yet. It is quite simple but she is still proud of it. She hopes that Mai will enjoy it as much as she is thrilled to be making it.

So far the necklace has six charms, a very vividly colored paradise-peacock feather, a small elephant-rat paw bone, a naturally polished and very shiny stone with a hole in it, an aged fork, a clam shell, and one of several old coins that she had found buried in the jungles of Hira’a.

She thinks that the cord can hole at least one more trinket and a few beads. She scampers through her piles sorting through ribbons, thimbles, and empty bobbins. She inspects shards of glass before ultimately deciding that those are all too pointy to wear around the neck. She picks up a crab claw and puts it on its own pile, a candidate for being the final trinket. She finds her collection of beads and plucks out a few black and dark red ones, Mai seems to enjoy the gloomier shades.

She scrambles over to her plant specimens. Mostly they consist of interestingly shaped twigs but there are several dried leaves, petals, and roots. She thinks that the leaves and petals are too frail to be threaded onto the cord. But the roots, those might very well work. And they would make sense too. Mai works with flowers and plants so the necklace should have at least something to represent that. Snapdragon’s current necklace represents her.

She feels it against her chest. It has at least eight charms, a few of them don’t mean anything in particular to her. But she has recently added snapdragon roots between the tiger-monkey claw and her a dusty, broken geode. A tiger-monkey claw for her fierceness and her love of climbing and a rusty cog for her love of old factories and abandoned places. There is a coconut chip to remind her of her days in the jungle and a blunt tip of a broken dagger. She isn’t entirely sure about the geode but it speaks to her on some level. The coins, beads, and the piece of tattered red cloth are more for show than anything else.

She twirls the root in her hand before ultimately deciding that they will be the perfect final addition to her necklace. She ties it onto the cord with a satisfied smile and holds it up. It is perfect, an asymmetrical cluster of things that don’t seem like they should go together. But they are harmonized in their chaos.

Her smile fades, she isn’t sure that Mai would like to wear something so odd. Especially in a palace full of watching, judging eyes. She supposes that it’s okay if she only wears it around her and then takes it off when she gets to the palace.

.oOo.

It is raining quite heavily but Mai doesn’t particularly care. The pounding of the drops drowns out the angry beating in her mind. Zuko is being unbearable. Everything is an argument, everything is taken so personally. And she doesn’t care for that Jin girl that he has been bringing around.

She can’t quite place it at first but she thinks that it might be a twinge of jealousy one that she wishes she could permanently purge. She isn’t sure why she is jealous, she has made it clear that things were over between the two of them. And yet she can’t shake that nagging sense that it should be she who is going to be attending Ember Island Players shows with him. That was their thing and now their thing is being shared with some ditzy, doe-eyed, air headed…

Mai tightens her fists in her pockets. Small puddles are gathering uncomfortably in the folds of her robes and she has no one to blame but herself. Why does Snapdragon’s factory have to be at the very other side of the city? Why did she neglect getting herself a palanquin ride?  Zuko probably wouldn’t have let her borrow one anyhow. Not mid-squabble.

Her feet slosh through puddle after puddle, soaking through to her socks. She shudders, there is no greater discomfort. No greater suffering. But at least she isn’t bored.

She finds Snapdragon, also soaked thoroughly, leaping from puddle to puddle. She, unlike Mai herself, seems absolutely delighted to be dripping wet. She hasn’t yet noticed mai. Even in the misty gloom, Snapdragon is a splash of color. The necklace she wears today is particularly flashy as it clanks against her chest. Mai is inclined to believe that she has chosen it specifically to stand out in the drabness.

“I’m glad that you’re having fun.”

Snapdragon comes to an abrupt halt, kicking up a splash of oily mud. “I like rainy days sometimes.”

“You would enjoy playing around in the mud.”

“It’s too slick for climbing ‘n jumping on roofs today.” Snapdragon shrugs. “So I’m pretending that the puddles are roofs ‘stead.”

“Interesting.” Mai remarks stoically.

“I ain’t realize you liked walks in the rain.”

“I don’t.”

Snapdragon tilts her head, “then why are you walking in the rain?”

She shakes her head, “just...don’t worry about it. Can we go inside, I need to wring my clothes and hair out.”

Snapdragon flounces over to the door and holds it open, “after you, hotwoman.”

Mai rolls her eyes. Normally it would be enduring, today she just finds herself annoyed by the woman’s uppity antics. She sighs and gives her hair an overly forceful twist and squeeze. She can’t let herself take her frustrations out on Snapdragon. The girl has been nothing but pleasant.

“Hey, stay right there! I gotta go get something!”

She doesn’t give Mai a chance to answer before darting off and scrambling up her rickety ladder. It is probably a good thing, she very well might have muttered a harsh, ‘where else am I going to go, Snapdragon?’ Mai rubs her hands over her face. Maybe she should try to lighten the mood. Maybe she should try to drink in some of the delight that Snapdragon radiates.

The girl comes back down with another one of her gaudy necklaces. She is beaming from ear to ear. “What do you think?”

Mai inspects the jewelry. “It’s...uh...it’s unique. Very you.”

“I was trying to make it more you.” She holds it out. “See, the roots are supposed to represent your flower shop.”

Mai tries to muster up a smile but it probably looks more like a grimace.

“It’s for you.” She retracts her hand slightly and thrusts it out again.

Mai takes a deep breath and tries for a joke, “I don’t know if I can pull off a trash necklace.”

Maybe it is her deadpan delivery, or maybe she has simply uncovered and hit some hidden raw spot, but Snapdragon’s face falls. Mai could slap herself. “No, no. I mean it’s a cool necklace, I like it. I just wanted to make a joke.”

Snapdragon forces a laugh. She doesn’t try to hand the necklace to her again.

“You’re not going to offer it again?”

“It’s alright, Mai, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” She forces a smile.

“I do want to.” She holds her hand out. Snapdragon sets the necklace in her palm. Mai tries to make small talk with her but she mostly answers with simple yes or no’s while toying with the charms on her own necklace.

And Mai considers that maybe Zuko isn’t the problem at all. Maybe it is her. She does have this amazing ability to drag everyone down instead of allowing them to lift her up. It always happens eventually. She wishes that she weren’t so unremarkable.

.oOo.

By dusk the rain comes to a slow. After an hour or so of getting nowhere in conversation, Mai had declared that it would probably be best to make her way back home before it gets dark and the second round of storm clouds roll in.

She can see them lingeringly darkly on the horizon as she scuttles her way over a heap of wooden beams and crates and shimmies up the husk of an old war tank. She squeezes herself into the hatch and slips behind the wheel. She imagines the war machine roaring to life in a cough of black smoke. Imagines the raw power of it. Imagines being something more than just some downtrodden alley dweller. Maybe then Mai wouldn’t be embarrassed by her. Maybe then, she’d have a chance with the woman.

Her gift was accepted out of pity and nothing more, she knows that Mai is just going to chuck the necklace aside when she gets back to the palace and pretend like she has no idea where it had come from.

Snapdragon gives the rusty metal wheel a turn. Maybe if she spent less time lurking in abandoned places, people wouldn’t abandon affections for her. She supposes that it is hard to love someone who is constantly covered in dust and grime. All the same, she loves her hobby, she can’t really see herself without it.

She finds a little corner of the tank to curl herself up in and wait out the storm. It comes suddenly and with a surprising fury. From the sound of it, the drops are thick as they pelt the side of the tank. And the thunder shakes the ground. It is probably a horrid idea to hole up in a metal tank so she hustles out of it and into the rain.

The puddles are no fun anymore and the rain throws itself violently into her face. She thinks of going into the factory but it is entirely metal too. The lightning strikes it over and over again with a terrifying fury. And yet it manages to stand on, powerful and admirable. She thinks that it is what keeps her safe from getting struck; the lightning is so enticed by it that it doesn’t bother with her as she heads towards Mohi’s home.

The wind lashes at her with a fury and she wonders if and hopes that Mai has made it home.

Maybe if she were a shaper, smarter, noblewoman she would have thought to offer letting Mai stay with her at Mohi’s. Would have walked there with her a while ago.

But she isn’t smarter. She isn’t a noble woman. But she isn’t anything grander than what she is now. Isn’t anyone impressive. She’s just Snapdragon, a girl who doesn’t even have a real name.

[sociallyawkward--fics]

Stormy Saturdays

Wow, it feels like forever since I wrote a Sanders Sides oneshot that wasn't from a prompt??? All of my energy goes into prompts and my chaptered fics usually lol, but I've had a lot of writing energy these last few weeks so I decided "why not use it" lol

Also, this fic 100% came from it raining in Arizona today and me being like "WHAT" because we never get rain lol. And I got to stand in it and freeze because I was delivering Easter baskets to some of my church youth kids (we maintained social distancing! I put the baskets on their porches and rang the bell/knocked on the door and then stepped back 6+ feet to talk to them when they answered the door to get their goodies, it was really good to see them).

(also what’s editing, I am too lazy, lol)

Word Count: 1838 words

[ao3 link]

-----------------------------------

It was far too early to be awake, considering how late they had stayed up the night before. Logan sat up straight, trying desperately to not doze off in the middle of whatever game Roman was playing (he was interested, he really was! He was just so tired), meanwhile, Roman seemed to have no issues himself. He sprawled out across the blankets and pillows littering the floor, looking much the part of a spoiled prince, controller in his hands.

The smell of breakfast lingered, the good food filling his stomach only dragging Logan closer to sleep. It was the smell of food that woke them up originally, as Roman’s parents knew there was nothing that could rouse teenage boys like the smell of bacon and eggs and Roman’s mom’s famous pancakes. It didn’t matter how late they were up, just that they didn’t sleep the day away and lose all the sunlight.

Not that there was much sunlight to be had, that day. The sky was unusually overcast, adding to the lazy-day feel of the late Saturday morning. Grey, cold days always made Logan more tired, made him feel like he was stuck in some sort of limbo, made him feel like time wasn’t real. Roman didn’t share his feelings, always far-too-excited when clouds filled the sky, hoping for the still-rare chance of rain.

Logan allowed himself to zone out. The ambient sounds of the video game, the full stomach, the comforting smell, the warm blankets, Roman’s breathing just a foot away and slightly below him… it was all too much. He tried to keep from dozing, but he certainly wasn’t paying attention to the current world around him, anymore.

Which is why it startled him so badly when Roman gasped loud enough to send his cat flying out of the lounge room. Logan bolted upright from where he’d started to slouch and gave Roman a look somewhere between a glare and immense confusion.

“What the hell?” He grumbled, only growing more confused as Roman paused his game and launched up onto the couch next to him.

“Hear that?” Roman said giddily as he used his fingers to spread apart the blinds on the window behind the couch and peek through.

Logan finally paused to take in the added sound: rain. And by the sound of it, it was getting harder by the minute. That was Arizona for you, either it spit for two minutes, or it poured for three hours, no in-between.

And then it processed what Roman was about to do.

“Absolutely not,” Logan said. “You are not going out there.”

“Why not?” Roman asked, already peeling off his socks. “There’s no thunder or lightning, it’s just rain.”

“Yeah!” Logan said incredulously. “Pouring rain! It’s probably freezing, and you’ll be soaked in moments, you’ll catch something. You’re 18 Roman, really?”

Roman tossed him a lopsided smile over his shoulder. “Aww, Lo, didn’t know you cared.”

Logan rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to mumble more than you think.

“Anyway, I’m going out there. Stay here if you want, you big fuddy-duddy,” Roman said, voice teasing enough that Logan knew he didn’t mean it. “Age is just a number, old man, embrace your inner child!”

And with that, before Logan could even argue that he was only a month older, Roman was swinging open the door in the lounge room that led out to the side of the house. Logan rushed over to the door just in time to watch Roman dramatically hop and skip over the stepping stones, leap gracefully over the last one onto his driveway, and practically bound down it onto the empty street.

“Roman!” He called, but Roman just turned to give him a smug grin before turning his face skyward.

He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming the rain to him. A serene smile found its way onto his lips, despite being soaked. His pajama pants and tank top were plastered to his body, already soaked, and the hair slicked his hair back as it soaked him from head to toe.

“Dammit,” Logan muttered as he started slipping off his own socks. “Damn you, Roman Kingsley, for being my best friend.” He slipped his glasses off and set them on an end table. He was farsighted, he could make his eyes work without them, he just preferred to have them on. “Damn you for making me fall in love with you.” He tentatively stepped out the side door, stepping carefully across the stones on his toes. “Damn you for being so attractive.” He caught himself on the side of Roman’s house as he nearly slipped stepping onto the driveway. “Dammit, Roman.”

He was close enough for Roman to hear that last muttered sentence, and the boy in question whirled around to give Logan a grin so bright he was almost certain the sun had come back out. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed Logan’s hand, giving it a firm tug that led to Logan practically falling into his chest. Roman laughed and used that grip to spin him around under his arm, and even Logan couldn’t hold in a tiny laugh at that.

That spin led to Roman sweeping him into a full, goofy dance, right there in the middle of the street. They had to hold tightly to each other to keep from slipping, and the asphalt bit at their feet, but neither seemed to mind, based off their laughter. They didn’t worry much about cars coming by, seeing as Arizonans were notorious for not being able to drive in the rain, and people in Roman’s neighborhood tended to just stay home once a storm started.

Among all their twirling, Logan managed to back his way into a rather large puddle, stepping too hard in it and splashing their already-soaked bodies. Roman gave a fake gasp, and Logan laughed, darting out of his arms in “fear” of revenge. 

He only managed to get a few feet down the street (he had to run pretty carefully to not hurt himself on the asphalt) before he felt strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him into a broad chest. He was lifted off the ground and spun in so many circles that he got dizzy, and he closed his eyes and tossed his head back against Roman’s shoulder to laugh breathlessly.

After a few more rotations, Roman carefully set him back on his own two feet, keeping the grip around his torso. Logan turned in his arms to grin, up at Roman, shoulders still shaking with light giggles. Roman was laughing still, too, and the mirth in his eyes danced with far more grace than they had been earlier. Their laughter slowly petered off as they stared into each other’s eyes, panting from the exertion.

Logan leaned in first, shocking himself with his boldness, but Roman was quick to follow once he realize what was going on. Logan had to stand on his toes and pull Roman down by the neck (when had he sprouted up to be so tall?!), and Roman used the grip he still had on Logan’s waist to bring their bodies flush together.

It wasn’t as romantic as Roman had always waxed poetic about, kissing in the rain. Their pajamas were sticking uncomfortably to their bodies, their wet hair stuck into their eyes, their grips on each other kept slipping from the slick water, and it was rather cold to just stand still in the rain. But nonetheless, it was perfect. It was everything.

The kiss was chaste and brief, they pulled back not soon after it started and Roman helped Logan lower himself back to standing flat. They couldn’t stop grinning at each other. The first crack of thunder shocked them out of their trance.

Roman giggled as he took Logan’s hand and started leading him back down the driveway. “Told you rainy days were fun.”

Logan bumped their shoulders together, carefully so that neither of them slipped. “Shut up, I’m freezing. We’re probably going to get sick.”

Roman gave him a cheeky grin. “Worth it, though.”

They made their way back inside and found two large, fluffy towels waiting for them, as well as two clean, dry sets of Roman’s pajamas from his room. Roman unfolded one of the towels and unceremoniously dumped it onto Logan’s head, ruffling his hair with it and making Logan laugh again, struggling to get free.

He finally did, wrapping the towel around himself (it was large enough to cover almost his entire body from shoulders to calves, and warm, too) as he shucked off his soaked pajamas under it. “I take it this means they must’ve seen everything, then.”

Roman’s cheeks flushed a little as he stripped down to his boxers (which made Logan himself flush and have to avert his eyes) and started drying himself off with the other oversized towel. “Didn’t exactly intend for my first kiss with you to have my parents as an audience.”

It was Logan’s turn to grin cheekily, a habit he undoubtedly picked up from Roman. “It’s alright. The second one will be much more private.”

Roman smirked and stepped closer, wrapping his towel around his own body (he was so tall it only covered him from under his arms to his knees). “Oh, yeah?”

Logan stepped closer. “Yeah.”

And of course, the moment was immediately ruined by Roman’s feet sliding out from under him from a puddle of his own making. Logan snorted out a disgusting, ugly laugh and doubled over with the force of it, and Roman let out a few embarrassed chuckles, but he was still looking at Logan like he’d hung the moon and the stars.

Logan helped him up and they made quick work of drying off the rest of the way, pulling on the dry clothes Roman’s parents had left out for them. Logan located his glasses and slipped them back on, letting his eyes rest after having to do all the work for a while.

And then Roman promptly pulled him down into his pillow-blanket puddle. They landed in a tangled, giggly heap of limbs, Logan almost losing his glasses again in the process. They readjusted to be slightly more comfortable (and Logan pulled at least three blankets on top of them because he was still freezing and didn’t know how Roman wasn’t) and cuddled up together again.

And then they kissed again. And it was just as perfect the second time, if a little more coordinated (and dry and warm). And the third and fourth and fifth and sixth kisses were stolen in private, too.

And Logan knew they had to talk about this, and he knew Roman knew it too, but for right now, this was enough. A lazy Saturday morning, stormy and rainy outside, filled with good food and joy, Logan backseat gaming as Roman picked up the controller again, a playful fight for the controller that ended in more kissing. 

Because wherever they both were would always be enough.

[dust2dust34]

If you're still doing drabble/ficlet prompts: #13 (in the storm) & #49 (coming home).

earnestly yours (Olicity, set between 2x10 and 2x11, T)

A/N: A prompt request from a donor for the Fic for Food Drive! The prompt was anything canon Olicity. I read a book last weekend that involved the "oh no you are freezing, I must get us undressed so I can warm you up right now" trope, so naturally I shoved that right into the middle of Season 2. I started randomly watching Olicity scenes and this fit so nicely right after 2x10.

Summary: Felicity falls off the Starling City docks during a mission and Oliver has to get her warm.

(read on AO3)

*

The bike roared in a deafening rush as they whipped through the midnight traffic. The rain that had been misting a moment ago slowly morphed into thicker sheets and he cursed under his breath, urging his bike to go faster as the storm grew worse. Ice cold wind slashed through his leathers with a thousand razors that felt like someone was peeling his skin off his bones. His exposed face had long since numbed, and every ragged breath scored the tender flesh of his esophagus and lungs.

He didn’t care. He went faster.

All that mattered was getting to the foundry.

The arms grasping him around his middle loosened.

Oliver’s heart stuttered wildly as her hands slipped from where they were supposed to be tightly clasped against his sternum.

He slapped his gloved hand over hers.

“Felicity!” he yelled over his shoulder. “You have to hold on!”

If she said anything, he couldn’t hear her over the rush of the wind battering his face, or his helmet he’d hurriedly shoved over her soaked ponytail. God, if he was cold, he knew she was freezing, soaked as she was from the icy ocean water she’d been pushed into.

Oliver gritted his teeth, his chest caving in, remembering the shadow appearing behind her. A fourth man, unaccounted for, taking Felicity out where she’d been working on breaking through the manual keypad. Her, distracted by her tech, Oliver distracted by the three men guarding the ship. All it had taken was a simple push and then she’d been in freefall. Even wearing the rain boots she had been so damn proud to have in her car hadn’t been enough to keep her feet from slipping on the slick dock, from her falling onto her side and rolling right into the tumultuous waves.

Everything had stopped the instant she disappeared under the water.

He didn’t remember the men getting away. He barely remembered one of them socking him in the face so hard he swore his jaw had cracked. He had a vague recollection of them disappearing through the gate, of them alerting the ship, of the shipments they had tried to stop getting away.

But none of it mattered as he’d skidded across the dock.

Oliver had been ready to jump in after her, but then Felicity burst out of the water, sputtering, her arms flailing against the growing waves responding to the storm moving in.

He had no idea how he’d managed it, but one second he’d been on the docks and the next he was leaning over, grabbing her arm, and hauling her out. It wasn’t strength so much as pure desperation for her to not get swept away, to not get lost forever in the vast darkness that was the Pacific Ocean.

She’d lost her phone, her glasses, and worst of all, her car keys.

For some reason taking his bike had seemed smarter at the time, but now he cursed himself for being so damned stupid. She might have had a shattered window, but he could have broken into her car, hotwired it, and worried about fixing it up later. But that had seemed like too much time wasted even then. All that mattered was getting her somewhere warm, especially with her lips turning blue, her shivering so bad she could barely speak…

It had seemed like a good idea until he found them caught up in a storm that was only getting worse.

Oliver let go of her hands to rev the engine again, but she wasn’t even trying to hold on anymore. Her hands slipped and he snatched at her arm, yanking it around him as tight as he could.

“Felicity!”

Her helmeted head lolled over his shoulder. Was she even awake? Panic tore through him.

The foundry was too far. They needed shelter. Now.

“Hold on!” he shouted, squeezing her arm as raindrops hit them in a sea of tiny bullets, the storm gaining momentum. “Please just hold on. Please.”

They were closer to the foundry, but it was still at least eight minutes, and that eight minutes too much. They were on the edge of the warehouse district, though, and close to old residential areas that had been destroyed in the Undertaking.

Oliver changed directions.

In less than a minute, he was pulling into a driveway that led to a barely-standing carport connected to a dilapidated house. The concrete was cracked down the middle, as close as it had been to the earthquake machine, and his wheels barely cleared it as he roared into the covered space. He pulled in as close as he could, doing his best to keep Felicity secured to his back as he parked the bike. The storm grew stronger, wind whipping against them.

The kickstand was down, Oliver was up and off the bike, and he was sweeping her up into his arms in the same breath before kicking in the closest door to them.

A kitchen.

“Hello?” Oliver shouted as he shoved his way through the house. Debris littered the floor, the air stale and moldy. “Hello?”

Nobody.

The walls groaned under the force of the wind as Oliver hurried into a looted living room. The furniture flipped upside down, graffiti covering the walls, trash and broken bottles and burned pipes covering the ground. Someone had been squatting here, but they weren’t any longer.

Oliver’s gut burned at the thought of having her in a place like this, but he didn’t have a choice.

His mind raced, every new thought heavier than the last as he swept out of the living room and down a hallway. A closet, a bathroom, a door that was barricaded by something on the inside, and then another room. It was tiny, and the earthquake had sent a large dresser crashing into a bed, crushing it under its weight. If he could get it off, it would hopefully be cleaner than anything else in the house. Enough to get her under some covers and get her warm…

Felicity’s shivers were subsiding.

“No,” he gasped, quickly setting down on a chair tucked in the corner covered in dust. He whipped the helmet off. Her pale face shot dread through him and he cupped her face. “No, no, no, Felicity… Felicity, look at me. Felicity!”

Her eyes fluttered and she took a shuddery breath, shaking. She tried to focus on him with a croak of, “Not… my best idea…”

“You need to keep your eyes open, do you understand?” Oliver asked, rubbing her cheeks. It wasn’t enough. He needed to get her warm, and he needed to do it now. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered before surging to his feet.

With a grunt, he crouched by the bed, cupped the corner of the dresser, and shoved up. It was heavy as hell, and his muscles strained so bad he shouted. But he got it up and off the bed, sending it crashing back against the wall where it’d been originally. The bed was smashed, but still usable, the bedsheets where they��d been when whoever lived here had made the bed. His insides twisted, wondering where they were, if they had survived, but he pushed it back down, burying it to be dealt with later. Right now he had far more important things happening.

Oliver whipped the sheets back. A quilt folded at the foot was still there and he shook it out, tossing it over the bed.

“Your clothes are wet,” Oliver said, crouching before her again. Her eyes were shut. “Felicity!”

“Hmm?” she managed.

“I need to take these off, okay? Your clothes. And then I’m going to put you under those covers and get in with you to warm you up. Okay?”

“Um…” Felicity furrowed her brow. “Is this real?”

“Yes, it’s very real, and I’m worried you’re going to become hypothermic if we don’t get you warm. C’mere.”

Oliver whipped his gloves off and unbelted her jacket. It was soaked and he grimaced, moving faster. They might be out of the storm, but there wasn’t any warmth in this place, and she had already been exposed too much already. He tugged her jacket off with a hurried, “Can you get your shirt off?” before he leaned over and removed her boots. Her feet were ice and he cupped them, rubbing them. When he looked up, her hands were shaking too hard to remove the button-up sweater she wore, her arms too heavy to even get up to her chest.

A moment of hesitation - he was about to undress her - but then it was gone, because he had to.

“Here,” Oliver said and he whipped her sweater and the little camisole underneath it off, leaving her in a lacy bra with yellow flowers stitched into the cups.

His heart skipped a beat, but he shoved the feeling away, silently chastising himself because that was not what this was about. This was about helping her. He tugged on her hands as he stood up, forcing her to stand with him. She was all lethargy, leaning heavily on him, and he pulled her into his chest to unzip her skirt at her lower back. The material clung to her and Oliver had to peel it off her. The fact that she was ice cold distracted him very well from her matching panties. He nearly bit through his cheek in disgust with himself, especially when he thought it would be best to get her completely naked and out of her wet underwear, but this was already crossing too many damn lines.

Oliver swept her off her feet and set her onto the bed, wrapping the quilt around her. She whimpered and he whispered, “I know, I know,” before ripping his boots off, then his leathers.

They clung to him worse than her clothes from the rain, but he had it all off in record time. They landed with heavy plops on the ground, the thud of his weapons making her jump, his compression shirt next, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs.

Oliver climbed into the bed with her and yanked the blankets up over both of them.

He was chilled, but she was freezing.

“C’mere, c’mere,” he whispered, pulling her flush against him. She hissed and he crowded the quilt around her back before cocooning them in the rest of the stale, dusty sheets. He wrapped them up before dipping under the comforter to start rubbing her back through the quilt. She burrowed into him, her shaking intensifying, and he murmured, “Warm up, Felicity, warm up.”

“Oliver,” she whimpered, her teeth chattering, shudders wracking her tiny frame.

He hugged her closer. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The storm raged outside the house, gusts of wind and rain battering the walls, cold air seeping in.

Despite that, though, the blankets started working, trapping their heat, creating a warm pocket.

It was a goddamn mistake bringing her out into the field. They should have waited for Diggle’s shoulder to heal. He had foolishly thought he would be able to protect her, but all he’d done was get her hurt.

Again.

Oliver gritted his teeth, huddling her closer, probably too tight as he buried his face against the crown of her head. A mixture of ocean and old dust greeted him, and he found himself frantically nuzzling her until he caught a hint of her shampoo.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Stay with me, Felicity.”

An eternity passed before her shivers started subsiding. No, longer. He was vigilant for every second of it, checking her pulse, her breathing, his hands skimming over her bare skin, as much warming her and checking to make sure she was starting to retain some body heat. On top of that, his instincts were on high alert, painfully aware they were in an abandoned house in the Glades, half-naked and with his weapons on the floor instead of in his hands.

Thankfully, nothing happened, save for the wind finally dying down.

Oliver had no idea how much time passed before she fell still.

“Felicity?” He brushed her hair away from her forehead. It was still damp, but drying where she was tucked in-between his chest and the quilt. She didn’t reply. Oliver pulled back to look at her, but he couldn’t see her face. He cupped her cheek, tilting her head up, his eyes used enough to the darkness that he saw the outline of her features. He shook her slightly with a desperate, “Felicity?”

“Oliver?”

“Hey,” he breathed, a relieved smile on his lips. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, under her eyes, silently urging her to open them. Her eyes opened on a flutter, and she stared at his chest in confusion. Oliver sighed, and he let some of the tension turning his back into rock slip a bit. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” she murmured, the word slurring.

“I’m sure,” he murmured.

Even in the dark of the room, he could see some of her color had come back, enough for him to stop feeling the press of panic threatening to drown him. She was warmer, too, sharing heat instead of him trying to make up for what had been stolen from her. Still, he wasn’t anywhere near ready to attempt and face the cold world until he knew for sure she was good. And then there was the issue of their clothes being wet still. Unless he could find something in the room for her to wear.

Later, he told himself, when he knew for sure she was okay.

“You should sleep, if you can,” Oliver said.

She snorted. “If I can…”

Felicity burrowed closer, pressing her nose over his heart. They were both damp from the ocean and the storm, from the lingering heat of their breaths, and her skin dragged over his as she cuddled closer.

It was only then that Oliver knew for sure the danger was over, as parts of his body that had been behaving were suddenly not. The gentle press of her soft curves against his hard lines had him biting the tip of his tongue until he tasted blood. He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, hoping she didn’t come any closer…

She cuddled in until there wasn’t anything between them but their underwear.

“Uh… Felicity,” he said, his voice cracking on her name.

“Isn’t it kind of counterintuitive to tell me to sleep in a dream?”

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“‘Maybe he’s dreaming about you,’” she mumbled, huffing as she buried her face in his neck.

Oliver fought to breathe as the lace of her bra scraped against his scars. She slipped her leg between his thighs, her foot curling around his knee. Abruptly, making sure she was warm became the last thing he was thinking about. Well, not exactly, since there was something that came to mind that he knew would keep them both very warm…

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt as he mentally kicked himself.

“Maybe he’s dreaming of you,” Felicity repeated on a little laugh that didn’t match her words.

He had said that to her, he realized absently, about her and… Barry Allen. Because he wanted her to feel better about him being in a coma. Because he hadn’t wanted to admit that part of his issue with her not being there when he needed her was because he was jealous her attention was on another man, like the selfish bastard he was.

Did she think she was with Barry?

A sliver of ice cut through him and he had to squash the urge to tell her who he was.

No, it was better if she did, he told himself, better for both of them…

“Don’t tell him my dreams aren’t about him,” Felicity said.

Oliver froze, his heart stopping dead in its tracks. It occurred to him in that same moment that she thought she was dreaming. And not about Barry. A precipice opened inside him, part of him wanting to bring her back to reality, but another part wanting - no, needing - to hear what else she would say.

“It’d be easier,” she continued in a sleepy voice, “because you are so, so, so not mine.”

Oliver’s lips formed her name, to tell her this was real, but his voice stopped working.

“But you’re like… coming home,” Felicity mused on a peaceful hum that slowly dissolved as her exhaustion caught up with her. “Good dreams. Such good dreams. You’re good dreams. My dream telling me to sleep. I want to be home to somebody. I want it to be him, but it’s you. You who doesn’t see me. Nobody sees me. Nobody thinks I’m home.”

“That’s not true,” Oliver whispered before he could stop himself.

Felicity harrumphed.

Oliver held his breath as he held her close, waiting to see if she would continue, but nothing happened. Not until her muscles slowly relaxed, her breathing evening out, sleep finally claiming her. For real, this time. Only then did Oliver start breathing again, sagging against her.

He had suspected, to a degree, that there was something more on her side. He saw it when her eyes lingered on him, heard it in the different cadence of her babbles when she was talking to him, felt it in the way she touched had to touch him whenever they were close. But it was one thing to wonder, and something else entirely to hear the actual words coming out of her.

To want to hear them.

A longing he didn’t know how to name filled him, stealing the air from his lungs.

It was wrong, and he knew it, but Oliver gave into the urge to do more than be a source of warmth for her. He cradled her against him, holding her like he wanted to when he let himself think about what could be. How things might be different if he wasn’t who he was, if he was someone who could deserve her, who could be everything she deserved and more. Oliver swept his hand over back, and not because she was pressed against him in nothing but her panties and bra, but because he wanted to soothe her. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted her to know, somehow, because he would never say the words to her, that he did see her, that he saw so much more than she knew, and that she was home.

A home he could never have. No matter how much he wanted it.

Oliver let himself have this moment. He gave in, burrowing into her as much as she did him. He didn’t let his guard down for a single instant, completely aware of everything around them, but he did let himself wish that maybe this could be his life…

Even though he knew it never would be.

Hours passed, and he let them, holding her as she slept, treasuring her trust, protecting her as she rested. He had never thought he would get the chance, and he took on the responsibility as seriously as the mantle his father had left for him last year.

But when the weak hints of sun started peeking through the fading storm clouds, he knew he had to get them up.

Yet he didn’t move, not right away, not as he stowed emotions he couldn’t put a name to, locking them back inside a box with a dozen locks that could never break, not if he wanted to keep her safe.

The air outside their cocoon was still chilly, but it lacked the vicious bite from the night before.

Oliver left her in the blankets as he got dressed, grimacing at the cold in his leathers. Everything she had been wearing was soaked through still, and there was no way in hell he was going to put her back in them. He found some old sweats, ratty but clean, in one of the dresser drawers. She was groggy as he woke her, as he coaxed her into the clothes, supporting her. He slipped her feet back into her boots and with her clothes and his helmet tucked under one arm, he helped her out to where his bike still was. It occurred to him somebody might have stolen it if there hadn’t been a storm, and he shook his head at himself. Last night had been a disaster left and right, and all because he had needed to keep doing something, to clean up the city, to outweigh the bad lurking in the shadows…

And the one paying for his actions was one again not him, but Felicity.

The early morning air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t care as he realized she didn’t have a jacket.

Oliver shrugged out of his Arrow jacket and tucked it around her.

“No, this is yours,” Felicity managed, blinking her eyes rapidly as she woke up more. “It’s cold-”

“Yes, it is,” Oliver interrupted, stopping her from taking it off. “You are nowhere near your normal core temperature right now, Felicity. Please put it on. Please.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

It was only because she was still caught in a half-fog that he convinced her to keep it, and he knew it. She glared at him grumpily, slipping her arms into the sleeves, leaving her swimming in green leather.

“This is stupid,” she said under her breath, trying to zip it up with shaky fingers. He nudged her fingers out of the way and zipped it up for her. He couldn’t stop a little smile at the sight of her in his Arrow jacket and it only made her glare more at him. “You think people aren’t going to stare as we drive down the street like this?”

“It’s still early,” he replied, moving to put the helmet on her.

“No, you need this-”

“Absolutely not,” he said, slipping it on her. “It’s dark enough nobody will see us. Now c’mon.”

They made it to her apartment without incident. He pulled in behind her building, cutting the engine in an effort to not wake more people than he needed to. Felicity was oddly quiet as he walked her to her door, until she smacked her forehead, remembering her keys had fallen out in the water.

Oliver fished out the backup she had given him.

He quickly opened the door, happy when he felt warm air waiting, and ushered her inside.

“You should take a shower, and then get into bed with as many blankets as possible,” he said, moving around her to get to the linen closet where he knew she had extra blankets. “I think we staved off the worst of it, but it’s going to take a while to get back to normal-”

“Oliver.” He looked back at her. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said before she could continue, stepping back towards her.

“I keep doing stupid things that make things worse-”

“No, you did everything right,” Oliver told her, his hand cupping her cheek before he realized what he was doing. He dropped it. “I was the one who didn’t have your back last night and that will never happen again.”

“You had my back,” Felicity said with a soft, tired smile as she looked up at him. “You always do. Okay, fine. No more apologies, then. I’ll just say… thank you, I guess. For not letting me freeze to death. Although I do feel like I should apologize in advance for whatever I say later because I can guarantee nothing that happened last night as really sunk in yet, and I know when I see you later, I’ll be putting my foot in my mouth because I’m sure I said or did something that was super embarrassing-”

“You were perfect,” Oliver told her.

She blinked. “Oh… Good. Then. I mean, good. Then.”

His lips ticked up in a smile and he didn’t fight his fingers from brushing over her cheek. “Hot shower,” he instructed. “Hot beverages. Soup. Anything warm. And blankets. Lots and lots of blankets.”

“Right.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Ha,” Felicity breathed. “Never thought I’d hear that from you. I mean, like this. After spending the night together. In our underwear. Oh… god, that… happened, I…” She screwed her face up and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I am on the verge of a babble.”

“Then I should go,” he said, the smile still curving his lips. “I will call you later, though.”

“Okay. Oh, here.” She shrugged out of his Arrow jacket and handed it to him. “Thank you, Oliver.”

“You never have to thank me,” Oliver said as he took the jacket. Their fingers brushed, and maybe it was because of last night, or not getting any sleep, or now that he knew in explicit detail what it was like to have her body pressed against his, Oliver cupped her face and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Ever.”

“Still,” Felicity whispered.

Another smile, and then he stepped back towards the door. “Stay warm.”

“So not a problem right now,” she said under her breath as he left, locking the door behind him.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Deeper Water

[Tour]

Word count: 2696

Kinda late birthday gift for @the10amongstthese3s

Gosh diddly darn where do I start-- you are one of the most wholesome people in this community okAy? You’re such a saint ya know?! I swear, you’re probably the first of many to genuinely cheer me on with my writing and listen to all my ideas. If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. I remember when you first messaged me (or maybe I messaged you? i can’t even remember- we talk every day now!) and how happy I was to be noticed by someone so big and amazing in the fandom. I just felt so honored and lucky. And I sure am right about being lucky. Hell, Duckie you probably don’t notice this but your content and just you in general has helped me through quite a lot of shit. I absolutely love how you constantly try to help others out, put a smile on their faces and watch them grow. Your personality is GOLD. You have made me motivated and inspired me in so many ways, helping me with writers block, stupid anon hate, and my self-esteem in general. You’re such a respectful person and I just want to say over and over again until the end of time: Thank you… I thank you for reaching your hand out to me and my writing and helping me grow, even when I’m being stubborn and childish. Thank you for everything.  I wanted to give you something in return as well. I’m sorry it probably doesn’t seem like much but here you are, you wonderful, amazing, talented person!! Take this as a gift of my gratitude and how you changed my life through everything!

------------------

  “Teach me how to swim.” Joan grits out from between her teeth. Her icy grey-blue eyes are sparkly with tears, shoulders shaking, hands wrapped tight around the straps of the backpack she insists on using for work for some reason. The nails on both hands have been chewed down to almost the stinging quick. Aragon pauses, swallowing the last swig of her cherry powerade as she considers the girl: She’s trembling, lower lip wobbling, and her knees are nearly knocking together. Aragon wants to fish out a bandage from her pocket that she knows she doesn’t have to wrap up around her nails.

Joan is scared. But why?

It’s a question that even Aragon asks herself. Why was she afraid of water? Why was she so hesitant to swim? Why didn’t she know how to yet?

What happened?

Did she watch a loved one drown? Was her home destroyed by a flood or hurricane? Was she ever dunked underwater again and again and again and again until she couldn’t breathe anymore?

Anxiety surges like the ocean surf and riptides that pull Joan down beneath the surface, closing over like a lattice net of hands in children’s games, forcing her under. Anxiety, fear, terror--and for what? Over what? A liquid? A liquid she should have no reason to be afraid of? She was never traumatized by water, not that she can remember, so why?

  “Okay,” Aragon says with a shrug, and it’s as easy as that.

Joan swallows her shock at the agreement and the tears thick at the back of her throat, and nodded. She smiles thinly, wryly, shakily, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Then, she’s gone, whirling around in a flash of white-blonde hair and waddling off like an ungraceful arctic fox to her dressing room. Aragon doesn’t watch her go. No need. She turns, too, and throws her bottle away in the nearby trash can. Nearby, masters of eavesdropping Anne and Jane stare at her in dumbstruck shock, and Aragon isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or punch them at their stupid expressions.

  “What?” She snaps at them.

They say nothing, too intimidated by her bright, flashing eyes. Aragon snorts and then goes on her way.

She doesn’t speak to Joan until the end of that show day, after two performances, and by then they’re both exhausted. Aragon hides it as she always does, but Joan is slouched in a position that’ll make her back hurt later, rubbing the goosebumps on her forearms like she was cold, despite it being a rather warm early spring day. Her eyes are vacant and far away.

(why? why? why?)

Aragon throws an arm over her shoulders in a friendly way, as if they have known each other for centuries, and she can feel the trembles wracking Joan’s frame. The girl vibrates against her and rattles her rib cage to a rhythm conducted by aquaphobic horror.

  “Let’s do this!” Aragon says, and the words ring oddly hollow in her mouth. Her chest aches in a way that reminds her of when Mary was taken away from her when Joan smiles up at her- tremulous, but trusting, and Aragon thinks that this is the first time she’s been told such a thing, been included in something, been the center of someone’s attention.

And it terrifies Joan.

(why why why oh why why why--)

But Joan sucks it up- Aragon can see her swallow in a thick way that makes her own throat hurt. She smiles again, this time more for herself and says, “Yeah”, but it doesn’t come out right. It’s a squeak, a mewl, a bleat, a pathetic excuse for a reply because her terror has her by the neck with yellowed fangs dug in and she can’t even answer correctly. Aragon glances down at her, eyebrows twitching together, then nods.

There’s no going back. There’s only the here and now- only the salt spray that bludgeons even her dulled sense of smell, mouth dry and tasteless still from hours of singing, that Joan hides her face from by burrowing against Aragon like-

-like a small animal, a baby kitten maybe, one Aragon had plucked off of the streets back before marriage in her past life, nursed back to health with dribbles of milk and lovingly smashed up food, and learned to love again through loving something else. After Henry and Mary, her heart felt like ground beef, or pulpy chuck, maybe- all mashed up and masticated, run through the grinder twice over. It’s still sore, still tender, but it’s been healing. They’ve all been healing.

Was Joan?

(wet too wet too cold why why why--)

And as if on stage cue, her chest twinges, the stab smothered in a rough clear of her throat, and Joan sniffles. Aragon can’t tell if she’s crying. 

They take Aragon’s car. The drive is silent, aside from Joan’s sniffles and gasps and mewls of distress. She spent it rocking back and forth in the passenger seat, looking very anxious and very regretful and very, very ill. But she doesn’t tell Aragon to turn around or stop, even when she had looked like she was going to vomit at one point. Her nose squirted out blood shortly after that, the stress too much for her poor little body, and Aragon wordlessly gave her a napkin with a pitiful frown.

The surface of the lake churns, roiling over with wavelets and riptides. Little dimples and indents are left behind by the rain, like the pattering of unseen children, jumping in puddles with bright red boots and yellow rain slickers. Aragon parks in the grass and she and Joan sluice through evergrowing puddles and mud to get to the shore. They stop. A runner of blood hangs pendulously from one of Joan’s left nostril and she swipes it away swiftly. 

Joan dry swallows. Her eyebrows furrow, knitting together, as she tries to figure out what to do next- paralyzed by indecision by the sandy shores of the water, little wavelets lapping at them, ratty sneakers she bought from a thrift shop squashing down temporary imprints into the wet earth. Aragon thinks that she looks a hell of a lot like an indignant kitten, when she’s got the tip of her tongue barely poking out from between her clenched teeth and face all scrunched up in something close to the cousin of a scowl like that.

  “Gotta screw your courage to the stickin’ place, right?” She asks, trying to break the tension, and to her relief, it does. Joan nods, a sharp little jerky motion, and then kicks off her sneakers and wrangles off her socks with her toes. They’re bright pink with yellow elephants, and the water almost carries them away. Aragon bends down quickly, grabs them by the cuffs and flicks them over her shoulder, back in the vague direction of where their jackets and phones sit, bundled safely away from the surf. Joan startles a little at that, but when Aragon takes off her own shoes and throws them, she does the same, tossing her sneakers casually backwards. That tears a smile from her.

  “Let’s do this,” Joan says, and even if her voice catches in her throat a little when a clump of seaweed is washed up onto the shore like a snarl of a corpse’s hair, she steels herself again. Aragon feels that same twinge in her chest, she thinks it might be right under her sternum- as she mirrors her word choice, and they come as naturally to her as if they were her own. Her shoulders are squared, and for a moment, as the wind whips white-blonde tendrils of her hair into her face Aragon thinks that she can see a girl who could lead herself out of the maw of hell through sheer will and grit alone.

But then thunder grumbles overhead and the lake roils in response, and another line of blood drips down Joan’s face. She lets it fall.

It’s a terrible day to go swimming. At the same time, with the skies overcast gray and sprinkling down, little tepid spatters of rain rather than a steady drizzle, it doesn’t feel like swimming. It’s a far cry from the gorgeous azure summer day that most people would take a dip in, and Aragon wonders if that’s why Joan chose such a day in the first place. Maybe learning how to swim in a tempest would prove something to someone.

(who to who who would be proud who would cheer who who WHY)

Blood splatters against the wet sand and blooms into a glorious red flower. Its petals whorl outwards, swirling and flapping into magnificent crimson waves that dissolve into the ebb and flow of the tide. Plop, plop, plop. Flowers bloom and wilt with every hungry roll of water against the shore until Joan finally wipes the stream away and whispers, “I’m ready now.”

She isn’t, Aragon knows she isn’t because she’s sweating buckets and her eyes are shiny and have more white in them than grey-blue and she looks like she’s about to foam at the mouth like a hog in a slaughtering pen, but she nods anyway.

  “Alright.”

Aragon walks forwards, blindly into the water, and her hands carefully hold Joan’s, leading her deeper. Just until the water settles a little over their hips. She keeps her voice soft and warm and oh so gentle.

  “You okay?”

Joan nods, opens her eyes, which Aragon hadn’t realized she’d had squeezed shut, and utters something that sounds like the noise a lamb with its throat cut would make. Sweat runs down her temple. The water ripples with her body’s violent tremors of terror. She tried again: “Yeah. I’m good.” 

Aragon gives her the time to readjust, her eyes roving over the surface of the water like quicksilver, between the lightning and the gloomily dark bottom of rounded out pebbles and slabs of slate. It’s a little uncomfortable to be standing on them barefoot, the edges of the rocks and the corners of the bigger chunks digging into the soles of their feet, and Joan ends up standing up on her tippy toe to try to alleviate it. Aragon can’t help but be endeared by how even when she’s trying to be tall, Joan is still shorter than she is. When Joan turns back up to look at her, she knows that they’re ready to continue onwards.

Aragon holds Joan up at first. Aragon has never taught anyone how to swim before, so she’s not sure what to do. Joan’s sort of sprawled out on her stomach, splashing messily, cutting jags through the water’s surface. She punches and kicks like a drunk boxer, movements choppy. Aragon’s hands hover underneath her flat stomach (so thin so thin-- “Don’t you ever eat?”) as she follows her awkward crawl forwards, ready to--push her upwards, maybe? 

Joan’s hair’s getting her in the eyes. Locks of white-blonde are like thorny vines pricking against her corneas. Given their height difference, the water isn’t so deep on Aragon, so she reaches over slowly. 

  “Hang on, Joan-” 

Thunder.

Lightning.

Fission. 

The whites of Joan’s eyes are stark. She spasms in an awful way. She whips her head over to stare, floundering, and after a little awkward moving and rearranging of limbs and splashing of lake water, she's a koala bear clinging to Aragon. Her legs are cinched around her waist, arms thrown over her shoulders, and Aragon’s sort of hunched over because she’s supporting both of their weight and Joan hadn’t thought to bring along a swimming suit, so there’s the issue of her t-shirt and shorts billowing out like some Regency era dress and weighing her down too. She’s this close to choking her out with the strength of her grip.

  “Shh, shh,” Aragon rocks Joan back and forth in patient, soothing motions. “I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Joan pants and breathes harshly against the crook of her neck. Her nails have hooked into claws on Aragon’s back, but if it hurts, Aragon doesn’t say anything.

  “Your hair,” Aragon explains, voice so soft even after being climbed up like she was a ladder. She moves to take the black hair tie off of her wrist. “It’s in your eyes.” 

Joan doesn’t say anything, only looks at her expectantly, the uh, I knew that, dumbass clearly writ across her face. But with blood rimming her nostrils and her eyes blank with horror and lips chewed to shreds, her gaze was anything but insulting.

  “Let me fix it.” Aragon says, and she’s smoothing back Joan’s hair and tying it up into a little ponytail, and then swirling that around to cobble a messy bun. It’s not the greatest looking hairdo in the world, but Joan seems to appreciate it. Aragon tucks the loose strands of it behind her ears clumsily, fingers a little numb with the cold.

  “You’re all good to go, darling,” Aragon says, and Joan nods. 

The moment’s broken, and they go back to kicking and paddling around. More than once Joan splashes water up her nose and Aragon snarks about brain eating amoebas in warm waters. Zombified. Sticks her arms out and everything, tottering this way and that. Aragon doesn’t roll her eyes and they both are grateful for it.

Joan rolls her eyes in response to her own antics, smacks the top of the water again, and it somehow dissolves, momentarily, into a water fight: sweeping arms and frantic giggling. She’s so caught up in trying to drench Aragon in the bone-chilling water that she’s lost her fear of treading water on her own. Aragon points it out, cheering, one fist punched upwards as if to punctuate the air at it.

The day stretches on. It isn’t perfect, but Joan is eventually passably confident with a front crawl. She’d insisted, because the little print outs crumpled in the bottom of her bag from the internet proclaimed it the fastest. Aragon doesn’t push her on her rationale behind choosing it, only helps her get to the point where she can kick her way over to her across the length of a pool. Eventually, she’s exhausted herself, and she lets Aragon drag her back most of the way without snarking.

Aragon remembers the last time that she held her like this: Joan falling into an uneasy sleep on her chest after a nightmare knocked the wind out of her-- literally. She had wrenched upwards out of her slumped position over her desk, leaned treacherously to the left in her chair, and slammed down hard, hard enough that days after they’d found that she’d cracked a rib on the floor.

By the time that the sun is setting, dying red embers bleeding across the sky in long trails, they’re both chilled to the marrow of their bones. They slog through the last few feet of water, resistance heavier than it seemed earlier on, thoroughly wet. Water runs down in streams from Joan’s outfit, and she snorts when Aragon throws her shoes at her when she’s raced across the sand to grab her own. She hobbles after weakly and Aragon stops messing around when she sees her pallor. She jogs over and wraps a soggy arm around Joan’s shuddering frame.

  “Joan?” She says. She lifts Joan’s chin with a finger and can’t tell if that’s lake water or tears rolling down her cheeks. “Joan? Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”

Joan shakes her head and bumps it lightly against Aragon’s shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut and she breathes out softly.

  “Thank you,” She whispers. A line of blood creeps slowly from her nose. “For this.”

  “Did someone ever drown?” Aragon then asks suddenly. “In your past life?”

Joan actually laughs. She sluggishly swipes away the stream of blood. 

  “No,” She answers. “No one except me. In my own sorrow.”

Another laugh. Aragon pulls her into a tight hug and kisses the top of her head. Joan hugs back, with nails hooked into needy, grasping claws.

  “It’s okay,” Aragon tells her. “I promise. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “Now it is,” Joan agrees softly. “Thank you.” She nuzzles her wet head against Aragon’s chest. “Catalina?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you teach me how to go underwater next?”

[spotlessvast]

jetsam and flowers

        the boundary between winter and summer is ever so thin on a march day, but time moves like molasses on naked trees in lukewarm air. april teases you with hope and snatches it with rain of its final day, instead of giving rain to steptember to quench the dry grass previously scorched by flames. november and december feels more wintery than the real middle of winter, but it only ever snows in february anymore. life is delayed, and holiday shopping is no exception. i'm a stranger among sisters, and i haven't told them what i want yet. an adult among children, a child among adults. out of place everywhere i go.

        frigid december air eats at my already dry face and the only moisture left is the mist underneath my eyelashes. i pull my turtleneck over my nose and hesitate behind them. brick wall buildings are intimidating if they're just the right shade of red, with only steel and no wood. the bricks are a staple rather than an accent, and they clash with the cobalt all too well. inside the store is much warmer, and a little crowded. everyone runs off in different directions, but i stay in place while the whole store morphs around me.

        i don't want to be here, i thought. i don't like being here. i don't belong here. i already made a mistake showing myself to these girls and offering even the slightest of my obligations; now i can't escape. with eyes of an artist i observe every small detail in the faceless mannequins and faceless advertisements. consumerism is a soul-sucking disease. apparently, the younger you're exposed to it, the more it affects you.

        holiday shopping season is when i miss the summer the most. after the new year, all i see in front of me are days of pre-summer. i wait, and i watch, and i wait again. hoping that this next spring, this next summer, will happen the same with the same old people, except nothing bad happens this time. it's almost pathetic, but there's nothing else to do except wander and wait. summer comes around, and i'll end up hating the heat. it gets hotter and hotter each year, colder and colder each year, and earth's denizens continue to worry themselves. why is consumerism the only medicine they can find? don't they know it's temporary? don't they know it's—

        "excuse me sir, no loitering in the entrance."

        right, i'm still by the entrance.

        i'm outta this joint.

        hey, i don't like automatic spinning doors! i don't like self-playing pianos either! automatic spinning doors are less scary than self-playing pianos, but i see more automatic spinning doors in my life. and this store inside the mall had one. it must have been a really fancy one before undergoing renovation, because why else would it have an automatic spinning door? sidestep to the sway of glass walls, don't get crushed by bricks. avoid the consumerist death trap. i'm rewarded with warm april air and a pencil sunset.

        unconventionally. sunsets don't usually happen at this time of day during this time of year. it got dark before we even got to the store. however, this was unmistakably the same air as late april despite it being december when we walked in. i exhaust myself trying to figure out what the hell just happened, when i'm snapped back to the present by short haired guy bumping into my shoulder pretty damn hard. and first of all, ow. second of all, upon closer look it appears that i know this guy.

        he gathered himself and spoke; "long time no see."

        "haha, yeah."

        he didn't bump into me, he was knocked flying in my direction, and i realize that now upon hearing a voice as equally enraged as it was collected.

        the fancy-looking guy connected to the voice sighed, put his hands in his pockets, and sighed as a trail of smoke followed his footsteps. "well, this isn't the best place to continue a fight. we should move elsewhere." he paused, then made eye contact with me. "oh, hello there."

        i stare for a few seconds and then wave. "what the fuck are you two doing here?" i turn my head back to the entrance. it's no longer a mall, but a warehouse. who knows what could be inside it. either way, it does look like a good place to continue a fight, so why would he give it up now...?

        "what does it look like?" the short-haired guy said.

        "fighting."

        "precisely. also, he started it." the fancy-looking guy pointed at the short-haired guy.

        "haha, man. you must've done a number on him to get him all the way out here." i gave the short-haired guy a nudge to the side.

        "we have unfinished business," he said, matter-of-factly.

        i let them bicker it out for another two minutes while i shove my face against the window to the warehouse. it doesn't look like anyone's inside, but there's some lights on the ceiling and a bunch of junk scattered around. i go inside anyway, just to see if it'll take me back to the mall.

        it doesn't.

        funky.

        maybe i forgot the twists i went through on my way out. it'd make sense, though. i ended up in a different parking lot than i started in. malls are fucking huge. sometimes they have storage warehouses, but usually they're not so out in the open like that.

        what's weirder than the situation of my current whereabouts is the fact that i know these guys, but never learned their names. oh well, it's fair that they never learned mine, either. i just know them as "this guy" and "that guy," and they probably know me as "that motherfucker."

        "hey, so," i start. i wait for a response, but there is none. "y-"

        and then there's the response from the fancy-looking guy. "hm?"

        i pause. "a mall warehouse is a pretty damn good place for a fight, though."

        "but you shouldn't be in the middle of this fight," says the short-haired guy, slugging behind me.

        "so what? if one of you gets knocked into me, i could probably take it."

        there was silence.

        "if i may ask, what brings you here in the first place?" asks the short-haired guy.

        i shrug. "dunno." and i was telling the truth. i would've told him about holiday shopping, my family, but with every step i take i feel myself growing more and more distant from that. i never really liked spending winter with them, anyway. a liar among sisters. and it's not december anymore, anyway.

        a soft april breeze courses through the vast emptiness of the storage warehouse. that's how i can tell the most.

        time passes.

        time always passes.

        time passes, and we end up talking about things i don't care for talking about any longer. my throat is stuffed by ghosts of the past and wrung out with the presence of more friends who tagged along. i was told of a secret hiding spot near the outskirts of the city. an abandoned spot reincarnated to an underground mall with super fucking good pizza. or at least, that's what the guy with the fur collar said.

        he stumbled onto the conversation between myself and the short-haired guy and the fancy-looking guy and immediately caught them silent. he always dominated conversations, but had a knack for keeping the listener interested in what he had to say. or maybe i'm the only listener who cares, and i'm an exception who's easily entertained. either way, it's easy to get lost in his stories. i want that pizza.

        i tell him i wanna go there, and he leads me out of the warehouse. for a moment, we're the only two people in the world. in the next moment, we're surrounded by hurried shoppers exiting the store i walked into first. and i hate the atmosphere here, but he makes it bearable.

        ...but where did the others run off to?

        probably to finish their fight, or be petty.

        "where...are we?" asks the guy with the fur collar.

        "i dunno," i say, and i'm telling the truth. i don't remember the name of this place, or how i got here, i just know that i was here to pick up some things for some people that i don't give a shit about.

        i try to say more, but my breath runs out before my sentences can end. it's horrible. and suddenly, i'm alone again in a crowd of faceless consumerists running in and out. they get too close, and they'll infect me with their consumerist germs. i put my hands over my face to protect myself, but my hands are bare too. i cover my face like i'm about to cough into my arm, and run.

        i trip over a speed bump and land face first into a junk pile outside the ruins of a five-story parking lot.

        somehow, every scratch and bruise on my face, arms, and legs were more bearable than going home that night. am i even going home? home is a snare trap on my spinal cord.

        the fancy-looking guy grabs me by the shirt collar and pulls me up to eye contact. he narrows his gaze and stares needles through me. "you look like hell. what happened to you?"

        "a lot." i can speak now, but i'll have to limit my words. can't waste my breath. "friend's gone."

        he just sighs. "shouldn't you go home?"

        i flinch. i don't want to go home, so i shake my head side to side.

        his grip softens with his gaze, and i fall softly to the ground. my wounds hurt, though i can still walk. it's not like i'm going limp anytime soon, it's just a bit of blood. my top lip tastes like iron...

        following my instincts, i walk slow behind him. thinking about it now, he wanted to get away from me or just be left alone in general. those who want to go somewhere always look for directions, and i'll ask him for directions. i dunno what it is about him, but i can't leave him alone.

        beneath every step i take, the ground changes shape. what was once a tar road became a narrow dirt path with flowers tangling down and mossy rocks peeking out. the dirt turns into mud, and suddenly i'm walking through a lake while seasonless night sky reflects on the water's surface. i'm watching his footsteps. his shoes are getting wet, his socks are getting wet, and they look expensive. i feel sorry for him, almost.

        oh well, he could afford new socks and shoes. wouldn't even have to go through all the trouble of washing them.

        a wood fence turns into a brick wall and we walk out of the alleyway. no longer choked up, i try to speak again. i breathe in, and before i can say anything, he turns his head to face me and says; "what?"

        we sit down on the curb outside the mall.

        "did your parents hate you, too." a ghost spoke through my mouth.

        crestfallen, he said nothing. i caught a glimpse of a cut on his neck, just the size of a fingernail.

        who am i trying to escape? where am i trying to escape to? i don't need words from you. he's not saying anything. i want to go home to my friends. this world isn't real, and this unreal world is happening in all the right places at all the wrong times. april is the real beginning of the year, and september is the real end. everything in between is suspension between beginnings and ends, and i'm unsure what to do. did my parents hate me? did your parents hate you, too? are they even mine? i am a chameleon among the norm, and my faces aren't dictated by my own will.

        are you a social chameleon too? is it my choice to pile on images to fit a role?

        "we don't have parents."

        a pair of empty hands carry murky pond water in their palms as they ache to be touched by something real. who those hands belong to, is unknown.

        and somehow, i know.

        i don't have to go back inside to buy flowers.

        why couldn't it have been you, instead?

        and if i may see you once more in the past can i say "if you are to die soon or quickly can you die pretty" like a famous movie so i can rest against your shoulders, guiltless, and spill all my bottled up muddy secrets.

        the guy with the fur collar catches up to me with the rest of his ensemble. it's about time to go home. out of the corner of my eye i see three strangers pushing a full shopping cart.

[bowieandqueen11]

Upside Down / Mike Wheeler Angst

Request: One with Mike Wheeler and the reader has no idea about all the stuff to do with like Hawkins Lab and the upside down and stuff and the reader tries to find out about what happens but Mike gets sick of it so he tells them to leave him alone and the reader takes it the wrong way and just angst really. I need an imagine to match how I’m feeling atm T-T. If not it’s all g :) 

Thank you my love @disneyfan567 I’m sorry if this is terrible because you deserve the best XD <3

Hawkins was just that sort of town. The sort of place where nobody really pays any heed, but there’s a certain darkness that lurks behind every arcade and every shopping mall. A kind of chill that makes the adults pull down the rims of their hats and hurry on by, shooing their children off to amuse themselves in fear of being caught. The town had been built on a grid, and no expense was spared. The roads were perfect grit spitting rivers of tarmac that traffic lights blinked along to allow the schoolchildren to pass safely. The air was muggy and foggy and yet seemed crisp to those who drank it in. On occasion a deer would gallop through the streets or a bird fall on the tall black lampposts, but the canyon made sure that nothing but cold air tugged on the hearts of the residents living there.

You weren’t stupid, that’s for sure. You had known as soon as Will ‘Zombie Boy’ Byers had returned home, that all your friends had begun acting suspiciously. You barely see him anymore, his mum dragging him home whenever you greet him entering the school doors, or her telling you he’s still so very ill, okay sweetheart, when you go knocking on their door with all the physics homework he had missed that day. Dustin and Lucas weren’t much better. You had tried to drag their secrets out of them, managing even to rustle Steve into the mix in the arcade. Thumping your hand down on the dusty Dragon’s Lair machine, knocking Dustin’s hand off the control stick, as red as a cherry, he shouts a loud ‘hey, y/n, jesus, what the actual f-’

‘Dustin!’, Steve coughs from behind him, two hands placed sternly against the light blue cotton covering his hips, slouching down onto his left foot. His eyes are wide and disapproving as he looks down at him. ‘Y/n here has left me sixteen messages, ten of which were missed calls because apparently neither of you two, idiots, would answer her. I had to driver her all the way here, and let me tell you, her mother was not happy with me.’

‘What is it, y/n, we’re busy’, Lucas sighs, twisting around again to place another quarter into the game.

‘I know something fishy is going on with you guys, and it’s not fair for you to keep me out of it. I have as much a right to know as any of you guys!’

The three boys throw each other concerned glances, Steve making as if to move forward, his pointer finger out, mouth slightly agape, but the words only stick in his throat as he blinks, curls falling over his forehead.

‘It’s..it’s not safe, y/n,’ Dustin finally says, much to your dismay. Groaning lightly, you turn on your heel and run out the door, tears welling up in your eyes.

And then there was Mike, your best friend, who hadn’t spoken to you in nearly a week. Anytime you saw him, his eyes were blotchy and red as if he’d spent all night lying on his bed crying, his eyes cast down onto the ground without meeting anyone’s gaze, his backpack nearly falling off his slumped shoulders, not even noticing the little Star Wars keychain you had bought him for his birthday digging into his skin. Anytime you went near him, he had brushed you off, throwing your hand off his shoulder, not answering your walkie talkie during the night, pretending he was over at Mike’s when you had clearly seen him cycle into the woods whilst waiting for him behind the bushes on his front lawn. It was as if he had become a ghost.

That’s why you found yourself outside Hawkin’s Highschool late that night, determined to find out what in these haunted woods had everyone so frightened.The sky is a rolling blanket of cloud the colour of wet ash, and the ground its dank reflection, each trembling step a prayer for some kind of answer, some kind of key to unlock this secret the whole town seemed to be conspiring to keep from you. The lights flickered as you stepped past the last few overhead lampposts like flickering daydreams, dying underneath the blanket of night. The chill wind tugged at your clothing and whipped loose hair about your face, bringing with it the first of the rain that had been promised since supper. The newly wet skin offered body heat to the frigid air, only to find its appetite was insatiable. 

The hills that lie friendly in the day - like the pillows of the land - are darkly ominous by night. The paths that were illuminated just hours before become lost in a blackness that even moonlight cannot help. The trees that are magnificent in sunshine tower over you as you step across the borderline between the seen and unseen. Steeling yourself to keep moving past the growls that seem to encircle you, your hair stands on end as if the forest was on the enemy’s side. 

Yelping lightly, you tumble to the ground, your flashlight rolling out of your hand and tumbling across the dirt, spinning lightly as it illuminates in pale flashes of light the nearly translucent face of Mike Wheeler as he turns around in confusion, wondering what had managed to trip over the tire of his bike that lay abandoned in a nearby ditch.

‘M-mike’, you manage to mutter out, your teeth clenched as a ripple of pain ruffles through you. Looking down, you can’t see, but can feel the stickiness between your fingertips as you move it away from the tear in your jeans. Standing awkwardly in front of you, Mike manages only to drop his box of Eggos, the rain pouring silently down his face like tears as he pouts a little, his raven hair slick against his head as it pelts down upon his unprotected skin. His striped shirt is nearly see through in the cold, and you can’t help but wondering what the hell is wrong with him, standing in the middle of the rain, shivering lightly, at nearly ten past midnight.

‘Y/n, what-what are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing, Mike.’ Glancing around him to the wooden box his foot kicks against backing away slightly, you ask ‘why is your favourite hoodie on the ground?’

‘I dropped it y/n, jesus, it’s none of your business anyway.’

‘Mike...’, you manage to stumble to your feet, approaching him slowly so as not to scare him off, him staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights, his arms flush by his side and unmoving, ‘Mike, what’s going on, please just tell me.’

Placing one hand on his shoulder, your thumb moving uncomfortably against the damp material, he bows his head a little, a deep breath rumbling through his chest. There’s a tense silence for a moment,as the two of you just stand there in the downpour, unsure of what to do or say. What you don’t expect, however, is for Mike to grab your hand, throwing it down onto your stomach with a dull thud.

‘You wouldn’t understand!’, he begins to shout, his hands coming up to fist into his air, ‘there’s a reason we haven’t told you, y/n! It’s because we don’t care about you! You have no idea what it’s like! No idea what it’s like to lose everything! Jesus, just leave me alone!’

As he stomps past you, his sneakers nearly slipping on the damp pine cones that crunch under his feet, little wood chippings sticking to his slipping socks, he thumps against your shoulder without a care, his eyes downcast and a pained expression flashing through his face. As you just stand there, confused and lost, the only thing you could think, no matter how ridiculous, was that you weren’t sure if the streaks running down his flushed cheeks were little dew droplets of rain, or burning, throbbing tears.

[countryshitposts]

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

All The Sinners Stand Up, Say Hallelujah

Trigger Warnings; rape and prostitution

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Previous

-

Name Guide:

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Choson Inmin- North Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

Koku Nippon- Japan

Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire

-

"Are you lost? Do you need help?", the stranger repeats his question once again, taking a step closer to the woman clad in the large jacket, taking every bit of her skin; goosebumps were rising all around her skin, prickling at her as she becomes even colder than the North and South Pole themselves, their blizzards not a match for the ice-cold and frozen skin she already has, faced with another man perhaps luring her in to his trap.

She had learned a long time ago never to trust eyes- they have become so genuine and easily traced to the point she is now in a lying snake's trap, the snake slithering closer to her, eyes flickering with hunger, tongue flicking.

She stays silent, a fish in the water, waiting for the trespasser to leave, his silhouette clear in the dark depths of the water, eyes blank and observing.

"What's your name?", he was quite insistent, his slimy and grabby fingers making its way back to his body, head tilted to the side and with a general concerned look, and she could not help but think when this man was going to lose his patience and walk off, leaving her alone in this nightly realm. "Do you want to go to the police department?"

She freezes up once again, standing back, shaking like the water has been hit by a stone for skipping and circles rock back and forth from the water, expanding and expanding until it dies down and once again, it is back to its old and tranquil past.

"I'll take that as a no", the man notes, his tone somewhat understanding and sympathetic- it was not out of the blue for someone to reflect their so-called genuine emotions, but like everyone she had met in her entire life, their eyes hide another layer of deceit that will come once they have laid in their trap.

Shanghai shivers, either of the fact that another strong breeze flies right through her and she snuggles into the limited warmth of the coat, or because the man is still standing in front of her and staring at her with such intensity to the point she wanted to burn him alive with her own eyes. He was still staring at her with such concern that it burns her flesh bit by bit, his stare full of intensity echoing within her. She keeps her distance to the stranger, and he seems not to go near her personal space, the both of them having a silent standoff in her point of view.

Then, as if the gods were against her well-being and general lack of understanding the situation she is in right now, something small but cold drops on her nose, and she blinks a little.

Then another drop, small and minuscule, unseen, but she knows the feeling of its wetness and what was about to come.

More drops fall down from the dark sky, unsure whether it was crying and mourning as more and more drops fall from the grey clouds above. A shower starts, the intensity of the drizzle increasing, the small droplets creating sounds once they hit roofs until a spasm of tiny droplets hit the ground and hit the two who were still not covering themselves.

Shanghai had missed seeing the rain, witnessing its moistness on her skin, the way it makes her feel even colder as another blizzard-like wind passes her direction, and she stares at the rain, ignoring the way the drops fall on her until she was mostly wet.

She hears the sound of an umbrella being opened, and hearing the patter of rain drops colliding with the leather skin; she does not feel the wet drops on her anymore.

Puzzled, she turns around to find the man holding out the umbrella to shield her from the rain drops, ignoring the steadfast drizzle that is now falling on him with a torrent of emotions, either from the great sky above them desolate and desperate to have someone comfort them to the ends of all time, their skin spreading onto space and enveloping the whole world into the same sadness the night sky experience or they are crying tears of joy because space and earth will never touch again.

"Why don't you come to my house?" Time stops as her eyes meet the man's again, still swirling with sincerity and worry for her welfare, she stands back a little once again, never uttering a single word, still wary of what he wants from her. He laughs a little, smoothing his already wet dark hair awkwardly, "Oh right, we technically are strangers. My name's Daehan Imsi, but you can call me Imsi. You are?"

Shanghai takes a moment to stare at his now drenched suit, one hand holding the umbrella used to shield her from the rain and keep her dry, to his hand still holding his suitcase dripping water, knuckles turning white, and to his face, awkward smile intact. She must have been staring for a minute or so, since Imsi visibly deflates and sighs a little.

"I'm sorry for taking so much of your time", he says with a small sigh. "I will be leaving now, you can have my umbrella." He gives his umbrella to Shanghai's open hand, their fingers touching (much to the woman's panic in thinking he'll do something else), turning his back on her as he starts to walk away.

She then feels a raw sound come from her throat, emotions increasing.

"Wait", she chokes, and Imsi stops walking. "My name is Shanghai."

Imsi smiles a little, "Nice to meet you, Shanghai."

She follows him to his home, like an obedient dog following its master because it cannot walk on its four paws without a guide, hands on the dog's leash as their owner treats them like a slave, yanking their leashes and letting the pet's collars suffocate their throats as they forcefully drag them away. She silently keeps her head down, passive as her eyes watch the damp and moist ground being disturbed by the sound of her heels making noises in the silent night. Her eyes linger to Imsi's back shyly, coat draped over his head as the soft drizzle pitter-patters over the rooftops and buildings, as she holds the umbrella he offered to her earlier.

"Almost there, not to worry." Imsi turns his head to look at Shanghai, who averts her gaze from Imsi and back to the floors.

They continue to walk, never a chore for Shanghai, because at the very least she can remember that she was not following Teikoku and another client to a room, because it was a short walk from doomsday and from her companions, all looking tense and worried for her. This was a long walk to the so-called house which will house her and make her feel at home, until the man shoves her into his room and locks the door.

He stops abruptly, and she keeps her distance, looking down before her eyes glance at the building in front of her; a small apartment building, the first floor in use. Imsi continues to walk, looking at the windows as Shanghai slowly catches up with him, still cautious of his intentions and reasons of bringing her here to his abode.

(She closes the umbrella and puts it on the proper place, trying to dry the leathery shield herself before putting the umbrella on the corner of the door.)

"Ah, Minguk is home", he mutters under his breath, opening the door, and much to Shanghai's slight surprise, he holds the door wide for her to enter. She looks at Imsi for a while, before immediately going inside his home, hearing the door close behind him, stopping for a while to hear him locking the door, but all she hears is him complaining about his drenched suit.

Imsi did not question Shanghai stopping for a moment, as he walks past her and into the living room shared by their small dining table and kitchen. She follows Imsi, and sees a young boy seated on one of the sits of the dining table, pen in his hand, tongue sticking out of his mouth, dark blue eyes fixated on the page of the book, hair decrepitly messy but looking dyed in the fringes. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, and she assumes he got it from studying all night.

The boy looks up from the book and sees Imsi, and then his eyes go to Shanghai, who was now fussing further up her jacket.

"Who's that?", he curtly snaps at Imsi, who was busily taking out his shoes and socks, which were also damp. Imsi gives him a glare.

"Mind your manners and words, Minguk", he warns, and turns to look at Shanghai, who was still in the abnormally large jacket, and with caring words, "and you can put that away now."

Shanghai shakes her head, hiding herself more in the coat, despite the fact warmth was basking on the skin she was revealing, the light and air around her like the summer heat she used to experience along time ago, and especially in the bed, but instead of feeling skin colliding against hers and caressing her most intimate parts she feels nothing but the shaking of her body.

Imsi blinks, "Ah, alright then."

Minguk gets up from the table, narrowing his eyes towards Shanghai, suspicion evident. "Why did you pick up a woman on the streets again, samchon?"

Shanghai freezes, perking her head up as her heart starts to beat, remembering the times Teikoku would ultimately humiliate her by making her wait for her client who is driving a car, holding her by the hair as she tries covering her bare body, the only covers her undergarments. She feels tears pinprick her eyes as she feels Teikoku's hands on her, his hand on her thigh rising higher and higher, until a car skids to a stop right in front of them and Teikoku pushes her in, a smirk forming on his face.

"Miss Shanghai, joesong haeyo about my nephew's clear insensitivity", he tells the woman behind him with a sheepish look, then glares at his nephew, "she is a guest in our home. I suggest you treat her with respect."

Minguk purses his lips, glaring at an irritated and wet Imsi and a shaking and freezing Shanghai, "She might be hiding something from us if she refuses to take that off."

"Have some humility, Minguk!", Imsi berates him, raising his voice a little, "she is a guest!"

"She may be, but I'm not taking my chances, samchon", Minguk replies, still glaring daggers that can pierce her skin any moment, feeling the same chill as she had whenever Teikoku is around. "She's hiding something and I'm not taking any chances."

"You need to learn respect, Minguk", Imsi retorts, "your parents raised you better than this. Your Mother raised you better than this."

Once he mentions the word 'Mother', Minguk's eyes widen as his whole body goes slack, pen on his hand dropping down the floors, making a small sound. It was as if he had insulted the deepest depths of his insides, turning the situation against him. Minguk sits back down, an unreadable expression on his face, staring at Imsi.

Imsi blinks, finally realising his tone and absolutely regretting what he had said, wanting to reach out to Minguk once again but ultimately shutting down that part of him by saying,

"I'll go make food for all of us, then." He looks at Shanghai, "make yourself at home and comfortable; I will be making our dinner." With soaked clothes he stalks into the kitchen, like it was a daily occurrence that he would stalk into the kitchen wet from the polluted rain absorbing into his skin. He turns the stove on, and from across the room Shanghai watches the flames rise, kindling with orange, blue and yellow hues, swaying with the air like wild flowers.

Shanghai takes in her surroundings; the ticking of a small wall clock, the dim lights that might flicker in and out once it fades fast enough, the walls cheaply painted white, noticing how they peel off quickly like they had no devotion to keeping the entire apartment neat, and a large book case overtaking most of the living space, the television beside it being crammed. She turns to look at the small chairs and sofas near the front door, and Minguk glaring right as her as he works.

She sits down on sofa, crossing her legs, fidgeting with her hands as her eyes stare at the books and their worn spines, wishing to take one of them away from the spiffy and nifty book case, her fingers tingling in anticipation, wishing to hold another book once again in her life, remembering the sentences and paragraphs, building towers and walls around herself as she buries her nose more into the pages, wishing to browse and review their words like there was no tomorrow.

"Minguk, you really need to learn how to cook", Imsi says from the kitchen, still making their dinner.

"I would be a shit cook though", Minguk replies casually as he flips to another page of his workbook, humming a small song in his mind.

"Your mouth, Minguk." Imsi goes back to drowning the whole apartment in silence and sizzling meals, hearing boiling and the kettle whistling, but Shanghai still stares at the books, hunger in her eyes. Her fingers are already yearning to touch something other than the soft covers of the bed, the sweaty and heated skin of another person, or even her own, not wishing to touch anything else before she gets a single book under her nose. The woman seated on the couch hears plates being arranged on the dining table, glasses clinking with a small lingering melody.

"It's time for dinner", Imsi says in an obvious tone, as he - wearing mittens - putting a few steaming and smoking pots down on the table. Shanghai tries to ignore the sweet smell of the meals offered, trying to keep quiet and play the little pearl swallowed by a giant clam, but her hunger is being tempted and rhiddled by the food, and she tries not to give in despite the fact her stomach felt like she was being whipped, harder and harder before she joins them, sitting the furthest from the uncle and nephew duo.

She eyes the three bowls being picked on by Minguk and Imsi and, as if the latter had read her mind, he slides the last bibimpap bowl to the lady, and she tentatively looks at Imsi, who nods before going to his meal. (She stares at it a little, thinking if it is laced with drugs that will either stimulate her for sex or make her slumber as they quickly undress her.) Minguk was staring at her as he picks on his food, absent-mindedly getting food scraps on himself before Imsi scolds him and his eyes plunge back to his meal hungrily.

Shanghai is hungry, of course; but that does not mean she cannot control herself from resisting more of her hunger's desire, to keep eating until she falls dead. After devouring the bibimpap bowl she thanks Imsi quietly for the food before sliding back down the cushions of the sofa, back to eyeing the books on the book case.

(She tries to feel if there are any side effects to what she just ate- she does feel sleepy and exhausted but perhaps it was due to the fact she'd been walking through the entire city since she was set free, though she does not feel the absolute need and want to do such lustful actions.

At the moment, of course.)

"Go to bed now, Minguk", Imsi mothers his nephew, his face looking like he is holding back a yawn in the very moment. "You have a test tomorrow morning."

"Which means I have to study, samchon", Minguk argues back. His eyes return to Shanghai, quietly and obediently seated like a dog, "And I can't leave her alone in the living room, don't I?"

"Minguk, for the last time..."

"Samchon, sometimes you trust in strangers too much. Eomma and Appa had trusted strangers too. Look what happened to the both of them." There was a hint of sadness in the teen's voice, like he was trying to keep it together because the whole world will fall apart once he shows his sadness. His voice hardens as he continues, but there was a hint of longing and desperation in them. "Inmin trusted in strangers more than he trusted his own family. He up and left us, joining some unruly gang in the depths of the sewers."

Shanghai perks up at the mention of a gang, wanting to know more behind the story Minguk was trying to distort to prove a point to his uncle, who was staring at him, lips pursed, eyes billowing with such intensity, the gears in his mind trying to spin.

"Minguk. Go to bed." Imsi's tone was cold and hard, but his voice was also cracking like someone had made the wrong step on a frozen river and tries to escape, in which it resolves to more cracks. "That is enough disrespect from you, young man. This is your final warning. Go. To. Bed."

Minguk gets up from his chair abruptly, taking his phone and books with him as he stalks to his room, throwing one last suspicious glare to Shanghai's way. As he closes the door, Imsi visibly deflates, shoulders slumping as he looks back at Shanghai, silently watching him, wariness in her eyes.

"I apologize for my nephew's manners." Imsi sighs as he rakes his still damp hair with his fingers. Shanghai did not open her mouth to say anything, having lost the energy after she did speak to the stranger in front of her. "He is quite a conspirer, that one. Not as much as his brother though, yes." Imsi's face cloud over, as if walking through a memory. "Inmin was... creative."

Shanghai wants to ask who Inmin is - or was - but her tongue is tied, leg crossed and hands on her lap, staring at Imsi cautiously.

"But I caught you staring at my book case", Imsi changes the topic, tone a little too bright. "Did any title catch your eye, specifically?"

She blinks a little, unresponsive for a moment, before raising her pointer finger towards the book on the top most shelf, and his eyes follow her finger. His eyes widen in realisation as he reaches up to take one book from the case, brushing some little specks of dust from its covers.

"Othello", Imsi reads the title out loud, before smiling at Shanghai (not with perversion, but more of a genuine smile), "you like Shakespere's works? Is this your favourite?"

She nods, and Imsi offers her the book in his hands, and she hesitantly extracts them from Imsi's hands, but his colder fingers brush hers like she had accidentally touched a thorn on a rose bush and she widens her eyes, dropping the book to the ground, looking at Imsi with horror.

Imsi stares at the book on the floor, then at Shanghai, who was now shaking. He clears his throat, clearly aware of how awkward this situation is. "Well, it is night time after all. Are you tired?"

Shanghai slowly nods.

"We have a vacant room, next to Minguk", Imsi says, his face once again clouding. "It was once Inmin's... you're free to stay here as long as you like."

Shanghai blinks, surprise evident in her eyes.

Receiving no reply, Imsi takes the book from the floor and puts it beside her, her eyes looking at its cover before going back to Imsi.

"I can lend you some clothes, if you'd like", Imsi tilts his head, "we seem to be the same height. Hold on, I'll be right back." He goes into his room- Shanghai hears his wardrobe open and a few mutters of assent, before shortly going back to Shanghai. "I hope these fit you." She takes the clothes he had given to her, looking at them and back at Imsi. "Oh, of course. Well then, I bid you goodnight, Miss Shanghai."

He turns to leave-

"Thank you", Shanghai softly says, just reaching Imsi's ears. He looks at her with a tender look, something she had not seen from anyone other than her sisters in the brothels.

"Cheonman-eyo", he leaves her alone for the night, and suddenly she misses his company, not in a desiring way but in a pleasant and understanding way.

-

Earlier that afternoon, it was raining despite the fact a while ago when America had walked in Teikoku's home, wishing to infiltrate it on the inside like she's a bomb waiting to explode.

Right now, she is trying not to explode, as she swallows a lump in her throat, following Koku to the lion's den, its king sitting on a throne of bones. She takes a deep, collective sigh, trying to calm her beating heart, which is now echoing in the walls of her rib cage.

A finger brushes her hand, her world plunging back to the boy beside her as they walk.

"You seem anxious", Koku says brightly, seemingly olivious to America's terse nature, beads of sweat gluing onto her skin. Her eyes meet Koku, staying silent, unlike speaking up and quietly making the boy in front of her abashed like what she did in that room. "Don't worry- my brother is a very kind man. He wouldn't hurt you." His gray eyes twinkle with a cloud of mixed emotions, as if checking a crystal of his memory. "Of course he wouldn't."

America doesn't reply, eyes ahead, fixed in a straight line, ignoring the warmth that had just been emitted from Koku.

The rest of the walk was silent, Koku sensing her discomfort and deciding to let her figure this out herself, but never leaving by her side, his grey eyes over her.

They stop at a large door, a chill going through America's body, her heart once again accelerating, its beats sounding more like a haunting melody than just normal rhythmic heartbeats. She steels herself for what was to come, as Koku knocks on the door.

"Teikoku-kun?", he calls, "may we enter?"

"You may", says a voice from the inside, colder and deeper than Koku's voice. He turns the knob and opens the entrance to the den of doom, filling cold air wrap around America like a blanket failing to keep her warm during the coldest of all winters, leaving her to freeze to death at the claws of winter.

Teikoku was in his business suit, dark hair smoothed out, no curl left astray, his gray eyes dancing with familiar ambition, as it flits from Koku to America, raising a brow at her, eyes flickering with familiarity before he smiles pleasantly at his brother.

"So you have chosen", he says in a slow manner, elegantly poised from behind the desk, in his business chair like a king vying for power. His eyes flick dangerously to America, who is trying not to let him hinder her. "Her."

Koku clears his throat, an awkward smile on his face, "I'm sorry, was this the wrong choice?"

Teikoku glances back at his brother and, like a drizzle in the afternoon being fought at by the sun behind them, he smiles in an eerie, forced way. "Oh, but I'm absolutely proud to see that you've picked your bodyguard on your own, without my help." He looks back at America, with boiling rage and also... hunger, which made her sick and fists clench. "Though, I suspect she'd all just be a pretty face for you."

America's throat burns as her blue eyes rekindle with fire, trying not to already shoot the bastard straight in the head.

Koku blinks, processing what Teikoku had just said, "Wait; my bodyguard?"

Teikoku nods a little too brightly to the point America thinks he's just doing this out of spite, "Of course! Last night has been a huge disaster on my part; I put all my family in danger and look what had happened." He regards Koku's wound, who glances at it shortly before looking back at Teikoku. "And I don't want you to be harmed again."

"B-but you s-said-", Koku sputters, trying to formulate the right words to say to the man towering over the both of them.

Teikoku's hands grip at his chair tightly, a king once being notified of something he did not like and ultimately having fits of rage in his throne. "And I wish to protect you my dear Koku. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, I s-suppose... but-"

"Is that clear?", Teikoku says, tone laced with acid that may burn onto Koku's skin if he dabs more than just enough to watch it tear into him.

Koku stops arguing, falling silent, falling in line. The entire office was silent, needles trying to puncture this brand new and tense quiet. "Hai, Teikoku-sama." He lowers his head, defeated.

Teikoku placates another suspectible smile on his face again, his eyes lingering to America once more, as a drop of sweat drops towards the dark wooden tiles, despite the cold surrounding.

"Let's go now, America-san", Koku tells America submissively, eagerly wanting to leave the office Teikoku had built his fear and lust upon. Koku was the first to exit, followed by his new bodyguard, who is a little too distant from him.

"Oh, America", she hears him coo disgustingly, "you're playing a dangerous game."

She glares at him, wanting to give him a snide remark, but she only responds with, "It is my honour serving your brother." America leaves the room, following Koku.

-

"You said your brother was 'kind'", she says, quoting the last word. "I think you mistook that word for 'being an asshole'."

Koku glares at her from his study desk (she was sitting on the edge of his bed), writing down on something. "Mind your language, America-san; Teikoku was just tired for the day, and this might have amplified his stress."

America snorts, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Master."

"You were kind to me about an hour ago, America", he replies, "where did that kindess go to?"

She stares at Koku a little, his eyes dancing with flames in them, and she sighs a little. "I didn't even have kindness in me."

Koku tilts his head, standing from his desk and then sitting right beside America, much to her confusion, furrowing her brows as his hand brushes hers. "Look, I don't really know you outside of our conversation earlier, but since now you're my bodyguard, I want to get to know you better."

America stares at Koku's fingers, then back at his eyes once again. Her face hardens. "Fine. You want to learn more about me?" She stands from the bed, her eyes glinting. "I want to learn more about you."

Koku stares at her, his expression unreadable except for the small fire kindling in his grey eyes, a shooting star against the calm and windy night. "What would you like to know?"

She comes back to his bed, cerulean eyes showing off her natural hue, the predator studying its prey. Said prey was looking at her, studying her, tearing her apart piece by piece as he warily watches the woman and what she is about to do. Instead, she smiles sweetly, like a siren perched on a rock, looking at the sailor in the ship, her lustful smile giving way as she starts to sing, the sweetest and most melodious voice, charming the sailor with too much infatuation until he dives down to the treacherous waters, waves trying to hold him back against the love of his life, his soulmate, just there, sitting on the rocks like it was his destiny to get to her- but once he gets dangerously close to her her eyes become acid as he is suddenly dragged deep down to the waters.

"About you, of course", she says warmly, her tone playful, hand on Koku's. "I know much about you, but only from your brother."

Koku raises a brow, a defiant look crossing his face. "You said that you only met my brother today."

"I never said that", she gives him a sweet smile, "I said he was intimidating."

"How do you know him in the first place?"

She rolls her eyes, in disbelief this boy is unaware of Teikoku's renowned fame, as if he had been living under a rock despite the fact he lives with the monster and is perhaps a monster himself.

But she also suspects Koku was trying to up his game, to play as naive as a child so he can divert America's attention.

She smirks a little.

"He's a world renowned business man, of course. One drop of his name and everyone's attention would turn to the one who mentions his title."

He gives a small laugh, looking at America with a small smile. "Y-yeah, maybe you're right."

She stares at him a little, as if his laugh was able to wake her up from her little fever dream down the road, his warmth shielding her from the pitter-patter of the rain outside. America studies his face- his eyes full of curiosity; the type of curiosity that will stop at nothing until he gets the answers he yearns for, his dark hair, its colour as dark as a raven's feathers, and if he doesn't keep it in such a messy state like he was busy all night, he would look so much like Teikoku it would become frightening.

"America?" She blinks as her attention is not at the way Koku poses himself as but towards his sweet smile. "You seem out of it."

She shakes her head a little. "Nothing. Just a little... bored."

Koku nods understandably, "I can see that; after all, it's raining outside."

"Do you have any hobbies outside of being oblivious?", America deadpans, and Koku furrows his brows, obviously offended at her statement.

"I'm not oblivious. Where did you get that conclusion?"

"The air around you defines your obliviousness."

Koku scoffs. "You say I'm oblivious but I say you are."

And now she was the one who scoffs. "Me? Oblivious? I know more than you."

"Yes but, sometimes even the smartest ones can also be the most ignorant."

"You're smart. But you're simply a naive youth who ignores everything in his surroundings."

Koku narrows his eyes at her. "I regret choosing you as my bodyguard. Now you're just low key insulting me."

America smirks, "Oh? But I'm not insulting you. I'm just giving you a reality check... slowly but surely."

"What does that mean-"

Before America can answer his question the front door opens, revealing a short girl with dark hair and skin, her eyes comparable to the gold bars that are hidden in many a banks. She looks petrified and breathless, hand still on the doorknob. America spots a ring on her free hand, shining through the artificial lights like a precious artefact. The girl was sweating a little as her eyes land on Koku.

"Ojisan", she says, breathless, "Otōsan wants me to tell you...", her eyes flip to America, "Kanojo wa daredesuka?"

Koku's eyes flick from his niece, to America. He opens his mouth, "Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu."

America tries to understand what they were saying, but it seems as if she was in another world; nothing makes sense to her, trapped in a one-dimensional bubble, people surrounding her speaking in a tongue that she could not understand, and can only watch from a mirror away.

(It reminded her of her times in the streets, when men around the alleys prey on her, talking in small, hushed and low voices, about her appearance, her figure, her everything.

Before she was brought back into the real world by her brothers.)

She knows they are talking about her; how and why she's in this position, being placed as a protector of the Nippon family, most especially one Koku Nippon. America tries to comprehend their conversation, but it was nothing else but breathy Japanese in her ears- she can hear it, of course, them speaking in normal voices and having a casual conversation like it was nothing, but for her, it was a barrier of vocabulary and tongue she could never even define what is what and which is which.

All she knows is her name.

Koku's eyes widen as his niece's voice starts to arguably grow higher and agitated, and he turns to America.

"You can end your shift today; me and Palau are going to go somewhere."

America nods, raising a brow of curiosity knowing that she'll never get an answer. "Alright."

Palau guides Koku out of the room, dim-wittedly leaving America still there. She looks around, like phantoms of the past, present, and future are watching her every move. She narrows her eyes as she stands from her the bed, eyes as narrow as a cat's.

Feet light in fear of being found, America looks beneath the bed first; she finds old clothes and rolled up papers, toys and some worn books. She picks up the rolled up papers first, and, seeing that their contents were only bunches of doodles made from pencil and imagination. She sighs as she reaches under the bed, paper after paper finding nothing but doodles (America wonders how much scrapped drawings Koku had thrown away in his bin only to wash away to the outer boundaries of his bed, to the world of unknown and of horror films). She takes out the worn books next, flipping a few pages only to find they've been horribly vandalised by neat and cursive handwriting that indirectly reviews scenes of each paragraph instead of writing his own paper.

(America cannot help but get bugged at how Koku would vandalise a book he owned like it was nothing- just a piece of treasure his riches has brought him, always finding another one to take in the ocean of gold.)

She sighs as she puts them back in place like it never happened, standing and opening his drawers. She opens the first, filled with pictures as she takes them out to inspect.

The first photo was of a young boy holding a woman's hand who was smiling at the camera, serene and peaceful, hand on her dress, long dark hair flowing behind her like she was an ethereal maiden, lost in the wind. She didn't resemble the young boy much, only his stormy grey eyes as he gives his mother the most joyous look.

America assumes this must be Koku and his mother, Kyoto, when he was young.

The next one was of him and Teikoku; they look younger than they are now, Koku's hair its signature mess while Teikoku's was as prim and proper. They were both looking at the camera, Teikoku's grey orbs staring into America's soul, digging into her flesh so that her heart can beat faster until he pierces it through. Koku was looking his best to act like the naive boy his brother made him out to be, winking at the camera with a peace sign, tongue sticking out.

The third was of Palau as a baby being caressed by a small Koku; Palau's father looking no more less than a teen. Teikoku was not smiling, looking at the infant with absolute hatred sparking in his eyes, a disapproving glare hidden beneath them.

America flips through more photos; one where Koku was holding Okinawa now, Teikoku older but still shooting his son the same glare he gave to Palau; of another one with Kyoto and Koku, but this time with his father Tokugawa Shogunate; then another one with Koku and Teikoku; then the entire family, Palau off to the side, Hokkaido joining her while holding Okinawa who was sucking at his thumb and looking anywhere but the camera, to Tokyo trying to smile, Teikoku smirking and Koku genuinely smiling like his family isn't shattered to pieces.

She wonders if Koku is in a different world where he doesn't suffer as much as Teikoku's own children, a little boy in a small world that Teikoku had made so he can manipulate him in tiny strings like a puppet as he laughs.

She opens the second drawer, only to find letters with the same cursive handwriting, completely written in Japanese exclusively. She fingers the letters and inspect them one by one. America knows she's worthless on understanding these so she folds them and puts them in her pockets for them to be inspected by the others.

America then opens the third drawer, full of only clothes, and she moves on to his wardrobe but it also only had clothes in them. She sighs as she closes the wardrobe, knowing it was a lost cause, that Koku was oblivious beyond belief. She makes a note to search some of the others' rooms, before going to the apex predator's den.

-

A man enters through the brothels, his polished dark shoes creating a squeaking sound on the halls of the hygienic and clean building, its walls chaste and its floors undefiled. His eyes hungrily lingers on the woman in front of him, lingerie and all, following her boss as he guides them both to the room where it happens. He licks his lips as his eyes stay on the woman, already wanting to undress her remaining blockade to her most private parts right then and there and leave her screaming.

It was not his first time in such a sinful establishment, of course; he had always been a full-time client of Teikoku, calling him through private calls to let the man know he is ready for another round with one of his women, wanting to hear their sweet screams and whines from underneath him as he deepens himself into their bodies more, more, more. He always had a large smile on his face as he touches even the deepest parts of them, letting them writhe beneath him, begging him to either stop or keep going, because that is what they are- whores who needs a man's touch to keep them fed and healthy. He can already feel the arousal in him growing, blood rushing through his veins, desire steaming, wishing to be let out like a kettle whistling for its owner to notify them that the water inside them has boiled.

He usually enters The Comfort Zone at night, though. There is no use for a good fuck in the mornings because poor little souls who hadn't tasted the life of the rich will question where he had gone, if he would come back to where he left at all. Of course, most clients will be rampant around night, but this is a risk he must take to save his reputation from splotches of black ink that will stain his only good sheet of paper.

This place was for the wicked, where the lustful men come and go, leaving their desires inside of them and waiting, slowly but surely, to come around the women they ought to buy just for an hour or more, and tearing them apart, flesh in their teeth, hands playing and yanking on their hair, fingers digging into the whore's skin as her eyes are pleading with mercy and leniency as their clients destroy them and their dignity, leaving nothing but a broken mirror and shattered pieces of it.

Teikoku unlocks the door, and the man grins as he hears the squeak of the opening door. He puts a hand around the whore's waist, and she shivers, as his hands linger lower and lower. Teikoku looks at them both with a grin on his face,

"Well, I bid you both a good luck and a good night." He stalks off from the couple, but he eyes the lady under the man's arm for a suspicious amount of time before turning his head the other way.

The man turns to the pretty face next to him but she was already moving; she yanks down his collar to kiss him, her breath sweet and alluring, as she leads him into the room, its walls smelling like lavender, despite the fact it was dark as the hole in his heart once the whore closes the room. He feels her body on him, kissing him with such passion it was burning him alive ever so slightly, a fire raging deep in his veins as he kisses back, feeling one of her hands being freed underneath his grasp as he pins her down the bed-

He is then flipped on his back as he feels the soft bed underneath him, the warm and hot feeling he had a while ago replaced with cold as he feels the head of a pistol on his head.

"So", the woman finally says, only it wasn't a feminine voice; it was a man's. "You either open your mouth to answer my questions or I'll shoot you in the head."

-

"How was first day of the job, my dudes?", Aussie asks as he nibbles on a cookie crumble he found in the fridge.

America looks at him as she unpins her hair from the tight bun she had wrongfully chosen to tie around her hair, "Painful."

Canada was looking smug through the monitor, "Good. For the day."

America scowls at him, "You're lucky your pretty boy body made everyone think you're a chick."

"A hot chick", he corrects smugly, "loads of dudes groped me this night."

"And that's something to be proud about?", his sister scolds at him as she unties her bun, wavy hair falling beneath her shoulders like rain, smooth and soft.

Canada shoots her an apologetic look, "Sorry, won't happen again." His face morphs into a disgusted look. "I can't believe people would try and take pleasure of someone's suffering."

"That's technically what Teikoku does", Kiwi pipes up, "like, all the time." He faces America, "and how was your first day of the job?"

She rolls her eyes, "Three hours in and I want to punch Koku's face and shoot Teikoku right at his head."

"Found anything?", Aussie asks.

"No, except for the fact Koku is an extreme idiot and oblivious to the shit his brother does."

"Chill", Canada says in a smooth voice, "sounds like you want to bash their heads open."

"I do, so badly."

"You'll only tolerate them for a few weeks or months- you just have to be hella careful if you wanna get out of there fast." Kiwi takes a seat right beside Aussie, who was now boredly playing with the staplers.

"I don't think I can last longer than a week there- Aussie, stop playing with those." She snatches the bullets and machinery from Aussie's hands like he was a little child holding something he should not be holding. He pouts at her petulantly.

Canada's expression turns serious, "America, did you find any evidence in Koku's room or any room, for the matter?"

She blinks, "Actually, no. Like what I said, it's like Koku is extremely sheltered and it seems that Teikoku's been keeping him in the dark."

Canada nods, "Or he could be acting to make you think that to lead you on."

America affirms, "That too."

"How could someone be such a good actor?", Aussie asks in an exaggerated manner.

"It's their nature", America deadpans, her tone crisp. "They'll lure you in because they look like they're in danger but in a second you're the one in danger and they murder you."

"Sounds like you've had experience with these before", Australia says.

America's eyes darken, "Of course I have. Speaking of which, I forgot I have these." She takes out the handfuls of letters she stole from Koku's room, all worn and yellowed as it had aged from centuries and were kept in a small dark space for a long time. New Zealand takes a few of the letters and examines them, eyes narrowing.

"I have no idea what these say", he states.

"Obviously!", his sister replies, "can anyone here understand Japanese?"

"Philip can", Vietnam enters from the open door with a cup of coffee in her hands, "he said he'd learned it from Spain."

"Alright, can you bring him here? We need him to read and translate these." Vietnam nods as she takes her leave once again, the doors closing behind her and leaving the four siblings in their familial peace.

America misses these moments, sometimes; when she wasn't in her own apartment doing her own lonely business, looking out in the cold night with a cigarette on her fingers, wind billowing in her light wavy hair, the night calling to her like she was the one who had gotten away. She misses the way her brothers would make fun of her, poke fun of her business as they laugh the day off with a cup of coffee and a few snacks on their hands, joy bright and fond in their faces, waiting for another day with each other.

-

"Sir, they hacked in to your files."

"I know that- someone ought to have done it. And I know who."

"Are you going to do something with America now in your home?"

Teikoku thinks for a moment, "No, not yet. Let her think she's one step ahead until I make my own move. Is that clear?"

A pause. Then, "Yes sir."

He chuckles, putting a cigarette on his mouth. "Good."

-

Translations:

joesong haeyo- I'm sorry

Cheonman-eyo- you're welcome

Kanojo wa daredesuka- who is she

Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu - this is my bodyguard, America

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Baekhyun x Reader: have you ever played in the rain?

This made me so happy to write, I’m so thankful for this request oasdfoisa

It’s also based off something that happened to me a few weeks ago, except for I was alone back then! Just fyi uwu…

Tagged: @baekonsforbreakfast @marimsun

“Can I walk you home today?”

The classes just ended, and you were lazily putting the notebooks back in your backpack, without hurry, knowing that there’s at least fifteen minutes before your bus arrives. Your way to school and back was quite long, with twenty minutes of a drive and then fifteen more of walking. Sometimes, it was bothersome, especially when you were tired. But today the weather was beautiful, warm and sunny, with only slight wind to cool it down when it became just too warm, giving you a perfect sense of relief. 

You raised your head to look at the boy standing in front of your desk, his bag already packed, and a soft smile on his puppy-like face. 

“Oh, but I live kind of far from here, and not in the same direction as you” you noticed.

“I know where you live” Baekhyun huffed. “Dad told me to buy something in your neighborhood, so I can accompany you for some time” he explained. An unwitting smile found its way to your lips, and you suddenly felt happier, knowing that out of everything, he actually wanted to spend this time with you. It felt appreciative, in a way, and with how fond of him you grew over the past months, you completely didn’t mind.

“Then I’d love that” you replied simply.

The walk to the bus stop was close to silent, with small conversations about your school subjects here and there. The two of you didn’t talk much, and you felt like you never had common topics other than school. Yet, the silence was comfortable, and when you stood on the bus stop, patiently waiting for the bus stop to arrive, you didn’t feel a need to stop the silence, sometimes only peeking at the other, as if curious, if he felt the same.

It was ten minutes into the road when small droplets of water started hitting the bus’ windows, and you started growing nervous with the perspective of the weather going bad so suddenly. All you had on was a simple summer dress and cardigan, nothing to actually keep you warm and especially nothing to prevent water from hitting you. Baekhyun seemed no better, with shorts and a shirt that also were a typical summer attire. But the boy didn’t seem bothered at all.

When the bus finally arrived, the rain managed to subside, but the clouds were hanging heavily low above, and you felt an urge to reach home as soon as possible, knowing that it may change any minute.

And it did. After going through barely one street and entering the local park, a thunder echoed in the distance, and the sky broke down, letting a flood of water pour onto the earth, as if it was a balloon of water that suddenly got pierced, letting out all that was inside.

You let out a shriek, quickly running towards the nearby tree, hiding underneath it to hopefully avoid getting wet. Some water already reached your clothes, but the tree seemed like a good hideout, at least for now, until the water wouldn’t sink through the layers of leaves, which was sooner or latter deemed to happen.

Baekhyun watched you in amusement, not even moving from his spot. It didn’t take long before his shirt and hair started to sink through.

“Are you crazy?!” you yelled after him. “Come here, idiot!”

“It won’t stop raining that fast, we’ll get wet anyway!” he yelled back.

“We can wait here until it subsides!” you decided, crossing your arms. Even though the water still didn’t reach you, the air became chilly, and your legs and arms covered in goosebumps.

“Just come here, we can have a run to your house!” Baekhyun yelled again. Although it’s been less than a minute, he was already dripping with water. Having a fifteen-minute walk in this weather? No way.

“I will look like a goblin!” you whined, pressing your back against the tree at the realization that the amount of dry space around you grew smaller with every passing moment.

“…What?!”

“When my hair gets wet! I’ll look terrible! Like a wet mop!” you yelled in panic. To your terror, all the reaction you received was a loud laughter of the other, and you whimpered.

“Come on, you’re not made of sugar, water won’t hurt you!” Baekhyun said, stepping towards you, and for some reason, you had a feeling it meant no good.

“And my mascara gets ruined! I will look like a panda!” you continued, curling up slightly to prevent yourself from getting any colder than you already were.

With the next step, Baekhyun’s wet silhouette was in front of yours and you looked up at him, pathetically.

“I’m actually curious how a mix of goblin, mop and panda looks like” he announced, grinning mischievously.

“N-nono, don’t you dare, don’t…”

Grasping your hand in his, he pulled you out into the rain, uncaring towards the shrieks of panic you let out once the water fell onto your silhouette, strong like a shower, and you instantly found yourself wiping it off your eyes, or else they’d instantly get clouded with the thick droplets that hit you every second. Your wet hair stuck to your head and face, instantly losing the volume, and you whimpered at the realization of how you must look like now, especially in front of no one but Baekhyun.

“Have you ever played in the rain?”

The words surprised you. Letting go of your hand, he knew there’s no point in you trying to hide anymore, you were already soaked, your dress and cardigan were wet all through, and so was beginning to be your underwear, which you noticed with a sense of discomfort. 

“Rain is an enemy” you answered honestly.

“Take off your shoes” Baekhyun commanded, pulling his own off, along with socks.

“What the hell?!”

“Just do it!” 

Leaving the shoes somewhere behind, the boy ran into a deep puddle, making the water splash all around, and you backed away automatically, as if the water reaching you would actually change anything at this point.

“Just… what the hell?!”

“Do you want me to take them off for you?” the boy yelled through the rain, a wide, childish smile making you realize, that he would, in fact, do that if you kept resisting.

Hesitantly pulling your shoes off, you stepped towards his puddle, and before you realized, he kicked with his foot, splashing the water all over your legs, at which you shrieked, jumping away.

“H-hey!”

“Just come here, you’ll get warm!” he laughed at you, and you, although hesitantly, stepped forwards, and soon your feet touched the puddle, burying in it up till your ankles. And to your surprise, the water was warm, way warmer than the one falling from the sky, and you felt your blood flow through your freezing feet again.

“Why is it warm?” you asked in confusion.

“Because the ground was warm, it’s been sunny all day, right?” 

It explained everything, and finally, a small smile found its way to your face. You glanced up. Baekhyun’s eyes traced your silhouette, and he was smiling so cheerfully, his excitement only growing when you finally gave in. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he let out a word, you kicked with your own foot, splashing a huge amount of water over as much of his silhouette as you could reach, and the boy shrieked himself, backing away in laughter.

“Hey, you better watch out!” 

Cupping the water in his hands, Baekhyun threw it at your face, and you screamed, stumbling and landing on your butt in the middle of the puddle. Now, you had no doubts your underwear was drenched. But you only laughed, wiping the water off your face.

“Ah, so that’s what you meant when you said you’d look like a panda goblin!” 

Your expression turned into a pure shock at the realization how exactly you must look like right now.

“Not much of a mop, though!” he admitted in a voice that would normally go as flattering.

“Stop staring!” you yelled, trying to wipe the remains of mascara from underneath your eyes.

But he only approached you, crouching down in front of you and taking a hold of your wrists, stopping your frantic attempt to rub the skin off your face.

“It doesn’t look that bad” he said, close enough to not have to yell through the rain anymore. “You’re beautiful nonetheless” he added, smiling cheekily, at which you stopped your doings, staring at him in disbelief.

“I’m what?”

“Beautiful” he repeated confidently, and despite the surrounding coldness, your face started to warm up, tingling pleasantly.

And then, without a warning, the wave of rain suddenly stopped, and a silence fell upon the two of you, dripping with the water and feeling the wind quickly seep through the stillness around, the temperature only dropping.

“Let’s get you home” Baekhyun announced, getting up and reaching with his hand to help you stand up. You took it, a soft, happy smile finally gracing your features.

And for some reason, until the very moment you had to part your ways, none of you felt like letting go of the other.

[narika-a]

Slipped From My Grasp

[Part 1] [Part 2]

A/N1: It’s been too long but I’m finally back with the next part!! 🙏

Agent!Bang Chan x Gang Leader!Reader

Summary: Getting caught by the police was the last thing on your schedule, yet somehow you always end up in the most unfortunate situations.

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, suggestive

Warnings: Violence, strong language, suggestive content

Word count: 3,971

“He’s pretty brave to dare peep at me while I’m changing,” you thought as your eyes met. But one gaze was all it took for him to get flustered and quickly leave the room. Just what you needed…

You wasted no time coming up to the window again. You had to put a bit more effort than expected but eventually you got it open, a strong gust of wind greeting you. Dark clouds were starting to gather, you reckoned it’s going to rain soon. You looked around outside the window for a possible escape route. It won’t take long for him to notice you missing, so you don’t have much time and you doubt you’re going to get all the way to the ground, so you had to come up with something and fast. And then a brilliant idea came to your head, instead of going down immediately you can go up – on the roof. You will figure out what to do from there.

You felt like teasing Chan though, so you picked up a marker you found in one on the drawers and left a message on the nail you used to escape before.

Then you sat down on the windowsill and reached for the nearest pipe. You didn’t have a fear of heights but right now you were starting to doubt it. Will you be able to hold on with these wounds? You have to try, you can’t just sit here waiting to get locked up. You took your socks off, so your feet would stick better to the metal. You positioned yourself and on the count of three pushed away from the sill. Your palms were sweating like crazy but somehow you managed to attach yourself to the pipe and started going up. You reached the edge of the roof and hoped that your hands won’t let you down now as you pulled up.

“I’m alive!” you thought as you lay down. You heard Chan shouting something from below, but you couldn’t understand what due to the wind. You stared at the clouds as the first drops of rain touched your face. You wiped them off and sat up. It would be nice to rest a little bit longer but at the moment rest is a luxury you can’t afford.

Normally hospitals like these should have an emergency ladder at least a few floors down. You got on your fours, so nobody would notice you from the ground and made your way to the back, searching for it. It seems today was your lucky day as the ladder practically went all the way down. You looked around one last time and started descending. You jumped off the last few steps and quickly hid in the alley between the nearby buildings. You heard the police sirens in the distance and realized you couldn’t stay here much longer. You have to move.

You were lucky this was an urban area with plenty of places to hide. You had a vague idea which part of the city you might be in but nothing concrete. It seems you will have to rely on your instincts once more to get out of here.

It was about fifteen minutes since you got out. You had no idea where you were going but you haven’t stopped since. The rain has gotten stronger and you were drenched. Your hands and feet were freezing, and you regretted your decision not to put on any shoes. You lifted your shirt to look at the wound. It didn’t look good and all this running was not making it better.

You leaned your head on the wall, trying to catch your breath when you heard voices around the corner. You quickly pressed yourself against the building, hoping whoever was talking didn’t notice you. You glanced around the corner and saw two people exchanging a few words before splitting up. The one closer to you turned around and started coming in your direction. You noticed the police badge on his shoulder. So, they caught up with you.

You have no choice but to take him out. You clenched your hand into a fist and noticed that it was trembling. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the cold or the adrenaline rushing through your body. It was too late to search for a weapon, you will have to go for his neck.

As soon as he got close enough you jumped out of your hiding spot, getting him into a chokehold. He reacted immediately, going backwards and slamming you into the wall but you managed to hold on. He started fumbling with his holster with one hand, trying to take his gun out while the other gripped onto yours in an attempt to get some air but you tightened your hold and he finally passed out.

You dropped his body to the ground, resting against the wall, breathing deeply. You had to gather all your strength not to faint yourself. You could feel your body was reaching its limits. Your head spun from the hit and when you looked down at your shirt you noticed some blood stains. You wiped your nose and realized it was bleeding. That’s never a good sign.

After a few more minutes you staggered to the body, you had to hide it before anyone else noticed. You grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him to the alley you were hiding in. You sat him up near some trash bins and checked his pulse. Still alive. Good. You could now see that he was a handsome young guy, probably no older than you.

“What a pretty face,” you thought to yourself, taking his gun out. “Sorry, nothing personal,” you said out loud, standing up. You checked the gun’s magazine. To your surprise it was fully loaded. Jackpot.

Now where did the other guy go? He might be coming back to check on his buddy, so you have to be careful. You went along the wall and peeked around the corner you last saw him. The coast was clear. You examined your surrounding area. It seems you were in some kind of school territory. There was a fence going along the outer edge. You could see trees beyond it. A park? A forest? That mattered little, trees give a good cover, especially when it’s dark and with a terrible weather like this you decided that is your best option.

Problem is, you had to cross a stadium to get to the fence and being in such a big open field made you an easy target, so you couldn’t help but feel nervous.

You glanced around one last time, said ‘fuck it’ and sprinted for it. You jumped up once you were near the fence, grabbing the top with your hands and started pulling yourself up, your feet slipping on the wet wood. Just as you got a good grip a bullet pierced the fence’s board right where you left hand was just a second ago. If you hadn’t moved it then, you would probably be missing a few fingers.

“Stop or I will shoot!” somebody shouted behind you. You recognized that voice.

“Shouldn’t you say that before shooting?” you asked, frozen in your spot, half way up the fence.

“Get down!” he shouted again.

You could barely hold on as it is, so it didn’t take long for your hands to give up on you, you slipped down the fence, your back to him. You looked down at your waist, where you propped the gun you took earlier. You doubt he saw you have it, you could…

“Turn around!”

You would need to be fast but it’s possible.

“I said turn around, hands in the air where I can see them!”

He didn’t need to repeat himself for the third time as you turned around whipping the gun out and pulling the trigger. Chan ducked to the side, but nothing came out. You forgot to pull the damn safety!

“Drop it!” Chan said, standing up straight again. He was soaking wet, his white shirt sticking to his body. He brushed his hair back and you have no idea why, but you noticed they were not curly anymore.

“Now now, Mr Bang, I’m sure we can compromise here,” you said, raising your hands, stumbling backwards. “That’s strange,” you thought as you bumped into the fence. You had trouble keeping your balance.

“I have no time to play, so you either drop your gun or I shoot you.”

“You’re not going to shoot me,” you smirked but he didn’t answer.

“Y/N, I swear to god, drop the damn gun!” he ordered you again, after a brief silence.

“I could say the same thing to you!” somebody said, setting his gun against the back of Chan’s head. “And I won’t be repeating.”

Chan hesitated but then unwillingly threw the gun away and the guy took his hands and tied them behind his back, pushing him forwards so he would kneel down.

“Minho!” you exclaimed once you recognized him. You were more than happy to see him.

“You dumb dumb don’t call me by my real name!”

You chuckled slumping down on the ground. Somehow you were really tired.

“Y/N!” Minho called you. “What did you do to her?!” he shouted, nudging Chan’s head with his gun.

“We didn’t do anything. She was like that when they found her,” he explained calmly, seemingly unphased by the situation he’s in.

“Okay, I’m done with you,” Minho sighed, clicking the safety.

“Wait!” you shouted. “Don’t kill him!”

“Why not? He’s been hot on your heels for years now, what better opportunity to get rid of him than now?”

“But he saved me! I want us to be even!”

Minho stared at you, his teeth clenched. Your eyes wandered to Chan, a small smile playing on his lips, as he looked at you. What an idiot! It’s not like you’re getting soft on him.

“Minho!” you focused back on him, you really are not used to saying stuff like that, but it seems he won’t back off unless you do. “That’s an order,” you said strictly.

He clicked his tongue and lowered the gun and you sighed in relief, but he lifted it again, whacking Chan across his head, knocking him out.

“What? You don’t want him following us, do you?” he asked, coming up to you as you rolled your eyes.

But you couldn’t stay mad at him for long and as soon as he was close enough you pulled him by the hand and hugged him tightly.

“I thought you were dead!” you sniffled as you buried your face in his neck.

“Why would I be dead?” he chuckled, wrapping his hands around you. “People like me don’t die.”

He pulled back after a few seconds and wiped your wet hair away from your face.

“We were so worried about you though! We should have found you sooner. If anything happened to you I…”

“Why would anything happen to me?” you giggled, repeating what he said before. “People like me don’t die.”

“I don’t think you can say that in this condition,” he chuckled, eyeing you up. He cupped your cheeks and kissed you on the forehead and before you could comment anything lifted you up from the ground. “Let’s get out of here.”

You leaned your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. He really is alive, huh? You smiled to yourself, you could finally relax.

▲▼▲▼▲

Bang Chan’s POV

“Chan! Bang Chan!” somebody shook me. “I said wake up!” he slapped me across my face.

“Huh?! What?” I jumped up immediately. “Where am I?” I frantically looked around, still not fully awake.

“Relax,” Jisung laughed. “You’re back in the HQ. We found you snoozing in the rain. Did you had a good nap?” he teased me.

I put my hand on my stinging cheek.

“Did you just slap me?” I asked, ignoring his previous remarks.

“Sorry, but I always wanted to do that,” he chuckled and immediately took a few steps back. Wise move. “You better get moving, the assistant director is waiting for you in his office.”

“Which one?”

Jisung just gave me an understanding look and sat down at his desk.

“Changbin…” I sighed, throwing the blanket away and standing up. “How long was I out?”

“Not sure…” he looked at the clock. “You body temperature was pretty low when they found you, so you were probably out there for at least one to two hours, so hmm, maybe six hours in total?”

“Six hours!!” I shouted. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up sooner?”

“Well they tried but I,” he said, setting his hand on his chest near his heart. “As a very professionally trained doctor convinced them to let you rest.”

“Oh my god!” I couldn’t believe this kid. Six hours? It will be practically impossible to find her now.

“Hey! You will thank me later! You really needed that rest. How is your head, by the way?”

“It’s fine!” I replied, storming out. I stretched my wrists on the way to the office, I could still see marks from when I was tied up. I only now realized that I was wearing a sweater. Jisung… Maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh on him.

I turned the corner and stopped in front of the office. I’m really not in the mood to hear how I screwed up but it’s all part of my work. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Sorry,” I said, coming in. “Did you call for me?”

Changbin glanced at me from his paperwork and gestured for me to take a seat. I’m not going to lie, I hated this guy’s guts, he was younger than me, yet already had the position of an assistant director. And he got it quicker than anyone else before him!

He continued to write for a few more minutes and I just sat there in silence, not knowing where to begin. Just as I managed to create a coherent sentence in my head, he closed the file loudly and pushed it away.

“You lost her,” he folded his hands in front of him and leaned in closer. “Twice!” he spoke more loudly now. “In one fucking day!” he shouted.

“Let me explain!.. Sir,” I added after a brief pause.

“Explain! There is nothing to be explained! I don’t need your excuses! You were appointed to her case because you asked so yourself and so far, I have seen no progress!”

“That’s because-“

“Don’t interrupt me! The board expected better from you, there has been a lot of close calls and they all ended up exactly the same, with her fucking escaping! And…” he stopped, as if a thought just popped in his head. “How come you’re still alive? She tied you up but didn’t kill you? Are you working with her?!”

“What!?” I almost chocked. “How the hell should I know why!”

“Right…” he sighed and closed his eyes. An uncomfortable silence stood between us. “Bang Chan, one more major screw up like this and you will be dismissed from the case,” he said looking straight at me.

“But I-“

“No buts! Now get out of my face! I expect a full report on what happened by tomorrow morning!”

I opened my mouth to protest but decided to shut up and not make him even more angry. I turned around and left the room without saying a word.

“Fuck!” I hissed through gritted teeth. I had her in my grasp and she managed to slip yet again. I wanted to shout and punch somebody but had to control myself. I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts.

I have no leads on her. Not anymore. She could be anywhere and with that condition I doubt she will make her move any time soon. Which sucks for me! I had to work fast if I want to keep my position. Anyhow, first things first, I have to get back to my office.

I went around the corner and bumped into someone.

“Ah sorry-“

“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” Juyeon brushed me off.

What a prick. I hated his division the most. They thought they are all high and mighty just because they had more qualified members.

Now that I think about it. I did find him knocked out in that alleyway, so she got to both of us, huh? I laughed at this realization, I wonder why she didn’t kill him either.

“Did you sleep well?” I shouted after him and he just turned around and showed me the middle finger. I chuckled, it’s always nice to tease him.

I watched him push the door of the entrance with more force than needed and leave the building. His appearance from behind reminded me of someone.

Wait…

There is one more lead. Felix!

“Chan!” Jisung called me down the corridor. Waving for me to come back. “There is a call for you.”

“Who’s calling?” I asked, approaching him.

“I don’t know, he insisted on talking to you. He said, he has some information on Stray Kids.”

▲▼▲▼▲

You lay in your bed listening to the sound of the rain. It was pitch black outside. You looked at the clock on the wall in front of you. 2 am. You must have fallen asleep.

You vaguely remember dreaming about something. A funeral? Your father’s? No, he was there right beside you and you were still little. Strange…

You turned to your side and checked out the room. You were pretty sure you were in one of the many hideouts your gang had. The room was dimly lit by a lonely lamp on the desk at the end of it.

You felt cold and dizzy, probably caught a cold but you couldn’t stay still, you had to find out what happened. You brushed the blankets you were practically wrapped in away and sat up. You found some socks laying around and put them on, only now realizing your clothes had been changed. Again.

“Minho…” you sighed in embarrassment. You didn’t want to think who else saw you naked in the last few days.

You found some pain killers on the nightstand and decided to take a few pills. You set the water glass down and picked up the gun laying near it.

“Oh, it’s the one from before,” you spoke to yourself, examining it. It had some beautiful carvings on one of its side you didn’t notice when you took it. You brushed your finger over it. Custom made? Your eyes stopped on one of the signs. It looked oddly familiar. No way!

You jumped up and ran to the window, taking the hoodie off. You pulled your shirt down, revealing your shoulder tattoo. You looked at its reflection carefully. You traced it with your eyes until you found it. One of the signs on the gun matched your tattoo.

“What the hell?..”

You heard somebody talking and immediately turned around. The door to your room was slightly open and the voices could be heard coming from somewhere inside the house. You instinctively hid behind the door and listened.

“What the hell am I doing?” you thought, realizing how stupid you must look right now, hiding in your own house. Well not exactly your house but…

You brushed the thoughts away and stepped outside, following the voices. You don’t know why but you still took the gun with you.

There was a faint light coming from the room down the corridor. You approached it as silently as possible, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“And?” you heard Minho ask. “Still nothing?.. I don’t know how we are going to explain everything to her. We fucked up! We should have-”

“Minho! You need to pull yourself together! We got her back, so we should focus on that right now!”

That voice! You pushed the door open and both of them reached for their guns.

“Y/N?!” he stopped midway.

“Felix!” you practically jumped on him, wrapping your hands around his neck, almost making him tumble backwards.

“Whoa whoa, what’s this all about?” he laughed, not knowing where to put his hands. He looked at Minho and he just shrugged.

“I’m so glad, oh my god-“ you sniffled. Tears threatening to spill out as everything that happened finally caught up with you. Seeing him here gave you hope that everyone else is okay too.

“Hey hey hey, don’t start crying now, that’s so not like you,” he said, finally hugging you back.

“I’m not crying you idiot,” you pushed him away, wiping a few tears off. “As if I would cry for somebody like you!”

“Ouch that’s harsh! You hurt my feelings Y/N!”

You stared at him for a few more seconds and then hugged him again.

“Y/N it’s starting to become creepy, since when are you so clingy,” he teased you.

“Shut up and let me enjoy this.”

“No, Y/N he’s right. You’re the idiot here. What are you even doing up? You should stay in bed, you had a really high fever,” Minho pitched in setting his hand on your forehead. “Jesus! You’re burning up!”

“What can I say I’m a hot woman!”

You never saw somebody roll their eyes in perfect synchronization before.

“I hoped you haven’t forgotten who is in charge here! You have no right to tell me what to do and I say I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened!” you stomped your foot.

Minho and Felix exchanged glances, but you had no clue what they were thinking.

“What?! Tell me! Where are the others? Are they okay?”

“It’s complicated,” Felix answered.

“Complicated? How can it be complicated! Just give me a damn answer!”

“Y/N you need to calm down!”

“No, you don’t understand he… He tried to kill me! He might be after the others too!” you suddenly gasped, realizing something. He couldn’t have pulled off everything on his own, what if they are working together! Why else wouldn’t they tell you?

“Can I even trust you?!” you pulled out your gun, pointing it at Minho and then at Felix. “Well?!” you shouted. Is everyone going to betray you?

“Y/N what the fuck are you babbling about? Of course, you can trust us! We promised your father!” Minho finally said. “Don’t be stupid, put down the fucking gun!”

“And so did he but…” you were interrupted by the doorbell.

Using the opportunity that you got distracted for a split second, Felix snatched the gun away and seized your hands behind your back, pulling you towards him.

You all stood in silence as the doorbell rang again.

“I will go check it out,” Minho said, taking his gun out and leaving the room.

You heard him fumble with the keys and finally unlock the door.

“What are you doing here?”

▲▼▲▼▲

He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. He took his notebook and crossed one more thing out from the list.

Juyeon who was sitting in front of him, waiting for him to finish, pushed his feet off, clearly annoyed.

“We’re in a public place,” Juyeon hissed. “Could you not draw any more attention?”

He just stared at him, until the waitress walked by.

“I heard you got pretty roughed up. Getting knocked out wasn’t on your schedule, I assume?” he laughed.

“Shut up! I got the job done anyway. She took the gun,” Juyeon explained. “You think this will work?”

“Don’t worry. Sangyeon has everything planned. That gun will lead her right to us.”

“And then?”

“And then we finish what he couldn’t. We get rid of her once and for all.”

[Part 1] [Part 2]

A/N2: That’s right, The Boyz will be joining in on the action starting this chapter! Stray Boyz Rise!!

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Picking Up Worms

Genre: Growing up

words: 2k

Summary: a story about a young girl and her hobby of picking up worms after it rains.

Content warning: suicide

-------

She leaned down, squared her shoulders, and picked up a worm. It’s fat body was slick and cool to the touch and it squirmed between her pinched fingertips. It was a big one - as if it had eaten extra dirt or had extra children or was some sort of worm royalty that filled up the same space as three other worms.

Kiki held her breath as she transported the king worm painstakingly across the sun drenched sidewalk and over to the Henderson’s overgrown yard.

It wiggled uselessly from side to side the second she put it down and she murmured a few words to its sightless body. “Sorry for touching you,” Kiki whispered, “you can go back home now.”

Her friend sneered and wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you know it’s just going to be eaten by a bird later?”

Kiki just shrugged and straightened up, “Now he won’t get stepped on.” She didn’t really care what Samantha from next door thought. Not after the many times she had seen her pick her nose and eat it. Samantha rolled her eyes and they stomped into a puddle together until their shins were muddy with brown water and their socks were soaked through.

----------

Kiki’s parents were yelling. A baritone and a shrill shriek chasing each other in a tornado of words that she was sure would leave bee-stings and bruises on their hearts. Kiki put her fists over her ears in the hallway and hunched over like a dog about to puke. 

The rain drummed heavy against the apartment roof and a baby cried somewhere on the third floor in a wane voice. Kiki ducked her head down and tried to sink into the floor.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to come home at eight every night if you would put any effort into looking for a job.” That was her dad. Big, tired, weighed down with hard patches of skin and a big smile if he would smile.

“Do you not think I’m fucking looking, Doug? And don’t you dare say raising a kid ain’t work too,” she stomped her foot like she was breaking a wine glass at a wedding, “How am I even supposed to have my own life when you barely help with that child? God knows she needs it. And I don’t want to-”   Kiki crawled toward the front door, jiggled the lock open and bolted down the apartment stairs into the courtyard at full speed. Rain dripped down her cheeks and splashed down the back of her neck in cold streams and she scoured the ground for worms freeing themselves from the drowning earth and beaching themselves on the sidewalk.

She scanned and scanned the square until the patter of rain slowed and her hair was soaked through all the way to the scalp.

She finally trailed back upstairs and thought about failed arctic explorers who died huddled together on big metal ships with Victorian curse words on their lips. Her dad patted her hair dry when she snuck in and assured her that worms didn’t come out at night anyway. They only came out for the sun.

------------------------

“They breathe through their skin.”

“What?” Kiki didn’t look up from her phone where she was scrolling. “Worms. They breathe through their skin.”

Andrew propped himself up where he lay diagonally across her lavender comforter. “Are you even trying to do the pre-algebra homework?” He said with his own homework open to page 12 or 15 or whichever one it had been. Kiki just grunted back. “No. I stopped an hour ago.” He let out a crickety laugh and sank toward her. “You’re wild. You know that? I can tell you don’t even care about Mrs. Shaw's class.” He said and glanced down at her lips.

She knew he was thinking about kissing again, because Kiki had a feeling that he was always thinking about kissing. She didn’t remember why she said yes when he asked her out on the bus that morning in August on the first day of eighth grade, but she said yes.

He held her hand and bought her packs of gum and only sometimes smelled like old sandwich meats and sour deodorant. Cindy in Homeroom said he was a perv with pictures of naked anime girls on his phone, but Kiki hadn’t bothered to actually check.

It was his phone, and she didn’t care.

He kissed her while she was still glancing down at the Wikipedia article and thinking about how worms breathe through their skin and were basically one long digestive system. She imagined what it would be like to have your home and food source flooded and live your life struggling up and up and up into a cruel, bright world above every time it rained.

And he kept kissing her until her mom knocked on the door and they jumped apart with red-faced hysteria and Kiki tried to mimic his easy smile a second later.

---------------------

Kiki stared at the sidewalk and her stomach turned over like it wanted to empty out its contents. She sighed heavily and dropped down. There must have been a bicycle. It’s little body was severed in half and red guts spilled onto the hard concrete like squeezed jelly.

Every muscle in her body tensed and she crouched lower to try and cradle the little flailing head. “You’ll regrow,” she whispered and couldn’t quite see right. “You’ll regrow, right?” She scooped up what she could of it’s broken body and placed it gently in the grass, but it had stopped moving.

The sun beat high on her brow and no one called to her when she walked into the schoolyard - they never did anymore after Kiki became Kiki in a way they didn’t like. She slipped inside on her ghost feet with her expressionless ghost face. She went to the bathroom where none of the other girl’s congregated and washed her hands five times in a row.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered to her reflection. “I’m so so sorry.” The tears didn’t come, they rarely did, but she tugged on her fingers cruelly until each one of them popped and ached and her joints flushed an angry red.

A grey like wet paint covered her insides and she cracked her fingers again and again even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore.

----------------------------

“Hey, Kiki!” Mr. Nathan, her 11th grade English teacher addressed her that morning. He was in his thirties, well-spoken and well-shaven. She turned to him as class was dismissed. “Can you stay after class for a sec?” He said “sec” in the same way you say “tic-tac”, or like he typed out “lol” in official school emails. Kiki took her time creeping toward him and kept her mouth shut in a firm line. “I’ll get the paper to you soon, promise.” She was lying. The paper was two weeks late and she hadn’t even started it or thought about starting it.

“That’s not it,” he waved a hand through the air carelessly. He winked. “When you turn it in, I know it’ll be stellar.” She didn’t return his wide blinding smile and instead looked down at the Star Trek figurines he kept on his desk in a little troupe. Uhura was facing the wall. “But uh, Kiki?” She snapped back to attention and remembered what her mom had said before she left for work the other day: “Make an effort Kiki.” Sighing, she had turned and left without looking back.

Kiki made an effort and tried to meet his eyes, “Yes?” “How are you doing?” He asked, slowly.

Oh. Kiki thought to herself. Someone had noticed.

“You haven’t really been… speaking up in class.” His expression tightened.

She shrugged. “I haven’t got anything to say.”

“Are the other kids...” he looked her over. “Are they being nice?” That almost made Kiki smile. Almost. “They’re fine.” She said honestly, flatly. “I’m just… tired.” She felt the tiredness in the same way soldiers felt for their guns in enemy territory: you carried it close to you and checked it often.

“Well,” he sighed. “Get some sleep. You’re a sharp kid.” That was much closer to making her smile than anything else. “Thanks Mr. Nathan.” She turned to leave, going to sit alone at lunch and skim through her phone without really looking at it.

“Of course,” he called after her and Kiki wished things were different. “I’m always here for you.”

Kiki slipped out the door and thought about a different Kiki: a Kiki who knew what to say to that and had already started her paper and didn’t make her own hands hurt. Instead, the second the door closed it felt like all of her weight fell into her shoes and The Tiredness pulled out the final Jenga block and sank her battleships and took her queen and shouted “uno!” at the top of it’s lungs. Maybe he cared, but he didn’t know her.

She imagined staring up Mr. Nathan in the way the worms looked up at her. She swept them up from the sidewalk knowing they’d be back there again next week. Didn’t he know? It didn’t matter.

--------------------------

“What’s the point?” Kiki murmured as she leaned against the door of her family's apartment.

Her mom and dad sat across from each other but the entire tundra spread out between their arms and feet. Maybe things would be different if they weren’t so stubborn or so similar and then their wedding rings wouldn’t gleam like badges of resentment and endurance. A challenge to the other to take it off.

“Kiki,” her dad said slowly, and they both knew he would take the lead. “You have to go to school.” She stared down at her feet and noticed how long her toe nails had gotten and how much crud had worked its way under the corners and she didn’t say anything.

“Look at your father Kiki,” her mother snapped and unfolded her arms. “Look at him, we’re trying to talk to you about something important.”

Kiki didn’t look up and she didn’t breath and the grayness spread like a spill on the floor that rotted the wood and wrecked the foundations of a house. The type where you walked in one morning and the boiler had crashed through into the basement and the wallpaper had peeled back to reveal sheets of mold that had always been there.

And all the floorboards had water damage.

“Kiki…” Soft.

“Kiki!” Hard.

Kiki turned toward the door and her mother flew to her feet and stomped over to her like she was breaking wine glasses at weddings all over again. “Look at me, you can’t keep doing this!” She grabbed Kiki’s wrist, hard.

“I’m looking at you!” Kiki screeched. Her throat throbbed and she spat, but she wasn’t looking at her. And then she was turning and fiercely brushing her mom off and the tiredness broke through to the grayness which broke through to an ugly ocean that swallowed and gushed and broke across her spine into pieces.

She shoved her feet into her shoes by the door. How did it end up like this? She wondered as she watched her gnarled toes disappear into her loafers.

She streaked out the door with her parents wailing like alley cats after her. But she was faster, and it was too late. It had been for awhile.

She streaked out onto the wet pavement outside where the world of Chicago was drying and streaming and billowing onward. She walked and walked and walked. It ached but not in a way that mattered.

She was on a bridge when she stopped; it was a high and concrete pedestrian passageway where bikers streaked by and homeless people sometimes collapsed. She was still wearing dirty pajama pants and a sports bra that rubbed at the place under her armpits wrong.

Underneath, cars drove by with their brights on and rainbows and halos and spotted disco lights in their headlights that reflected off puddles and blinded oncoming traffic. The humming sound of wheels on pavement filled her head. 

Kiki stared down and clenched her teeth so tight it felt like she had too many. She breathed like there weren’t enough breaths in the world for her to suck down. Narrowing her eyes, she honed in on something down below.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She hissed at a thin tendril of a worm on the ground in the middle of the bridge. “There’s not even any grass around here!” She wasn’t sure how loud she was being, but a woman walking her fluffy white dog gave her a wide berth as she passed.

“What are you doing?!” Her throat hurt. She was tired and she knelt down to the ground. “I can’t help you. There’s no grass here.” She closed her eyes and when she opened them again she realized she was yelling at a lost hairband and there was no worm. And she still couldn’t help it.

Kiki was tired of being tired and slipping through the cracks that everyone else simply crossed with ease.

She stood up, turned toward the edge of the bridge, and stiffly walked over. She imagined leaves in the wind being carried away by the ends of their stems, being flung left and right in the breeze in ways birds would never know.

She thought and thought about those leaves as she climbed over the barrier between the bridge and the road down below.

Kiki closed her eyes and clung to the edge of the railing with her fingertips as the cars zoomed by with people inside living their lives, carrying on. Maybe they were thinking about how the radio announcer had a squeaky voice or how their mom’s never called on Valentine's Day anymore or how the earth was heating up and the little nubs of the world were drowning in the oncoming ocean tides.

Maybe they were speeding and thinking about sex with their boss or the stain on their suit jacket.

Maybe they could look people in the eye when they talked and their English teacher didn’t stop them in the hall and the kids at school didn’t ask why they never talked. Or laughed. Or smiled.

And maybe their parents loved each other and they didn’t breathe through their skin like worms on the sidewalk that would never make it to grass again.

“What are you doing?” 

Kiki let go of the edge. And she flew away like an autumn leaf caught in the harvest moon wind and sailed through the sky with her stem steering her left and right and flailing in boundless circles. And maybe she didn’t.

---------------------

Kiki was crying and it felt like she had been crying for days now. Her body ached and the hospital smelled like chemicals and human taint: the guts and bad breath and bloody dark coppery bits.

They let her walk outside sometimes and sometimes she even wanted to after doctor Reyes told her that she was brave. And good. And going to make it (somehow, somehow).

The woman with the white dog had dragged Kiki back from the edge that day and forced her to the nearest emergency room where they asked her The Questions. Did she want to die? No, not really. Did she have a plan to hurt herself? No, not exactly. How long had she had these thoughts? Awhile.

She asked them a question of her own: I’m tired. Does it ever end? When does it end.

It doesn’t. At least, not the way she thought it would.

It was Sunday now. She turned toward the patches of grass in the hospital courtyard and stared at the criss-crossing sidewalks until she saw it: a worm. Round and fat and pink as you please. Lying on the rough concrete so it could breath again - and get stepped on or dried-out or eaten like a useless, ugly thing.

She sighed. “What’s the point?” She murmured because she was still trying to speak more and express more. “You’ll just do this again. And again.” She thought about what the doctor said and about how much her parents cried when she told them about the grayness on her insides. And she thought about the get-well cards from her classmates that would just end up in the trash or under her bed somewhere, but they sent anyway and maybe she cried about that too.

She made her way toward the worm on the sidewalk. She picked up it’s wiggling, slick body between her pinched fingertips and she put it on the grass and gave the faintest of smiles.

And it wiggled and squirmed on the long curls of grass among the shiny droplets of water and Kiki stood up to go find another one. And another. And another. Giving them the chance to do this all over again the next time it rained.

-------------------

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[serenlyss]

Boys’ Day Out

Hi everyone! School and zines have me pretty busy but one of my zines has recently been published and is available for anyone to read, @mp100naturezine! It's a nature zine, so all the art and writing inside is heavily inspired or features nature of some kind. It was a super fun experience and it's really awesome seeing the finished product! If you'd like you see it for yourself, you can get the link to the pdf file here. Be sure to leave a like or a comment to let us know that you appreciated the project!

---

It’s Teru who originally suggests that they all do something fun together before the warm season ends and it gets too cold to go out anymore. It’s autumn, early enough in the season that the lingering warmth of summer can still be felt but late enough that the trees have already begun to change colors and shed their leaves. In a few months, the ground will be blanketed in snow, and the icy chill of the winter air will prove too much for outdoor activities.

Shigeo is agreeable enough to the idea. A waterfall hike is a little more physical than he’s used to, but he’s never one to turn away from a chance to improve his physical strength further, and Ritsu seems excited to do something different before they’re thrown back into their structured school schedules again. Even Shou has decided to tag along, despite his tendency to be a little flaky about when and where he decides to hang around, and he happily chats up Ritsu as the four of them get off the train at the beginning of the trail. A modest information stand sits at the front of a building that appears to be a combination gift shop and cafe, and directly beside it sits the trail’s entrance. Even from the bottom of the cliff, it’s easy for them to see all the way to the very top. There’s so much to see, in fact, that Shigeo finds his eyes constantly wandering as the four of them begin their ascent.

The waterfall is, first of all, huge--it towers far, far above their heads from the top of a rocky cliff too high up to see what’s beyond it and crashes onto the rocks below with a cacophonous crash. The sound of it drowns out most conversation around the four of them as they stand at the base of the hiking trail and take a moment just to stare. Everything here is green and vibrant and alive, from the moss growing on the banks of the river that flows from the base of the waterfall to the trees enshrouding the top of it and poking out from the side of the steep cliff face. Shigeo can feel the mist from the swiftly falling water hitting his face even from a distance, and when he breathes in, the air is fresh and clean.

It’s Shou who breaks the silence first. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he asks enthusiastically, and he’s the one who takes the lead as they begin to explore this new environment.

They take a slow, meandering pace to start out, the waterfall disappearing behind the trees and fading into background noise as they enter the forest and begin the winding path that will take them to the lookout halfway up. Here, the trees are much taller than in the city, the tops of them stretching so far above their heads that Shigeo can’t see through the myriad of branches that make up the forest’s ceiling. They shift constantly as the breeze stirs them, the noise of it reminiscent of the sound Shigeo might hear when it rains late at night outside his bedroom window. Shou and Ritsu end up pulling ahead of him and Shou, but Teru lingers behind to keep pace with Shigeo.

“The air is so clean here,” He remarks, climbing carefully over a stray tree root that pokes up through the floor of the trail. “It’s a lot different from living in the city, that’s for sure. You’d never be able to find trees like these in Seasoning.”

Shigeo hums his agreement, watching as some early brown leaves fall occasionally from the trees overhead. They’re still in the heat of summer, but Shigeo can see patches of brown and red peeking through the swathes of green trees all around him, sure signs of the coming autumn. They crunch softly under his hiking boots and dance along the mild summer breezes that lift them gently from their homes among the branches and send them spiralling down to earth with utmost care. In a few weeks’ time, this entire forest will be covered in them, hiding the dirt paths that snake through the woods and falling from the sky like quiet rain. It’ll be a sight to behold, Shigeo thinks contentedly.

They catch up with Shou and Ritsu as they’re reapproaching the river. The two boys have halted in front of the riverbank, and Shigeo can see that Ritsu has already stripped off his shoes and socks in order to wade into the river’s shallows. Shou looks like he’s following closer behind, and as he discards his shoes beside Ritsu’s, he turns to wave them over.

“The water’s shallow enough to wade in over here!” he calls.

Shigeo approaches the shore as Shou wades into the water after Ritsu, and deliberates for a moment whether or not he should follow suit. He hadn’t brought a swimsuit, per se, but he’d be able to wade up to his knees as long as he didn’t get his shorts wet. Glancing to the side, he sees Teru following Shou’s lead, adding his own hiking boots to the pile of shoes growing on the bank, so Shigeo figures it won’t hurt to play along.

The river water is crisp and cold when Shigeo steps into it, but in the mild heat of summer it feels more refreshing than not. Ahead of him, Ritsu and Shou are up to their knees in river water, looking eagerly down into the water for signs of fish or debris that may have survived the drop from the top of the waterfall. Because of the river’s current, the bank drops off sharply a few feet in to accommodate a much deeper middle, and they perch themselves right on its edge, toes dangling off the edge as though to tempt fate.

As Shigeo catches up to the two of them, Shou looks up and meets his eyes. He flashes Shigeo a devious grin, the kind that Shigeo knows to mean that Shou is about to do something that will probably make Ritsu angry later, and then promptly turns back to Ritsu and pushes him into the deeper center of the river.

With a yelp of surprise, Ritsu pitches forward into the water to the sound of Shou’s raucous laughter, limbs flailing as he fights to keep his balance. It appears to be no use, however, and he hits the surface of the water with a splash that even manages to reach Teru and Shigeo, a few paces back. Shou’s doubled over in his mirth, clutching his stomach as Ritsu resurfaces and fixes him with one of the most severe glares Shigeo’s ever seen from his brother. “I’m sorry,” Shou wheezes, though it’s easy to see that he feels no remorse at all for the spontaneous prank, “it was just too perfect to pass up.”

At Shigeo’s side, Teru has his mouth covered, and he can see that his friend is trying his hardest not to laugh aloud as well. Shigeo has to fight a smile of his own; it’s been a while since the four of them have been able to have fun together like this, without the fear of hostile takeover or the stress of school hanging over them. It’s… nice, to spend time with them like this. “At least Shou’s having fun,” he comments.

No sooner has he said this, however, than does Ritsu reach out of the water with one hand and grab Shou by his wrist. With one quick yank, he drags Shou into the water alongside him, and both of them disappear for a few seconds before resurfacing in a chorus of laughter and splashing.

Teru lets out a sigh of resignation, but there’s a smile on his face. “Well, I had assumed this might come up at some point,” he admits. “We might as well join them before we become the next victims.”

Shigeo raises a hand to his mouth to stifle a giggle, then nods. “At least we’ll be able to cool off,” he offers, walking beside Teru as they leave the shallow bank and descend into the deep waters. Teru’s quick to join in the splashing fight, his competitive side taking over until the whole group has devolved into a messy test of endurance to see who would be the first to give up. Shigeo hangs back, amused and content, and counts himself lucky to have so many good friends in his life that he can count on.

[random-imagines-blog]

Bliss {Luna Lovegood X Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3192 Summary: You’re on a quest for something you’ve only read about to show Luna, and she takes you for a day on the lake.

The portraits that lined the walls of the moving staircases winced as they saw you limping forward. “You really should go to the hospital wing, my dear.” “As soon as possible too, that foot isn’t looking too good!” “You should learn a few healing spells, weren’t you limping up here last week too?” You groaned in response to all of their well-meaning comments, but ignored them and continued up the staircase before it could move and take you in the entirely wrong direction. The Hospital Wing wasn’t very far but instead of turning onto that floor, you continued your ascent to the Ravenclaw Tower where Luna Lovegood would be waiting for you. It wasn’t a guess that she was, it was a given - she always waited in the Common Room for you to come back from your flying practices, and each time, she’d ask if you flew close enough to touch a star.

It hurt more and more with each step that you took, and you cursed yourself for not being able to remember that temporary numbing spell that you learned in Charms class. It was your toes this time, rather than a twisted ankle - you were pretty sure you landed with your foot arched, so on your toes rather than the balls of your feet. You managed to make your way up those stairs - your cardio was at its peak because of how high you had to climb everyday - and listen to the riddle that the entranceway gave you.

“You can see me in the water, but I never get wet.” The Eagle knocker asked. It always seemed to have a cocky way about it, you noticed, despite being an inanimate object without a personality.

“Ahhhh-” You said, attempting to think about it despite the pain coursing through your body. What you thought of first was the sun since there was no way that was getting wet and you could see it’s - “Reflection!”

The door swung open to reveal the common room, and you continued your walk inside. A mane of blonde hair was the first thing to catch your attention because it’s bright color so contrasted with all of the blue and bronze that were the room’s colors. The bright orange sweater and the green skirt also stood out - but that was the very essence of Luna Lovegood. You attempted to smile at her but it turned out to be more like a grimace. Not hesitating at all, the blonde calmly walked towards you, and went under your arm to support your weight.

“You really should be more careful, you know.” The sweet voice chimed. “Well, did you at least get close?”

“You should have just a little more faith in me, I’ll get you a starbird eventually.” You told her. She brought you over to one of the plush velvet couches and helped you sit down on it. At the relief of being off of your injured foot, you sighed in relief and leaned back against the opulent pillows that had little moving stars embroidered on them. There was a small squeak as Luna attempted to take your shoe off, and ended up pulling too hard and landing on her butt on the floor.

“Y/N, you really shouldn’t tie your laces so tight, your feet will suffocate,” Luna chided you. She always had the ability to make you smile, no matter how much pain you were in - and this was one of those times. You grinned and rolled your head around to look at her. It took away the ache in your toes for a minute to see her try to pull her long hair out of her face and help to take off your sock at the same time.

“Two are broken I think,” You said, wincing as the cool air touched your bare skin when she got your sock off. You probably could have done that bit yourself but Luna wasn’t bothered by removing your clothes, though it did make you blush whenever her fingers touched you. The two toes in question were already swelling up, and bruised. Most of the time, you only sprained them, but this definitely felt like a break. You watched as Luna pulled out her wand, and prepared yourself for the split second of pain that was going to ensue.

“Episky.” Luna said, pointing her wand at the two broken toes. You heard the sickening sound of bones fusing together. You had felt the wiggling sensation of them snapping back into place. “Well, how do you feel?”

“So much better, thanks Luna.” Now that the pain was lessened, you put your sock back on in a hurry, but you did remove your other shoe for now. Luna continued to sit on the ground, with her legs tucked under her, a smile on her face. She always seemed so happy to help, and you were always glad to accept it. “You’ve gotten pretty good at that spell, have you had to use it many times?”

Luna nodded a couple of times, and ran her hands across the rug that was beneath her. “Friday, I broke my own toe while swimming in the lake.”

Friday - yes, you remembered Luna coming back to the tower in her swimming costume with her hair in a damp braid. But you hadn’t thought about where she might had been swimming. “You didn’t invite me? Luna, I thought we were best friends,” You teased.

She tilted her head at you, and looked worried for a second, until she realized that you were indeed joking. “There can be a next time,” She said, smiling softly.

-

A next time came on the next Friday afternoon. But the weather wasn’t the most ideal, it was overcast and muggy - a typical Scottish day, and not a great one for the beach. And of course, it looked like it might rain but Luna had invited you nonetheless and you agreed to go along with her.

The grounds were deserted, most other students had decided to stay inside on a day like this. It was blissfully quiet with only the wind and then the splashes of the mermaids and the Giant Squid inside of the lake. You had your swimming suit on under your robes along with a rucksack full of snacks for the both of you to enjoy. They were mainly from Honeydukes but you managed to sneak a few tarts from the kitchen with the help of a Hufflepuff.

The lake was a gray-green color today, and didn’t look particularly tempting. When it was a sunny day out, and the water looked as blue as the sky, that was when you might be tempted to dip your feet into the water. “You sure you don’t want to come back another day?” You asked Luna. But no, she shook her head - blonde curls everywhere - and continued to the lake’s edge. You paused a few meters away and set down the rucksack and took a seat on the grass. Honestly, you weren’t surprised that she would still want to go - once she made her mind up, she stuck to it.

“Hey, let me know how the water is,” You asked Luna as she made her way to the water’s edge. There were small pebbles and shells that could be found under the water, buried in the dirt, so it was easy to see how she had hurt her own toes going out there. A minute later, the water was past her ankles, and she had her arms stretched out, the breeze blowing her hair back behind her. There was something beautiful about the scene and you wished that you had a camera to take a picture of it. Next time you came out, maybe you’d slip that Gryffindor Creevy boy a couple of sickles to borrow his for the afternoon.

“The water is sublime,” Luna told her. Thankfully so, there would be no chance of you getting in if it were freezing. Luna went a little further, until it was up to her knees, and started to reach down to the ground to pick up the shells that she saw.

You stood back up, remove your robe to show off your swimming costume, and took a few hesitant steps towards the water. Luna’s hand was already filled with shells and she urged you over to show you. You put one foot into the water, where it sunk into the dirt, creating little clouds of mud that brushed past your skin. The water was not sublime in your opinion - it was still far too chilly for you to be comfortable, but you put your second foot in as well, and wandered forward slowly until you started to grow adjusted to it. Soon, you were at the same spot as Luna and looking into her hand to see what she had found.

You didn’t have the same creature-identifying skills that she had, so to you, it all just looked like a bunch of shells. Wrong. The shells turned out to house some things that you had never even heard of. “This one is a Roslia,” Luna said, picking up a pick shell and put it into your hand. Your eyes barely caught sight of the hot pink thing disappearing inside of it. “They’re known to be really good luck.”

“Ever think about doing something with magical creatures when you graduate?” You asked, turning the Roslia back over so it wasn’t exposed to the skies.

“Sometimes.” Luna said, taking the Roslia back and put a different shell into your hand. This one looked to have dark stripes on it’s cream colored surface. You peered inside to see two eyes blinking out at you. “Alba magna,” Luna explained. After a minute, whatever was inside started to come out, three little legs appearing from a groove. It had the same markings as the outer shell, and was bigger than you had expected it to be. In it’s face, you saw a very human emotion - shyness. It made you smile and you laid your finger next to it. You were happy when it’s legs wrapped around your finger, as if it was hugging you. You didn’t make any quick motions, just gently moved it back to Luna’s hand, where it let go and crawled over to the Roselia and settled down next to it.

Luna put them back where she had found then, then waded further into the water. The Squid could be seen off in the distance, but it’s tendrils could definitely reach you if it wanted them to. “Your luck is going to change soon, that’s what the Roslia means.” Luna said once you were both waist deep. You smiled and chuckled.

“I hope so - maybe tonight will be the night I catch the starbird.” The stars may be covered by the clouds tonight, but you were still going to try it.

“I would like it if you did. Then you wouldn’t be out after hours trying to catch it anymore.” Luna said, running her fingers under the water. She then surprised you by leaning backwards, and raising her feet, arms outstretched so she was floating on the water. It was like she was one of those muggle rendition of mermaids in that moment. She looked so happy, so serene and free, all you could do was put your arms under her in case she started to slip under the ripples. “It’s okay, I’m really good at floating.”

Soon, you had joined her, since it did look like fun. The sky above was lighting up as the clouds were being pushed away by a gentle breeze. If the sun came out, it might even be a beautiful day. And that would only add even more to the experience, though you were in a state of bliss already. Like an otter, Luna had taken your hand so that you wouldn’t drift away from one another, as the two of you floated a little deeper into the lake.

It was two hours later, once your skin was all wrinkled and pruny and the smell of the lake was stuck to you like a cheap cologne, that you two finally left the water and had the picnic that you had packed. You paused when Luna started to reach towards you, tongue sticking out in concentration.

It was a Roslia. Somehow it had gotten caught up in your hair while you were swimming. You were glad that Luna had caught sight of it before you did the spell to dry your hair and style it back into the way that you liked. It’s little face was revealed, it’s tiny mouth made it look like it was smiling. Luna placed it on your shoulder instead, so it could crawl around in safety, it’s shell dragging behind it. “I think that it likes you.” Luna smiled, and brought the pudding - her favorite - out of the basket.

“You said it’s good luck right?” You questioned, letting the shell stay on your shoulder for as long as it wanted to. It felt a little odd, the small legs of the creature within going over your skin, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

-

The Roslia didn’t want to leave. It stayed on you even after you put your robes on, and had crawled into the crook of your neck and nestled there. You had put it back into the water, but it came scuttling after you and held tight to the hem of your robe, which you didn’t discover until you were back in the tower, getting ready to go out for your nightly flight to catch the legendary Starbird. You decided to take it along with you, since it was supposedly luck, and it attached itself to you no matter where you went.

“Hope you’re not scared of heights, little Rose.” You said to the shell, using a sticking charm to keep it on your chest so it wouldn’t fall when you got up high. Except for the counter-spell, nothing was going to get it off of you. You put your broom between your legs and kicked off, headed towards the Quidditch pitch where you weren’t as visible from the castle. The night had cleared up, and there were few clouds in the sky, which did mean that there was less cover and you could get into trouble, but it also meant that you had more of a chance of catching the starbird.

You went up as high as you could until the chill started to set in. You cast a quick warming charm, then looked down at the Quidditch pitch below. You could barely make out the golden hoops, they were so small below you. You took a deep breath and pushed yourself further up to where the air was thinner. You had to close your eyes so you could focus on your breathing, your knuckles white with how hard you were clenching the broomstick. Until you felt something fly past your past.

The instinct and excitement took over, and you let go of the broom with one hand, clenching your legs around it tighter to make up for the lack of contact. You shot your hand out in the direction that the thing flew, and felt your hand wrap around a warm, feathered body. Even if you had just caught a pigeon, it was still an accomplishment in your books.

You lowered down until you were about level with the Ravenclaw tower in the distance before you finally were able to get a good look at what you had caught. It was difficult to see in the darkness, and casting Lumos would undoubtedly have gotten attention from a teacher looking out the window of the castle, so you had to settle for squinting at it.

The bird was as dark as the night sky - not quite black, but a dark indigo color. As you loosened your grip, it lifted it’s wings and revealed the speckles of white on it’s stomach and feathers. Your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen a Starbird before, only heard about them in the Quibbler and through Luna but - but there was no way that this bird was anything but. A Starbird! In your very grip!

Without thinking of the consequences, you flew towards the Ravenclaw tower, grinning like a maniac. The Roslia really had brought you outstanding luck. You circled around it until you found the window that looked into the dormitory where Luna was bunked. You peered in and saw that there was a light on beside her bed, and she was reading the newest edition of the Quibbler - sideways. You knocked on the window lightly so as not to startle the other girls, and got her attention. She walked over to the window and opened up, revealing you and the creature that you had caught and were still holding onto gently.

Luna had never seen such a smile on your face, nor have you ever seen one like this on hers. She reached out and pet the bird, her eyes wide with excitement. “What a lovely little bird you found, y/n.”

“Memorize the look of it because I don’t think I’ll ever get this lucky again.” You said, then as slowly as you could, you set the bird on the windowsill then let it free. It hopped a little to the right, then leaned right into Luna’s face as if it were examining her the way that she was examining it.

“I see Perseus, right here,” Luna said, stroking the stomach of the bird as it once more showed off it’s impressive wingspan. “And the giraffe.”

The stars just looked random to you, but you didn’t take Astronomy like she did. You tilted your broom a little to one side so you could get a better look but the bird started to flap it’s wings and flew into the sky, soaring up high until it was entirely out of sight. You had to admit, it was one of the prettiest things that you had ever seen. “You should come back in now,” Luna said, opening the window wider. “There’s no need for you to risk getting caught out after hours anymore.”

“That’s fair,” You grinned, and went in through the window then dismounted as quietly as you could. Once the broom was leaned up against one of the bed’s, you felt Luna’s arms go around you. Her hair managed to find it’s way into your face, as it always did.

“Thank you. That’s the best thing that anyone’s done for me.”

“Anytime.” You grinned sheepishly, knowing that if she had asked you to, you would go right back out the window to find another rare creature to show her.

[foreverwayward]

“Wayward Hearts” Prequel: Tears in Heaven

This is a prequel chapter to the series “Wayward Hearts”, a SPN series rewrite with OFC Riley Munroe. If you haven’t read Season 1′s Chapter 9 of the series, there are spoilers ahead. This chapter follows immediately after the prequel piece ‘Family Above All’ and is written in Riley’s POV.

MASTERLIST

Content Warnings: Language, violence

Word Count: 3251

Riley’s POV:

I’ll never forget that night as long as I live. It was quiet--too quiet. All I could hear was the sound of the pouring rain on the roof. 

Dad had been gone for too long and wasn’t answering his phone. Why would he investigate a lead on the case without me? It didn’t make any sense. Not to mention how weird he was acting before he took off.

As I sat on the motel bed, I called his cell one more time only for it to go straight to voicemail. 

“This is Jackson. If you reached this number, you know what to do.” The line beeped and I huffed before leaving a message.

“Dad…where are you? It’s late and you’re not answering. What the hell is going on? Call me.”

When I ended the call, I looked down at the phone in my hand, almost pleading for it to ring. Something was wrong--I knew it in my gut. 

It was then that I saw headlights through the front windows and I rushed to look outside through the curtains. My hope immediately died when I realized it wasn’t Dad’s truck.

A man in the shadows got out of his own truck and closed the door behind him before heading for our room. I grabbed my gun and hid it behind my back, ready for a fight. 

There was a knock at the door and I hesitated before opening it, still leaving the chain hooked. That’s when I saw John Winchester at my door. He was soaking wet from the storm outside and his head hung with his hair dripping.

“John?”

“Hey, Riley,” he said gruffly.

I hadn’t seen him in years. I know he and Dad kept in touch, but we hadn’t worked together since a demon case we ran into a while back. 

“What are you doing here?” 

It was like he couldn’t find the words as he stood there in silence. When he lifted his head, his eyes red from what looked like tears mixed with the rain on his face. John’s mouth was slightly open and he cleared his throat. 

“John, you’re freaking me out.”

“Riley, it’s--it’s your dad.” I could practically hear the lump in his throat while my heart leaped into mine. “I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

The knot in my stomach made me feel like I would be sick as I hung on his every word. “He’s okay isn’t he?”

John just shook his head. “No--no he’s not.”

I could hear my pulse in my ears as I grabbed John by his jacket without a single thought. Angrily, I gritted my teeth. “Where is he?! What the fuck happened?!”

He turned his head towards his truck without a word and I could have sworn my legs would collapse underneath me. It took every ounce of courage I had to walk through the rain to that beat up truck. 

I opened the door and gasped when nothing was there. It was like a brief moment of relief before I realized I had to check the trunk. John’s truck was raised and I wasn’t tall enough to see in so I went to the back and opened it before hopping onto the bed.

There in front of me, laid a black tarp, wrapped around something. I could feel every part of me shake as I bent down and pulled the top of it away. 

My body went limp and it felt as though the life had been sucked from my chest. I went numb--almost dead inside like I couldn’t process what I was seeing. 

It was Dad. 

His eyes were closed and his face empty, hollow with him nowhere inside. My hand reached to touch him and shook violently as it connected with his cold skin. 

I jumped at the feeling and immediately began to cry. That cry quickly turned into a sob, which inevitably turned into a wail. I threw myself onto his chest screaming for him and hugging the man I loved more than anything in the world. My Dad, my partner, my friend--my whole world...was gone.

John just stood by the truck in silence as wept over my father’s body. I had never known that kind of pain in my life. 

Slowly, I felt my desire to live leave me. There was nothing left to live for.

------

In the middle of the night, John, Deb, and I stood in front of my father’s burning pyre in the Kansas forest. John remained stoic as always while tears ran down my aunt’s cheeks. 

The last few days, I had done nothing but cry, so by then I had nothing left. It was like I had abandoned my body to avoid the pain that was consuming me.

I watched as my dad’s body was slowly engulfed by the flames with anger in my heart. 

There were too many unanswered questions. All John said he knew was that Dad had called him telling him where to find him. When he got there, Dad was already gone, lying in the middle of an old barn. There were no marks, no wounds--no sign of what had taken him. 

I knew in my gut that my father already knew he would die and that something evil had taken him from me. Whoever had killed him, whatever had killed him, would pay with more than their lives. 

There would be a reckoning, and I would be the one holding the blade.

------

A month after the funeral, I had left Deb’s. I couldn’t stay there anymore. When I almost never got out of bed and spent my hours awake drinking, she and I got into a fight. I needed some air--some space to deal. 

So, I took the Mustang and headed out of town. I left Dad’s truck at Deb’s, there was no way I could drive it.

On the road, I didn’t have a destination, I just drove until I physically couldn’t anymore.

It was late when I pulled into town, not even knowing what state I was in. All I knew was I had gone east. 

As I rolled in, I slowed down to read a large sign through the darkness. ‘Welcome to Portsmouth, Virginia’.

Virginia? I couldn’t have been more than an hour from the coast. How long had I been driving?

My stomach grumbled and I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. There was a dingy motel only a short drive into town and I decided it was time to get some rest. My eyes were fogging over and I could barely hold my head up. 

Before I got out of the car, I looked to my right to see the array of beer bottles and an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels. I guess there was a reason I didn’t remember most of the drive. 

Dad would have killed me for that.

I walked up to the front desk in my jeans and hoodie, completely disheveled. The place smelt like dust and old wood, like a living time capsule of the old days. 

Throwing down my fake credit card under the name ‘Joplin’, I got a room and asked where I could find a liquor store. The attendant at the desk told me it was only a few blocks down and gave me directions. 

I may have thanked him or just turned to leave, I’m not sure.

------

The bell on the door of the liquor store jingled as I left with a brown paper bag. I tore into the bag of beef jerky and twisted open my new bottle of whiskey as I walked down the empty streets. It didn’t take long for me to start stumbling in a drunken stupor as I made my way back. The alleyway near the motel gave me a quick shortcut to my room. 

I could feel the rain soaking through my hoodie, my hair becoming drenched. The pools of water from the rain splashed as I trudged through them.

As I headed down the way, I could hear a whine coming through the rain. It sounded like a high pitched whimper and though I was already toasted, I fumbled to go check it out. 

I guess the hunter in me has always been too curious for my own good.

I peered behind a dumpster after following the sound only to see a dirty dog lying on a flat cardboard box. He looked broken and forgotten just like me.

“Hey, buddy…” I slurred. “You hungry?” I pulled out a piece of jerky and knelt down with some difficulty and put down my bottle. 

The nervous dog slowly sniffed as he crawled over to me and hesitated before taking the meat from my hand. 

I decided to give him two more pieces before I stood up again. “Be grateful. That was like half my fuckin’ bag.” Taking my drink back in my hand, I took a long swig and turned to leave. “Later, Fido.”

------

I lost track of the days. The room was a disaster with takeout food trash, cans, and beer bottles all over. If I wasn’t sleeping, I was drinking. I had found company in the arms of strangers from the local bar a few times only to kick them out immediately after. At that point, I wasn’t looking for anything other than something to numb the pain.

As I searched around the room, I realized that I had run out of anything to drink and I was slowly becoming sober. I couldn’t handle my mind being clear and needed a bottle in my hand. The built-up rage, pain, and frustration came out as I tossed the room looking for something left. 

When I came up short handed, I turned only to see myself in the mirror. My eyes were red with dark bags underneath. I had thrown my hair up into a messy bun without washing it for God knows how long. My only wardrobe appeared to be my sweats and socks. 

The woman staring back at me wasn’t someone I recognized. And then the clarity of my mind began its never-ending cycle of thoughts.

“You should have gone with him. It’s your fault he’s dead. You didn’t even do anything. He died alone and now so will you.”

I remember a yell coming from the pit of my stomach, almost like a battle cry before my fist connected with the mirror glass. It shattered and shards fell to the ground. I stood there with rage in my eyes for the person I saw in those remaining broken pieces. 

It wasn’t until I went to open the door to leave that I noticed my bleeding knuckles with a small piece of glass still in them. I quickly pulled out the shard and went on as though nothing had happened.

When I got outside, I realized that I didn’t even know that it was night time. The rain had come back and you could hear it crash onto the pavement. 

I pulled my hoodie over my head, put my hands in my front pocket, and drug myself back toward my new favorite liquor store.

Out from the darkness, I could see a shadow nearby and I kept my eye on it as I moved through the alley. I must have stopped caring what was there because my eyes eventually cast down to the wet ground. 

It wasn’t more than a minute or so before I felt something charge me. A large man had grabbed me and slammed me against the brick wall. I cried out from the hit in my already weakened state. He was in a large jacket and stood over six feet tall, only to look down at me like fresh meat.

The stranger chuckled under his breath when he realized I didn’t have the strength to fight him off. “It’s better if you don’t fight me, honey. This will go a lot faster if you don’t.”

I don’t know what happened at that moment but I didn’t give a fuck what would happen to me. The truth was, I had considered killing myself over the past few days and no longer cared. If he was gonna kill me, then so be it. At least then, the pain would stop. Maybe then, I could be with Dad again.

The man’s hands grabbed at me and then immediately went to pull at my sweatpants. A tear ran down my cheek as I realized what my life had become and how pathetic my existence was. I once fought monsters and now I couldn’t even fight off a man.

Only feet away, I heard a deep growl and the man turned to the sound. 

Out from the rain came a dog that charged at my attacker with his teeth bared. The dog latched onto the man’s arm and sunk his teeth into his flesh before the stranger yelled out and tried to get him off. 

I watched in shock as the dirty mutt pulled him away from me. He let go only to bark with such aggression that the man ran away down the alley, gripping at his bleeding arm.

I looked down at the dog who walked over to me gently and sat at my feet. He peered up at me with sweet brown eyes and whimpered. It was the hungry and lost dog I had met when I first came into town. 

At a closer look, I realized he was a dirt-covered golden retriever. I bent down and he immediately licked my hand. For the first time since I lost Dad, a small smile crept up my face. 

“Guess that was some good jerky,” I joked as I pet the strange animal. “Thanks, bud.” When I turned to go, I heard that familiar whimper and spun around to see the dog following me. “What?” 

His eyes met mine once again and he rushed over to me.

As the rain continued to pour on us both, I sighed. I began to walk away and turned around to look at him again. “Well...are you coming?” 

The dog barked in response before wagging his tail and walking at my side.

------

Back in my room, I had given the wet dog a warm bath and cleaned him up before I took a warm shower myself. 

As I rubbed my hair dry, I saw the golden pup at the entrance of the bathroom just laying in wait. “So, what? We friends now?” 

He happily barked and it made me chuckle under my breath. 

“I swear to god it’s like you understand me.”

I crawled into bed and snuggled up into my blankets only then to have it dawn on me that I had forgotten my bottle of Daniels. “Goddammit.” I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping that night without it. 

It was then that I felt the mattress shift as I was joined by my new canine companion. He crawled up next to me and nestled into my side. 

I wrapped my arms around him in almost a hug and closed my eyes. “Goodnight, bud.”

------

The dog and I had spent nearly a week together. Surprisingly, I was sober for most of it. And with him at my side every night, I actually slept and avoided the nightmares. It was like he was keeping me sane.

One morning, I decided it was time to put myself back together. 

Slowly, I got dressed and put back on my favorite leather jacket. I hadn’t worn it since Dad died. He had bought it for me and it was too painful to wear it. But I pulled my hair out from underneath it and finally shrugged it back onto my shoulders. 

Looking into the broken mirror, I realized I was starting to recognize my reflection again.

I sat on the bed and laced up my boots only to see the dog staring at me from across the room. 

“I gotta get back on the road, bud. Time for me to get the hell outta here.” He whined, once again acting like he knew what I was saying. “Well, I mean...I could take you with me.” 

The pup got up and his tail wagged wildly before shoving his face lovingly into my hands. 

I laughed a little and pet his head. “Alright, partner. Time to go.”

Throwing my duffle bag on my shoulder, I opened the door to leave and glanced back at the room. It was trashed and filled with memories of pain. 

Before I closed the door, I took a deep breath and said to myself, “no more.”

I opened the door of the Mustang and the dog immediately jumped in before I could even gesture him to. He was ready to go. 

I got in and sat with him as he panted and looked at me. Rubbing his head, I met his gaze and smiled. “Well, I think it’s time we give you a name. Can’t just call you ‘bud’, now can I?” 

The dog cocked his head at me almost questioning my thought. 

“Toby? Jericho?” Sneezing, the pup shook his head with a huff. “Okay,” I chuckled. “Freddie?” When I got no response, I thought of a name that I honestly have no idea where it came from. “...Finnick?” At that, the dog pawed at me and barked. “Okay, Finnick it is.” 

I turned on the engine and my car roared to life. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, Finn.” 

His focus shifted to the road ahead of us like he was ready for the journey. 

For the first time since I lost Dad, I didn’t feel alone.

------

In Pennsylvania and in yet another unwelcoming motel, I sat on my bed with my arms and ankles crossed. I ended up just staring into oblivion, lost in thought with Finn on the bed with me. He barked at me and I jumped as he brought me back to reality

“Jesus, Finn. Trying to scare the shit outta me?” My new partner just whined as he peered up at me. I sighed heavily and pet his head. “What am I doing? Maybe I should just go back to Lawrence. I’m not even hunting, so what’s the point?” 

The remote was in reach so I grabbed it and flicked on the tv. Mindlessly, I scanned the channels until I landed on a news station in the middle of a report.

“Six residents of Salem, Massachusetts have met untimely deaths in the last few weeks. According to witnesses, the victims all died under strange and terrible circumstances. A man was found in his bed covered in water and drowned. Another victim was forcibly hung in their own home. All other incidences have been kept under wraps by the Salem sheriff’s department. Residents of the town have begun to wonder if their dark history has finally caught up with them. More on this story tonight at eleven.”

I sat up and my mouth slightly fell open. No way in hell there wasn’t an actual case in Salem. Every instinct I had as a hunter was going off knowing I had to get on it, but the motivation wasn’t there. 

I had never been on a hunt without my dad. What if I couldn’t do it on my own? 

But then I thought of what he would do--he would’ve already had us out the door by then and on the road. He would want me to do this, to do the damn job.

“Fuck…” I muttered before getting off the bed like an annoyed teenager. 

Grabbing my gear, I whistled for Finn and we headed out. 

As we walked down the long hall, I slowed my anxious breathing and held my head high. “Let’s do this, boy.”

------

Riley’s first hunt with Finn is coming soon! Stay tuned!

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