#lying appears on top of my head in big red bold letters

[moch-ila]

gems video really feels like when you first start talking about yourself kindly

[thesolferino]

True Calling

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ word count: 3.9k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: dream meets his favorite singer on an among us livestream.

“Dude, what could go wrong? Just do it.”

“What could go wrong?! Literally so many things, you ass.” 

Dream heard Sapnap sigh through the mic right into his headphones, the dim grey of his Discord background doing barely anything to illuminate his features as he stared at his open messages blankly.

“First of all, don’t.. speak to me like that, I am doing you a favour by sitting here and listening to you panic about stupid shit. Second of all, nothing big could go wrong. What, you’re a little awkward in the beginning, maybe, and that’s it.” Dream adjusted his headphones a little bit, Sapnap’s rant flowing into his ears but dissipating somewhere halfway to his brain, because, yes, things could go wrong and he can’t be proven otherwise.

“Did you forget that I’m a public figure? And that my fans are insane? I say one wrong thing and it’ll be memed and haunt me in my dreams. Did you forget that SHE’s a public figure? And that this is live? God…” he retorts back, listening to Sapnap helplessly sigh once again in response. He anxiously switches from his Discord to Twitter, then to YouTube, to Twitch and then back to Discord, frantically clicking around. In reality, he knows Sapnap is right, and it’s anxiety whispering into his ear that he’s gonna somehow fuck up, but maybe it’s simply easier to stay and argue with him into the night instead of actually responding to that message.

The stream is still going. Quackity’s voice speaks over Sapnap’s quiet breathing. “Damn, he’s still not responding. Um, let me try Tubbo, maybe?” 

Before he knows it, the opportunity to join the stream is slipping out of his fingers, and Dream isn’t sure if he’s happy about that or not. On one hand, he gets to meet one of his favorite artists whose album he’s played way too many times to count, and on the other, the chances of him embarrassing himself in front of that same artist and a hundred thousand other people are extremely high, and he’s not sure if he likes the odds of that.

“Man, I don’t know. You won’t listen to me, anyway. Don’t join if you don’t want to.” Dream hears the annoyed tinge in Sapnap’s voice, and that’s what pours the last bit of courage into his veins because the best way to do anything in life is to follow Sapnap’s advice after you’ve already irritated him to the point of defeat, and he murmurs a quick “bye” and hangs up before the other can even respond, typing a rapid “Sure, send me the VC link” back to Quackity. 

He hears a delighted exhale coming from his Twitch tab just as Quackity forwards him the link. “Okay, nevermind, we’ve got Dream! He’ll join in a second.” 

With that, he swiftly closes the Twitch tab and with an encouraging sip of water, he finally joins the Discord voice chat with the rest of the players. Your Discord image sticks out like a sore thumb to him despite being a super basic, Googleable picture of you that he’s probably seen a million times by now, and upon seeing it, reality slaps him right over the face and he realises that, oh shit, he actually joined.

“Hey everyone.” Dream speaks into the mic and a mix of excited voices greets him at the same time as he loads up the game. Your icon is missing the green halo. He stares at it, as if you’ll magically speak up if he stares long and hard enough. That, apparently, works.

Pokimane’s “Dream, hi!” seems to set something off in your brain, and you speak again.

“Oh, Dream?” the green halo appears, and Dream resists the urge to say something stupid or bite his hand or anything of the sort when you say his name. “Aren’t you the guy who listens to my music all the time?” you giggle.

Quackity laughs loudly in his usual fashion, and Dream feels his hands go cold as the Among Us loading page pops up. “Wh-huh?” 

“Yeah, you-you listen to my music a lot! Your fans always tag me under that… ‘Dream’s Spotify’ Twitter account, I remember you.” Dream swears his heart is about to jump out of his chest and start bouncing around on the floor because his ribs are way too restrictive for that type of movement, but he tries his best to play it cool and laughs lightheartedly.

“I do! I’m, like, your biggest fan.” he grins, as if you can see him, and you laugh in return.

“Yeah, man, you pay my rent. Thanks.” you say and a couple of people laugh while Dream inputs the code and his character finally pops up, immediately running around like the rest of the group. He runs around your purple character and hears you chuckle as you run around him too, but not for long, because the game starts and everyone mutes themselves. He audibly sighs, because he can afford to, considering he’s not streaming and nobody can hear the amount of courage this whole thing is taking him. 

A notification pops up on his screen - the Dream Team group chat seems to be talking. Must’ve already found some way to make fun of me, he thinks to himself as he huffs out a large breath and runs through cafeteria and weapons to do his tasks in navigation. Corpse is hot on his tail the whole time, and not to say he’s an untrustworthy guy, but Dream isn’t really looking forward to getting killed before even speaking to you properly, so he runs around, trying to find somebody to stick with so Corpse doesn’t shove a knife in his back while he’s doing a task. 

Thankfully, Karl emerges somewhere from the direction of storage right into communications where Dream was going, too. Just as Dream starts finishing download and Corpse and Karl line up behind him, his screen flashes bright red and white and the bold letters “Dead body reported” pop up. Everyone unmutes themselves and his eyes bore into your character, immediately.

“Alright, the body was in top left of the… uh, upper engine. I need everyone’s positions.” Rae immediately spoke.

“I was in electrical, I-I went through cafeteria to the upper engine with Poki, there was nobody there, we did our tasks, went down to lower engine, then Poki left with Toast, and I went to electrical and the body was reported.” Sykkuno said, and Pokimane confirmed with a hum of agreement.

“Dream?” Rae asked, and he spoke up.

“I never even went that way, I went through weapons to nav, and then to communications, and then the body was found. Corpse can vouch for me because he was following me the entire time and I kinda thought he was gonna kill me. And Karl saw me in communications, us three were all together when you… reported the body.” He rambled, trying to defend himself.

“Yeah, it’s true, he was with me the whole time.” Corpse supported.

“Karl, which way did you get to communications?” Toast asked.

“Uh, through storage.” Karl replied quickly.

“That’s funny, ‘cause I was in security, and I could swear I saw you walk past.” Toast said, and a couple of “ooh”s echo through the call.

“That makes no sense because even if I did go that way, I wouldn’t have time to get to communications and start doing my task with Dream and Corpse if I killed Ethan! And Rae, you-you saw me do my task in storage!” Karl loudly defended himself.

“...that… that’s true, yeah.” she said.

“If you ask me, Toast, you’re being real sus for lying about that.” Karl threw it back at Toast, who protested.

“Listen, I didn’t say you killed anybody, I just said I saw someone run past!” he claimed.

“Bretman and Y/N are being real quiet, though.” Corpse points out, and the green halo around your icon lights up once again.

“Oh shit, I didn’t realise I was muted. Sorry, guys.” you laughed. “Um, I was with… Quackity, in… what’s that shit on the right called?”

“O2.” Quackity quickly jumped in.

“Right, O2. I went to… top left, first, and I did my tasks there, and then to weapons and then to O2, and then the body was reported.”

“You were in top left?” Rae repeated.

“Yeah.”

“And was there anyone with you?”

“Um… no? I was alone, and then I saw Quackity in top right, and then we went to, uh, O2 together.” you said and Corpse sighed loudly.

“That means she could’ve had the time to kill Ethan and run.” Toast points out.

“Hey! I didn’t kill anyone! I don’t even know how this game works…” you whined into the mic and Quackity laughed.

“Yeah, I dunno Y/N, you were dancing real suspiciously around me…” he said, causing you to defend yourself louder.

“Why would I kill anyone?! I don’t even know how to do that, I’m a nice person!”

“I don’t think she did it, guys.” Dream pipes up, tugging at the wire of his headphones absentmindedly.

“Shut up, you simp.” Quackity fires back instantly, making everyone in the call laugh, including Dream.

“Damn right, I’m a Y/N simp. She can do no wrong. I mean, look at that innocent face! She did nothing, I’m-I’m sure.” He argued, making you cover your mouth and giggle.

“Their face is literally the same as everyone’s! We’re all astronauts!” Rae protested, but Dream kept shaking his head.

“No, hers is more innocent.” he said. “Toast, why are you so set on accusing everyone, anyway?”

“Oh, you’re so not attacking Toast right now-”

“Guys, I think we should skip.” Sykkuno pipes up to calm the conversation, and everyone agrees, even though most of them mumble “sus” under their breath as soon as they mute their mics.

Dream’s tiny green astronaut stomps his way over to the left side immediately, changing paths this time and making his way into the Upper Engine, trying to finish his tasks in time and possibly find someone to accompany him so he at least doesn’t have to argue over his alibi. He had four tasks left, two of them in Upper Engine, so after that he was free to roam around wherever his heart desired. Just as he started doing one of them, he watched your purple character step in and run circles around him, earning you a quiet laugh that he didn’t know he uttered until he heard himself do it and silently scolded himself for getting that flustered at something so simple.

The two of you did your tasks together before going down to reactor. Just as Dream started doing one of his tasks, a dead body was reported again and he unmuted himself as Toast immediately started borderline yelling into his headphones. 

“Bretman just killed Sykkuno RIGHT in front of me. I literally watched him do it. He killed Sykkuno in COLD BLOOD.” he confidently claimed and Dream, quite uninterested, grabbed his bottle of water and lightly sipped on it, wiping beads of sweat resting right above his eyebrows with his forearm, blindly looking around the darkness, trying to get his eyes to adjust looking away from the computer screen. His eyes searched for the window - it was open, just enough to let a fresh breeze inside, but it never seemed to do that, letting humid air in with open arms like a welcome guest. Florida is fucking hell, he thinks, gulping down some more water.

“No, I didn’t! I seriously did not, he’s the one who killed him and is trying to frame me now. I swear to God, Toast…” Bretman shouted into his worn mic, trying to argue back. 

“Yeah, to be honest, Bretman, you were silent the whole time when Ethan died.” Rae reasoned, earning quite a lot of “ooh”s and causing little “voted” signs to appear next to Poki, Toast and Karl’s names as Bretman tried his best to fight back.

“I didn’t know I was muted the whole time! You know I’m bad at this! Why would I... you know what, nevermind! Vote me! Vote me! You’ll see when Toast kills you all, I don’t care anymore. I literally saw-”

Dream slumps further into his chair, sure that the foam would have a dent of his body shape imprinted even when he’s long gone from it, and unlocks his phone with a quiet sigh. He opens Discord, and wishes he hadn’t, because Sapnap and George are always on the front lines and ready to make fun of him at any chance possible. He types back a stupid joke, calling them losers, but before he can press send, a Twitter notification pops up on his phone that almost makes his painfully sweaty hands lose grip of the phone. 

“this is so boring” your message reads, from your official Twitter account. Dream blinks a few times, and looks up from his phone to observe his murky, empty room, eyes flashing from the window to the ripped chocolate bar wrapper that somehow made its way onto the floor to a cup of coffee from this afternoon. Did the humid air finally get to him? Hallucinations?

He clicks on the notification - it proves to not be a product of his imagination, after all. Three dots dance around on his screen cheerfully, but they suddenly stop. His ears tune in. Bretman is still defending his honor. Something else must’ve interrupted you. His shaky hands barely hit the right letters.

He takes a handful of screenshots amidst his euphoria, and forwards them to the group chat with no caption besides an emoji sticking its tongue out - he wants to tell them to suck his dick, or something along those lines, but your message remains a priority as he rushes back to the Twitter app to reply.

“Right” he manages to write without a typo. “They’re annoying”

Three dots immediately return to his screen like a happy memory, and he almost can’t believe you’re texting back so fast. George would probably humble him by saying it’s because you have nothing better to do, but what George doesn’t know can’t hurt him, Dream supposes, and clicks on your profile instinctively as he adjusts his headphones on one ear. By the time you finish typing your message, the group decided to vote out Bretman, who ended up not being an imposter.

The three dots disappear as quick as they came, and so does the anticipation that bubbled up in Dream’s throat as he sourly leaves to finish the rest of his tasks. The rest of the game stays as boring as it started, save for the giggles and hushed laughter that came from you at every few jokes he made - of which he made quite a lot, in a desperate attempt to make you laugh, at least a little bit. Of course, Quackity was there every step of the way to accidentally mention how Dream sounded a lot more hype and alive during this game than he does ever, but you win some, you lose some, eh?

In the next game you actually decided to set up proximity chat, so of course Dream followed you around everywhere, hot on your tail at all times - what else is he supposed to do, when the chance presented itself, really?

“Are you imposter?” His character obnoxiously ran circles around you as you did your wires task slowly and unsurely since this stream was your first time playing.

“No, but I wouldn’t tell you even if I was, dummy.” You replied, running around his own character briefly before running up to do the rest of your tasks, watching the green astronaut follow you close behind. 

“Why not?” Dream questioned, eyes following all your movements since he didn’t have anything better to do considering he finished all his tasks. 

“Do you not know how this game works?”

“Yeah, but you’d tell me, right? I wouldn’t… rat you out.” He heard a sigh coming through his headphones in response, and his grin widened just a little, watching your character walk away from him.

“I know you wouldn’t.” you replied. “I’ll tell you if I’m imposter, I guess.”

“You wouldn’t kill me, would you?” Dream spoke into his mic, reaching to fix it and realising the way his hand trembled a little, fully aware he was walking the line between flirty and obnoxious more than usual. He lowered his gaze just to see his keyboard reflect the light of the computer back to him - the sweat from his palms seemed to seep onto the keyboard. He refused to think about the mocking things his best friends would say if they found out how nervous he was just to talk to you. 

“No, of course not! I wouldn’t be able to kill you.” You chirped just as a dead body was discovered and the two of you were torn from the conversation. 

In the next one, his screen flashed an ominous black and red with the word “Impostor” and your purple character stood proudly next to his green one, and he snickered to himself, adjusting his headphones one more time (the more he did it, the more he was convinced it was one of those anxious habits of his).

Shifting in his chair, he started moving and couldn’t believe his eyes when he realised the two of you managed to lock yourselves in a room with Corpse and Sykkuno, accomplishing a double kill in barely the first two minutes of the game. The two of you vented while Dream muttered curses under his breath, breaking out in a sweat wondering if you’re going to get caught or not as you casually hummed to a random tune while faking tasks, hitting the notes in such an effortless way that it made Dream relax and get even more nervous at the same time. It didn’t take too long before the body was found, and you seemed to adapt to the game very quickly, as Dream just sat back most of the time and watched you stretch out a whole essay on why you and Dream could NOT have been imposters. 

“Why would they stick together the whole time? Couldn’t they get at least someone else to vouch for them?” Toast complained. 

“Girl, Dream wants some… alone time with Y/N, obviously.” Bretman said, despite being the one most sus of you in the first place, forcing laughter out of the whole lobby, Dream’s sticking out the most as his mood constantly swayed from finding the whole thing funny to being worried sick if you actually find him weird.

“Exactly! And we’re gonna have our alone time if we want to, thank you very much.” 

Well, Dream thinks, taking a stressed gulp of water from his bottle, at least we cleared that one up.

“I don’t think that sounded the way you wanted it to, Y/N.” Karl pipes up, making Quackity burst into another fit of loud laughter, and you immediately protested.

“It sounded exactly the way I wanted it to! Now, vote Rae or else.” 

When the meeting was over, he ran after you through cafeteria, grin splitting out on his face before he even spoke.

“You’re pretty…” his silence extended as he watched your character stare at his. “...pretty smart.”

You snorted. “Right. You’re pretty…” you extended your silence in return, mocking him. “...too.”

His heart jumps. “You forgot a word there.” he says as you stomp out to storage.

“I said what I said, Dreamy.” 

He swears this can’t be healthy for his blood pressure. In the corner of his eye, Discord notifications pop up like crazy. The boys must be watching your stream. His heart swells with both pride and dread, knowing he’s about to be called something along the lines of pretty Dreamy for the next two months.

“How do you know I’m pretty? You’ve never even seen my face.” Dream replies as heat creeps up like a spirit rising from soil, from the back of his neck, seeping into his ears and cheeks somewhat equally. His eyes dart to the window again. Of course it’s the stupid Florida weather that has him burning up, flustered. Maybe he should open another window.

“Is this an invitation to see it?” you say, a teasing tone clinging off your voice and he can practically hear you smiling. 

“No, I’m just saying! If you want to see it, though, that… that can be arranged.” he bites his lip as a physical attempt of holding back the smile that breaks out as he waits for your response, chest puffing in both nervousness and odd confidence.

“Can it? I mean, I don’t need to see it, I just know already, you have those… pretty boy vibes. But I wouldn’t…” you chuckle. “...be opposed to seeing it, for sure. Don’t count on me not to leak the pictures, though. I want the clout.”

“What do you MEAN you want the clout, you’re Y/N! You don’t need clout from a Minecraft YouTuber!” He argues back, a small wheeze escaping him mid sentence as you giggle and run around, with him following your every move.

“You keep my fucking lights on, man! Whenever your Spotify Twitter account thingy tweets that you’re listening to my stuff, the streams go up! I need your clout.” you say as you run into admin and snap Toast’s neck and run back out casually, as if nothing happened. 

“Yeah, that’s how me listening to your songs on repeat works.” he says and you let out some sort of irritated groan.

“Shut up, smartass.” Just as you say that, somebody seems to find the body and you’re pulled into a meeting, where Rae susses both of you immediately.

“No, because both of you are always together! And someone always spots you walking by the place where the bodies are found! At some point that can’t be a coincidence, right?” she accuses, practically yelling into the mic.

“Of course they’re always together, check- check fuckin’ Twitter! They’re trending on like three different spots already!” Quackity jumps in, loud as always, and the lobby gives off mixed reactions.

“What? We are?” Dream asks, and Quackity confirms with a “yeah, man! Check!” and so he complies, quickly pulling out his phone to check the trending tabs. Sure enough, among the politics and sports, “DREAM Y/N”, “PRETTY BOY” and “DREAM FACE” are crammed, sat at 7th, 14th and 18th place, respectfully. A satisfied grin breaks out on his face. At least they see it, too.

“This has to be the first time Dream has trended for something heterosexual.” Karl points out, earning loud laughter from Quackity and Bretman, less loud on your part.

“Exactly! We’re a power couple! Stay mad!” You shouted, with Dream supporting you in the background, although still shyly adjusting his headphones every few seconds, unable to comprehend that oh, this is actually happening.

Both of you get voted out during the next few minutes, but that really means nothing to Dream - they actually do him quite a favor, because the two of you get to excuse yourselves and he sees those three familiar dots dance on his screen again as he leans back into his chair with a dopey grin, playing with the strings of his sweatpants, waiting for your next and next and next message. 

He opens Discord on his computer to type one last message into the groupchat before turning it off for the night:

Dream (03:14): maybe Minecraft wasn’t my calling after all

Dream (03:14): can’t believe I just met my soulmate on Among Us

[soulsdontbreaktheybeeend]

Red Lights, Red Leather Part 1 | Joker x You

Inspired by my first business trip since March. The universe meant it more than well-intentioned by letting me stay at this hotel.

Summary: Due to a business trip, you’re staying at a hotel in Gotham and meet the infamous Joker on your first of three exciting nights there. It’s basically hotel sex okay. SMUT.

Sorry for the long introduction, but this really happened and I did not want to keep it from you. It fitted so well with my imagination that I would have loved to turn around and Joker would have been there. Also here, have an actual picture to imagine things better, hehe.

Words: 3,414

The door fell into the lock behind you. Your travel bag hit the shelf next to the wardrobe.

You were grateful for the fact that your colleagues didn't want to explore the city on a big scale that evening.

Usually you inspected every hotel room before you made yourself comfortable, but on this day the journey was too exhausting. Strenuous small talk accompanied you for more than six hours by car ride with two of your colleagues. With a big sigh, you dropped onto the double bed of your hotel room.

To your amazement the mattress bounced remarkably strong. By now you had moved into countless different hotel rooms and spent the night in their beds. Many of them were either just too hard, or already so worn out that it was difficult to get out of the ditch. But this one was different. The feathering awakened your curiosity to explore the room more in detail.

You noticed that the furniture was a mix of brighter wood and red leather. A typical hotel room carpet with a strange pattern underlined the atmosphere in red as well. The headboard of the bed was a huge circle, also covered with red leather. An armchair with a high backrest was located between the bed and the two big windows with curtains that were white, but red on the outside.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the type of establishment. It definitely matched the name of the hotel. The letters "Ruby" shone in a bright red above the entrance in front of which a red carpet was laid out. At that moment you were glad that you had seen a family with children in the entrance area when checking in. Otherwise, you would have thought that this hotel only belongs to another more particular scene.

After you took a look at the time and you were up on your feet again, you decided to take a quick shower.

Your jeans and shirt landed on the shelf next to your travel bag before entering the bathroom. Inside, on the left side, your fingers found a light switch. Your eyes squinted and blinked in surprise when no normal or usual white or warm white light illuminated the bathroom.

The room was not half as bright as usual.

Your eyes shot up to find a small round lamp on the ceiling. Your eyes slowly got used to the red light, while your gaze fell on yourself through the large mirror above the sink. You stood in the middle of the room and looked at yourself in the mirror in your underwear. The combination of the remaining light of the hotel room shining through the half-open door into the bathroom and the reddening of the light of the ceiling lamp in the bathroom flattered your skin noticeably.

Red and turquoise tones drew your curves in a sensual appearance. As your gaze lingered on your body and you removed your underwear, you felt a pleasant warmth on your skin. Your insightful look wandered back to the ceiling lamp...

An infrared lamp?!

You pulled an impressed pout towards the lamp and climbed into the shower tray. The hot water soothed the muscles that had become tense during the long trip. The sweetly fragrant hotel shampoo and shower gel additionally calmed your senses.

After your refreshing shower you decide to step outside the hotel to have a smoke. Too lazy to put on underwear, you slipped into your ripped jeans and top without any.

The elevator took you from the fifth floor down to the lobby. The red leather furniture was also to be found there. The floor seemed to be made of black granite. The way to the exit led through a long corridor with the same floor and high red plant pots on the left side.

As soon as the sliding doors opened automatically for you, you took a deep breath of fresh air. Goose bumps graced your arms for a few seconds as the cool air hit your still warm skin from the shower.

 While you were rolling your tobacco in your paper, two guys stopped at the hotel entrance. One of them walked in, the other one yelled after him, "dude, don't go in there!"

You didn't think much at first, so you lit your ready-rolled cigarette and pulled out your mobile phone, checked it for messages and let friends know that you had arrived safely.

After a few minutes the guy came back out of the hotel. Overly upset, he told his buddy in indignation that they wouldn't let him use the toilet. While you could prevent a look at them by continuing to look at your mobile phone, you couldn't completely block out their conversation.

“I asked if I could use the restroom. Then he asked for my room number, so I said 214. He checked that and told me that room 214 was unoccupied; that I was lying to him. I told him I just need to use the restroom real quick, but he told me to leave the hotel now.”

The other was amused by his story. They had walked a few steps and were now a few feet away from you, then suddenly came to a halt.

"You know what, man? If you don't let me use the fucking toilet, I'm gonna piss on your wall, you fuck."

Your gaze bored into the screen of your cell phone at his words, while you were texting a friend about what was happening and you heard a certain sound that made you realize that he really moved from words to deeds.

Afterwards they went on as if nothing had ever happened. You put your cell phone in your pocket, took a last drag of your cigarette and thought to yourself once again…

I hate people.

 “What a society, huh.”

 You startled at the words of a raspy low voice, while you were putting out your cigarette in the ashtray beside you. As you cast your eyes upwards, you searched for the owner of the calm voice. Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw Joker standing a few feet away from you. He leaned against a tree at the side of the road in a relaxed position. When your glances met, his eyes bored into yours with a confidence that left you speechless at first. Due to the fact, the only thing you came out with was a baffled sigh.

He led his cigarette to his mouth and took a puff. His eyes did not let go of yours. Not even when he took slow steps towards you. You couldn't resist his gaze for a short time when you felt the desire to look up and down at him.

He stopped right in front of you and leaned forward. You felt your body automatically try to catch up the distance by leaning back, but your mind decided not to move and embraced the welcomed closeness. His arm stretched out beside your hip to stub out the cigarette in the ashtray.

He was a bit taller than you, but when he bent down to the ashtray, his head was dangerously close to yours. You squinted in his direction and observed his green curls, breathing in his scent.

You suspect every move he made was planned in some way for something, and whatever it was, it worked. You were immediately drawn to him.

As he slowly moved back, you finally answered him. "It's like I always say... I hate people."

“Me, too.” He simply chuckled.

The mixture of his calm voice and his playful gaze put you in a comfortable but also exciting mood.

“Oh yeah?” Lifting your chin up, you asked him cheeky, “and how have you handled it so far?”

He elegantly swung his hips from side to side and looked up at the night sky, as if weighing whether you could bear his relentless response. His mouth formed a pout - your question was bold too. You could take it.

“I’ve murdered a few of them.”

Your eyes widened. You couldn't hold back and snorted and at the same time put one hand in front of your mouth. What else did you expect but an answer of this kind?

“Yeah, I've um… heard of that.” For a second your thoughts shot to a scenario where this encounter might not end well for you.

“And yet, here you are, still standing right in front of me. Talking to me like I'm not the person I am. Like I never committed the things you heard about.” He stepped even closer to you. “You think you can tell me why that is?”

Your heart started racing and you felt warm. He sure knew how to build up tension.

You looked down at the floor to catch a glimpse of his penetrating gaze. Yet you could not truly escape. He was so close that nothing could relax you for a moment. On the contrary. Your gaze went down over his red suit trousers and down to his chic shoes. That only made you more aroused than you admitted you already were.

Your gaze wandered slowly from his ankles, over his crotch to his painted face back up. Your eyes grew heavier with desire from every inch you absorbed from him.

“I think I'd like to elaborate on that in a more private place.”

His eyes were already undressing you when he casually answered, "after you." With his arm he gestured the way to the hotel entrance. A devilishly cheeky grin lay on his lips.

You looked him straight in the eyes and lightly returned his grin. You licked your lips and turned towards the entrance.

__

You held the door open for him and he confidently walked into hotel room 522. You put the door in the lock and turned to him.

You saw him from behind, inspecting the room. You noticed how his gaze paused briefly when he saw the armchair with a high back. Even if you couldn't see it, you could have sworn he was smirking.

His gaze finally turned to the headboard of the bed. You could now see his profile and you realized that your hunch was right. He was grinning.

"Oh, would you look at that!” He stated, as he stretched one finger towards the bed. “My, what a gigantic headboard. I wonder if it's just design or if someone thought of something more functional." His smirk widened.

“What do you think?” He asked you your opinion.

You were still standing at the entrance of the room. You loved how playful he seemed and at the same time it drove you wild. Wild about him.

"First of all, I think it works even better this way." Your fingers hit the light switches on the wall next to you, turning off the main light.

In the next second your fingers pressed another light switch. A dark red light filled the room. The only light source in the room was now only the atmospheric lighting behind the headboard of the bed. It set the headboard even more in scene.

Joker drew an impressed face, which again turned into this devilish grin, as he said, “and what comes after ‘first of all’?”

“Second...” You walked slowly towards him and stopped a few inches before him, your fingers playing with the collar of his jacket whilst you looked seductively up at him. “I think this suit goes really beautifully with the decor of the room.”

“Mmm. You really do, huh?” He had you confirm his question before he grabbed your wrists and fixed them with one hand behind your lower back. It made you arch your back, your breasts pressed against his chest.

"You are very greedy. Has anyone ever told you that?” The look in his eyes made you weak, especially your legs.

You shook your head no.

“No one had ever managed to make me behave like this before.” You admitted in a soft voice, biting your lip as your flat palms slowly moved down from his collar on his upper body.

Your confession further fuelled your actions.  Your hands left his body and moved on to your own. You took a few steps back, only for him to have the opportunity to take a better look at you. Your hands played with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to reveal your belly but not yet to allow him to catch a glimpse of your breasts.

You did not know where your self-confidence came from, especially with the knowledge of who was facing you. But for some reason, it only spurred you on even more. Joker enjoyed your little show, but his patience was limited. He reached for your shirt.

“Here, let me help you with that.” He purred.

Impatiently he pulled the shirt over your head. Your vision was restricted by the hair that fell into your face when you tried to find his gaze. He took care of it. When he brushed your hair out of your face and put his hand with grip on your neck; your view of him cleared up. Your eyes grew heavy with lust at the sight of him noticing you weren’t wearing a bra. You had never seen such lust in anyone's eyes before.

You had tried to play his game of seduction, but now at the latest you started to lose. How could someone do that to you, just by looking at you?

His grip on your neck tightened, using it to pull you towards him. His fingertips clawed into your neck, while his thumb slipped over your lower lip to your chin to open your mouth. You could not restrain a faint moan from his action. Your eyes still stared into his. Joker's eyes fixated the movements of your mouth. He moved even further towards you before he bent a little and searched for your tongue with his own.

 His lips did not leave yours, when he started to walk you to the bed. The back of your knees giving way when they hit the edge of the bed. You began to fall, but he stopped you from doing so.

“Mm-mm. Get up on the bed, sweetheart.” He almost whispered to you. His voice sounded so deep and raspy.

You followed his instructions, before both of you got up on the mattress. The bouncy mattress and his leering eyes made it difficult to keep your balance. Joker pressed you against the headboard with your back. The only support you needed now was himself. The leather on your back felt pleasantly cool on your hot skin. But the short refreshment did not last long for he started to kiss along your neck, his green curls tickling the area between your breasts.

Joker slid further down to allow his tongue access to your nipple. He licked around it and inhaled sharply just above your nipple, producing a cooling breeze which made you shiver. He flipped his tongue up and down before he sucked your nipple into his mouth and nibbled on it. Your arms automatically wrapped around him, one of them holding the back of his head in place. Which showed him that you more than relished his touch.

You felt his tongue and lips alternately dancing their way down your body.

Your breathing got heavy when you saw him kneel down and felt his hands on your jeans. He loosened the button and pulled down the zipper. He groaned deeply when he discovered that you were not wearing anything underneath it either. He looked up at you with this smug grin he wore so well, before pushing the fabric aside; his lips placing a kiss on your mound of Venus. Your head fell back against the headboard of the bed in anticipation.

“Mm. It's like you and me were meant to happen, don't you think?” He purred against your core and grabbed at your ass before pulling down your jeans.

“Or maybe you were just-” Your attempt to tease him failed when you felt his wet tongue licking right at your clit. Speechless, your further words turned into moaning. Your left hand clapped against the leather behind you, your right hand dug deep into his curls. It drove you crazy even further to feel that smug grin against your folds.

You dared to look down. The sight made you lose your mind. His face between your legs, lapping and licking at you; one of his hands reached to his crotch, freeing himself and beginning to stroke his erection firmly.

Both of your arousals grew when your gazes met in the dimmed red light. Joker licked a long stretch along your torso up to your neck, whispering in your ear, "you taste so good, darling."

Loving the feeling of his hot breath against your sensitive area, you held his head in place. He started teasing you by rubbing the tip of his hard length along your clit.

“I'm dying to find out how you feel.” Did he murmur in your ear before he entered you. Curses left both of your mouths.

Your fingers dug deep into his curls yet again, while you lifted your left leg, putting it around his waist. He reached for your thigh in unison to support you. At the same time, it allowed him to push deeper into you. His hard cock explored other angles in you that made you moan his name in pure pleasure.

It wasn't long before he grabbed your right leg, lifted it and you wrapped it around him. He was so deep inside you, each thrust gave you this slightly painful and sweet feeling that made you fly higher in delight.

His one arm wrapped around your lower back to maintain the rhythm, while the other supported himself on the top of the headboard.

With this new position he began to push harder and faster into you. His breathing became faster as well, his grip on the headboard so tight that his ankles began to turn white from the pressure.

“Oh my god, Joker!” You could only whisper his name.

“Mm. You feel so warm, so tight around me.” He groaned. “I want you to be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

His deep voice in combination with his in that moment slow, lustful deep thrusts robbed you of your senses.

Your head fell against the top of the bed once more. Your back no longer benefited from the coolness of the leather. It had turned into a slippery matter long ago. Sweat was dripping from your back against the material. Joker's blows became faster again. Both of your arms reached up behind you to the headboard. One hand was placed right above Joker's, you grabbed it firmly. He grunted in response.

Now that he had one hand free, he led it to your mouth. Joker let you suck his thumb, and you did him nothing more than this favor at that moment. He watched your lips close around his thumb, his eyes heavy with lust; he was close.

The thumb you just felt on your tongue, now spoiled you on your clit. Both your moans grew louder and faster. You soaked up every sound he made. He sounded heavenly.

The extra stimulation brought you to your peak. Your fingers clawed into his, you arched your back and clenched around him. He cursed as he came inside you, grabbing your waist again to hold you steady. His forehead pressed against the crook of your neck as he came down from his high.

You slowly loosened your legs that were wrapped tightly around him, and he slipped out of you. You were wobbly on your legs, but that didn't bother you in any way. You put your arms down and ran a hand through your hair. Joker now leaned with both of his hands against the leather behind you, holding you captive in between.

He leaned in and kissed you passionately. Your senses overwhelmed by the feeling of his tongue against yours and what had happened this night.

You looked straight into each other's eyes, both of you still panting, enjoying the feeling to the full.

  “How many nights are you staying here?” He asked you in anticipation.

You answered curtly, "two more."

He grinned slightly impishly and leaned against your ear.

"Good. Room number 522. I'll remember that one."

@daydreamhustler​ @jokerownsmysoul @lynnesm @illusionsinmyhead @life-or-something-like-lt @jokerflecker 

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 7 - Stories

Varian sat in the spacious den surrounded by piles and piles of books; comic books to be specific. Today was the last day of spring break and Varian was visiting Fred. All of their other friends were busy preparing for tomorrow, but Fred didn’t go to any of the actual classes. He only worked part-time as the school’s mascot, so he had the day free and wanted to teach Varian more about his hobby. 

Varian, for his part, was simply bored. He had agreed to meet with Fred since he had spent so much of the last week studying and wanted a break before starting classes for real, but the pages of illustrated stories, about people with god-like powers, just didn’t really interest him. 

It made him feel a little guilty really. Fred was so passionate about his interest, much like how Varian enjoyed science, and Varian appreciated that the older teen cared enough to try and include him in that. However, it didn’t stop him from zoning out while Fred rambled on about yet another story or character that Varian had no reference for. 

He looked about the room with half-lidded eyes as he rested his face upon his fist. Fred lived in a large mansion. It wasn’t quite as big as Corona’s palace, nor even the size of the castle he grew up in, but it was still very grand and luxurious. Various memorabilia and expensive décor were scattered about and the room he was in now had tons of unique statues, toys, and posters on display referencing various things within pop culture. He assumed they would make for an impressive collection, if he knew what any of them actually were. 

“….and so that is how Captain Fancy teamed up with the Fearless Ferret!"  

Varian tuned back in just in time to hear Fred conclude his story. 

"Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s real interesting” Varian yawned and stretched as he said this, giving away his true feelings on the matter. Then he tried to course correct as soon as he did so. 

“Look, Fred, this is all…great, but wouldn't it be better if I just, you know, actually read the stories for myself?” He gently suggested. 

“Oh, yeah…I guess I kind of got carried away.” Fred admitted sheepishly. “Ok, then, what did you think about the comics that you’ve read already?” He sat down, facing backwards, upon a swivel office chair as he referred to the two comics that he had bought for Varian on his first day in San Fansokyo. 

“They were fine.” Varian said. 

Fred leaned in closer, waiting for more but Varian didn’t elaborate. 

“Fine? Just fine? You don’t got anything else to add?”

Varian could only shrug in response. He didn’t know what else to say. They were okay stories but not anything to get excited over. They were certainly no Flynn Rider, that was for sure. 

“Well what about Miracle Maiden? What did you think of her?" 

That was one of the superheroes from the comic he had read. She was a princess from the deep Amazon rain-forest who took an ancient magic spear and armor and traveled from her home to fight against those that wanted to destroy it, helping others along the way. 

"Well, she was neat, I guess.” Varian admitted. “I liked how she was also figuring out how the world worked since she’d never left home before. That made her kind of relatable, I just didn’t care for the magic armor giving her super strength. It made her too unbeatable, no one was a real threat; there was no tension."  

Fred tilted his head in confusion. He’d never considered that to be a flaw. Superheroes were supposed to be well, super, after all. 

"Oookay, so maybe OP golden age style comics aren’t your thing.” Fred consented, “What about the dark aged comic you read, ‘The Avenger’?" 

"Oh, I liked that one a lot better. The hero in that had to really struggle and figure stuff out. He didn’t have any powers and the villains were more believable." 

"I’d call him more of an anti-hero,” Fred interrupted, “but go on." 

The story in question concerned an ex-soldier whose family had been murdered by a rich and powerful man. The villain had used his influence to escape prison and so 'The Avenger’, as he called himself, sought vengeance and along the way helped other poor exploited people get their own revenge against similar oppressors. 

"He was relatable too, but in a different way. I just thought the pictures were a little too…graphic.” Varian grimaced as he said that last word. He had always disliked the sight of blood and while the images in the book had only been drawings, they nevertheless were still very in-your-face with the violence and somewhat disturbing to look at. He hadn’t been able to get through the comic without skipping some pages.

“You found a guy, who kills a whole bunch of people, relatable?” Fred asked slowly, trying to piece together what Varian had seen that he had not. 

“Well, he lost his family.” Varian said in his defense. 

“Yeeeah, but that just makes him sympathetic. In order for him to be relatable you’d also have to have lost … your… ” Fred paused in mid-sentence and looked at the young boy sitting across from himself. Varian held an unreadable expression, something between a pout and a confused glare, and something inside Fred warned him not to continue with that thought. 

“Aaaannyways,” Fred said, trying to change the subject, “you like non-super powered heroes, but no gore, so why don’t I lend you one of my Fearless Ferret comics.” And with that the blonde teen hopped up off the chair and went scrounging about the room in search of said book. 

As he was throwing various comics and toys around in his quest, Fred tossed a small hardback novel that landed right at Varian’s feet. He had to move them out the way quickly before the flying object could do any harm. He looked down at the offending book rudely, but then his breath caught in his throat at what he saw. 

The novel was battered and worn from years of use and the title read The Brothers Grimm on the side. But what caught Varian’s attention was the cover on its front. It bore the image of a girl in a crumbling tower. She sat at the only window forlornly looking out as her long golden hair tumbled down to the ground below. 

“Rapunzel.” Varian breathed. 

“What?” Fred stopped what he was doing at the sound, but Varian had whispered too low for him to hear it clearly. 

“What is this?” Varian asked frantically. His heart pounding in his chest he held up the book for Fred to see. 

“Oh that? That’s just an old book of fairy tales I read as a kid." 

"Fairy tales?" 

"Yeah, you know, old folk tales, like Little Red Riding Hood, Rumpelstiltskin, Hansel and Gretel,” Fred turned back to his original search as he absentmindedly listed off the stories he knew, “The Bremen Town Musicians, Rapunzel, that sort of thing." 

Varian’s eyes went wide at that last title and he tore open the book and desperately flipped through its pages until he found the accursed name. It was printed in big bold letters at the top of the page and underneath was the story itself printed in smaller type. On the opposite page was another illustration. This one featured the titled character using her hair like a rope as a man used it to scale the tower. They were both dressed in clothing from centuries past that would have been considered old fashioned even in Varian’s own time.

Varian just stared at the page for a minute or two as his brain tried to comprehend what he was seeing. 

"This, this can’t be.” He whispered to himself, “How is this here? Why is this here?” He grew increasingly louder as his confusion gave away to anger. “How come she gets a story!? " 

He jumped up from the couch he was sitting upon as he yelled this last question, which finally drew Fred’s attention away from his rummaging. 

"You ok dude?" 

"No, I’m not okay! That no-good, lying, boil-brained, misbegotten, dizzy-eyed, promise breaker has been immortalized in print!” He yelled before glancing back down at the book he was holding, “And they didn’t even get the story right!” He whined after. 

Fred could only look on in confusion as Varian launched into another rant. This one about the inaccuracies within the folk tale as he sped read through the story; “Where’s the flower? Where are the rocks? Ha! I wish the King knew he was portrayed as a dirty thief. Eugene’s not a prince! Ew, I don’t why but having your eyes gouged out sounds worse than getting stabbed. Does Rapunzel not have powers in this?”

As he was busy loudly complaining, a viewing screen up on the opposite wall turned on and the image of an old man appeared. He had slicked backed white hair, a white mustache, and his eyes were covered by sunglasses. 

“Is everything alright son?” The man queried. “I thought I heard the sound of someone shouting an evil monologue over the surveillance system?" 

"Oh hey, Dad!” Fred turned to address the viewing screen while Varian continued on, heedless of who was listening or not, “It’s okay. It’s just my new friend Varian here is apparently really passionate about fairy tales." 

"Really? Cause he sounds like a super-villain to me.”

“Aww naw, you got it all wrong he’s just upset cause he doesn’t like the story.” As if to prove this, Fred turned back to Varian interrupting him mid-rant. “Hey, Varian, why do you hate Rapunzel so much?" 

Varian stopped and turned to them. His eyes narrowed into an intense glare and his voice dropped to low guttural growl. 

"She is my mortal enemy.” He said darkly. 

He held their gaze for a moment or two in uneasy silence, before once again noticing yet another inaccuracy upon the page. “Oh, that’s not right!” and he launched into a new wave of angry ranting. 

As he went on, outraged, father and son could only look on in perturbed confusion. 

“Are you sure he’s not a super-villain?” Mr. Fredrickson asked, neither of them being able to tear their eyes away from the sight of the small raged filled teen. 

“Preeety sure…” his son replied in a tone of voice that conveyed that he was anything but. 

Fred continued to watch Varian raving as his brain tried to process what had just happened.

“Waaait a minute, if you know the real Rapunzel, then that must mean you’re from a world of fairy tales.” He slowly said as he pieced together the clues. “Which means there must be magic and if there’s magic then there must be..” Fred audibly gasped with joy and ran to Varian, grabbing the younger boy by the shoulders and snapping him out of mid-rant. 

“Do you have dragons in your world!? " 

Varian could only look back at Fred with surprise at first. "What? No!” he snapped back. 

Here he was, in the middle of having an existential crisis, and all his friend could do was ask about mythical creatures? 

“There’s no such thing as dragons.” He firmly added before Fred could protest. The older teen looked crestfallen but soon perked back up as he started in on a new line of questioning. 

“But there is magic, right?" 

"Unfortunately, yes.” Varian said through gritted teeth. 

“Are you magic then?” Fred asked, as he circled around Varian and picked up his arm by its sleeve and inspected the length of it. 

“No.” Varian answered, now disturbed. 

“Then how come you got that blue streak in your hair? Do all people from your world have that?" 

Varian looked up at his bangs and then quickly covered said streak with his free hand. "No.” He said, this time less assured. 

In truth he didn’t know where his defining blue hair stripe came from. He had had it for as long as he could remember, and had always assumed he got it in an alchemy accident when young. But he didn’t know for sure, and he didn’t like to dwell too much on the subject. 

“Oh do you know anyone who has magic, then? Like, do you know any other fairy tale people, like Red Riding Hood or Mother Goose? Oh Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk was always one of my favorites!” Fred pressed on. 

“No!" 

Fred backed away at the sudden ferociously in Varian’s voice. 

"My life’s not a fairy tale Fred!” Varian added just to drive the point home. 

“Sorry, man.” Fred said timidly. He hadn’t meant to upset the younger teen, but he knew he could sometimes get carried away. 

Varian’s anger all but disappeared at that admission. Fred looked genuinely upset and he suddenly felt guilty for his outburst. It wasn’t his new friend’s fault for not knowing what hell his life had been for the last two years. 

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry too, it’s just…I hate magic. Okay?” He tried to explain.

Fred looked thoughtful at that, as if he had never considered that point of view before. 

“Well, if you hate magic…Oh I bet you would love science fiction then!” He exclaimed. 

Varian looked bewildered at the sudden change in subject, but Fred continued on excitedly. 

“We should watch the greatest sci-fi show ever!” Fred ran over to a shelf and pulled off a small thin case and held it up for Varian to see, “Professor What!" 

"What?” Varian asked, still confused.

“Exactly! It’s about a mysterious professor, who’s really a shape-shifting alien, who has a time machine that’s also a spaceship and he fights other aliens and…”

“Okay, okay” Varian interrupted. He agreed to go along with Fred’s idea if nothing else than to stop the older teen from launching into yet another confusing ramble. 

Fred flashed Varian a wide grin at that and then bid his father goodbye before opening the case and inserting a small shiny disc into the viewer screen. He then dimmed the lights and both he and Varian settled down on the couch to watch the video. 

“We’ll just watch the first episode and then go from there.” He said to Varian as odd sounding music filtered through the air and the opening titles flashed before them on the screen. But Varian wasn’t paying much attention. 

His mind raced as he was still agitated by the existence of the book. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t even a case of being an alternate version of Rapunzel herself. Fred had acted like the whole story was simply just made up. As if he, himself, was nothing but fiction. What’s more the story hadn't mention him, his father, nor the rocks and he didn’t know if this made the situation better or worse. 

He took a steadying breath and tried to focus on the screen ahead of him, shoving any uncomfortable questions to the back of his mind. 

The tv show was more of the moving pictures he had seen on the internet. Only this looked to be a recording of a staged play instead of the simple funny shorts of animals that he had only seen thus far. There was also no color, which Fred explained was because the film was so old. 

The story of the play concerned two school teachers, Cliff and Lola, who followed their new mysterious student home one day, only to stumble upon a bigger mystery. The student, Sue, reminded him of himself. She was super smart but ignorant of what was, to the teachers, common knowledge and it was no surprise when it was revealed that both she and her equally mysterious grandfather, the titular Professor, were from another world. What was a surprise was the way they traveled. 

The two teachers forced their way into a small box, no bigger than a magician’s cabinet, only to find a larger room on the inside. Said box was called a phone booth, which used to be used by people before cell phones came about, but the inside was called a STARDIS, a Space, Time, And Relative Dimensions Imperial Ship.

“You mean to tell me that a thing that looks like a phone booth, sitting in the middle of a scrapheap, can travel anywhere through time and space?” He heard the science teacher, Cliff, say incredulously before the impish Professor mischievously pressed a button on the console of the machine, locking the doors and turning the ship on. 

A swirl of stars and flashing lights appeared on screen, and like a magic trick, the box was no longer in a junkyard but an icy desert. A looming shadow then appeared and the screen cut to black as the odd music from before started to play and names flew up on the screen. 

“What, what happened? Why did it stop?” Varian asked Fred. He was just starting to get interested when it had ended. 

“Oh that was only the first episode, you gotta watch multiple in order to get the whole story." 

"You mean like chapters in a book? Can, can we watch the next one?" 

"You mean you like it?” Fred asked delightedly. 

“Well I don’t dislike it, besides I’d at least like to know what that shadow was.” Varian admitted. 

So they watched the next three parts. The group of time travelers had been transported to an ancient era, back when man still lived in caves. They were captured by a tribe and forced to make fire for them, all the while being caught in the middle of an ongoing power struggle for leadership. Varian didn’t find the politics of the cavemen particularly interesting but he did find himself on the edge of his seat whenever the STARDIS crew were on screen. 

He found them all compelling. The shifty Professor and his grey morals, doing whatever he could to survive and keep his granddaughter safe; Sue’s own fear of being separated from her only family and her mysterious ability for premonitions; Lola’s homesickness and exasperation at being cut off from civilization paired with her compassion for all living beings, even her oppressors; and the noble hero Cliff holding the team together while adhering to science and logic even while having his entire world view challenged.

In the last part they finally escaped the violent cavemen and made it back to the ship. They quickly took off, only to land on another planet entirely. The screen hovered over the console and a dial on the dashboard dropped down into the danger zone indicating all was not well before once again cutting to black and playing the ending credits. 

“Welp, that’s it!” Fred cheered. He stood up and stretched and went to take the disc out and put it up. 

“That’s it!?” Varian asked disbelievingly. “But what about that new planet and the dial? Do Cliff and Lola ever get home? How was Sue able to sense that her grandfather was in trouble? Also why is he only called the Professor? Does he not have a name? Where did he get the ship? Did he build it? Is he a scientist too like Cliff is?” The questions tumbled out of him in a jumble. He had never seen anything like it before and couldn’t remember being so excited to find out more since the time he read his first Flynn Rider book.

Fred laughed, “So you do like it! Don’t worry there’s more episodes, just that’s the end of that particular serial. The next one is a seven parter though, and you got school tomorrow, remember?" 

Varian did remember and his stomach did a little flip flop at the thought. 

"I tell you what though,” Fred continued, “I’ve always wanted to do a marathon of the whole show in order. If you’re still interested we could maybe meet up sometimes and watch it together?" 

Varian had never had a project that he could do with a friend before, nor someone to share his love of stories with, so the idea appealed to him. Therefore it was agreed; sometime next week they would meet up to watch the next serial and then possibly one day every week after that to watch the rest. 

So the day ended with Fred dropping Varian back off at the dorms and with him organizing his things for his first day of school. His excitement for tomorrow drove  away any more thoughts of comics, tv shows, or fairy tales. Stories were fun, but none compared to the weirdness of his actual life.

[2jiung]

-ˏ͛ aesthetic tagˏ´- 

tagged by @jisusgf (thank you for tagging me baby! <3) tagging @junhee-s @nctyz (you don’t have to if you don’t want to ofc! & if anyone else wants to do this, just say i tagged you !!) rules bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

soft

baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night

dark academia

neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story

edgy

closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks

seventies

colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | diy-ing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding

preppy casual

collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy-lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

cinanamon

gold jewelry | slowdancing in the kitchen with a lover | sun on skin | red-tinted lip balm | lazy mornings | getting lost in foreign cities | scent of bakeries | high-waisted jeans | kissing someone’s neck | writing reminders on your wrist | sleeping in braids to have waves in the morning | growing an herb garden | gentle touches | sketches tucked between pages | flushed cheeks | tandem bikes | floating in a pool | vintage gold hand-mirror | deer grazing | softly singing while doing chores

jaesmintea

oversized everything | painted nails | fairy lights | dozing off in the middle of class | tying hair up into a ponytail | round glasses | laughing so hard you can’t breathe | late night study sessions | tender hand holding | impromptu photoshoots | drowning in moondust | bathing in the light of the sunset | strawberry flavored lollipops | polaroid pictures | eagerly tugging someone down the street | handwritten love letters | smell of coffee | living with reckless abandon | crinkled pages of a journal | replaying the same part in a song over and over

naptimetea

everything black | rewearing your favorite outfit | drawing late into the night | rewatching favorite shows | the bread aisle | minty lip balm | falling asleep anywhere and everywhere | making green tea | useless questions when it’s 2 am | forehead kisses | sleeping in till the afternoon | love of pink | staying up to watch the sunrise | dancing in the bathroom | messy handwriting | pile of sketchbooks | talking for hours about interests | old sentimental stuffed animals | hanging out on the bed and doing nothing | thick fluffy blankets

jeonginks

the thrill of leaning your body way over a balcony’s edge | the suffocating feeling when the strong wind blows down your lungs | tip-toeing barefoot | hair ruffling and cheek pinching | hugging a body pillow at night | facing the sky with closed eyes | the whimsical silence when it’s past midnight and you’re the only person awake | when you can physically feel your eyes soften when you look at someone | dancing alone with only an oversized shirt | when your sweater falls over your thighs as you stand up | humming scary but memorable lullabies | vivid imagination | sitting with a mini skirt and thigh high socks | heated laptop on your lap | cereal at 3 am | gliding your fingers across your thighs | bittersweet melancholy | withdrawn and distant eyes | very tight belts | wanting love but not believing in it | not cruel but not kind

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha

split-dye hair | female rappers | staying up until 6am and sleeping until 1pm | taking notes on an ipad | middle school emo music | mini skirts | late night drives | rain on the ocean | flirting with people when you’re bored | doc martens | eating ramen in the pot | afraid of being looked at | fishnets | getting joy out of making people laugh | small tattoos | crying yourself to sleep | peppermint everything | desperate for freedom | chipped black nail polish

maaneskin

silver jewelry | knowing few words in different languages | loose pants with tight shirts | always different hand writing | drug store perfumes | big cups and mugs | loads of blankets | sweatshirts and hoodies | antique boutiques | dark clothing with colorful socks | having your window open 24/7 | always listening to music | dancing in the bathroom | putting stickers everywhere | cats | dandelions are flowers | can never have too many plants | a lot of lip balm | stacks of notebooks | bear hugs

cho1jisu — jani

speaking so softly you have to repeat yourself | heart shaped everything | fresh flowers in your room | pastel stationery | naming your plants | only double knotting the laces on your right shoe | midi skirts and small tops | random poems scrawled across old receipts and napkins | being late to work because you stopped to pet a cat | loving people from behind the scenes | uneven smiles | curled eyelashes | lots of anklets | making handmade gifts | paint covered jeans | keeping a journal | taking a picture of your mom everywhere you go | pressing flowers | cheek kisses | calling your friends by petnames

mirror-mv 

resting your head on someone’s shoulder | flower-shaped earrings | writing birthday letters for friends | tinted lip balm | shimmery eyeshadow | drawing little flowers on my papers during class | talking to your pets | spending hours walking around in fabric stores | letting your friends sit on your lap when there aren’t enough seats | rewatching childhood movies with your loved ones and reminiscing those times | picnic dates | paint/pencil stains on your hands and arms | sitting outside with your friends during a party and looking up at the nightsky | skipping and dancing around the house | cycling with one hand on the handlebar and the other one holding your friend’s hand

[missyriver]

The Gift (fanfic)

Merry Holiday's Friends:

This is my official first Kdrama fanfic (be kind). I got to play Santa for @eunsjisoo by @kdramanetwork. I'm a huge fan of Fight For My Way and this OTP. Here is a little holiday fluff to enjoy. Follow me her or for more kdrama love @kdramama​

Also tagging some of my favorite Kdrama addicts.  @mel-loves-kdramas @kdramaxoxo @kdramaomo @sirlairla @tea-and-autumn​ @so-jjang​ @florence-bubbles​ 

"I need you," the voice desperate on the line.

"I know what you want and I can't help you," she said slightly distracted. 

"You can't or you won't!?" He demanded.

"Three days before Christmas it's the same thing. This is your problem, you need to figure it out."

"You are the only one that can help me. She is your friend."

"You've known her longer than I have and she is you wife." 

"It our first Christmas together as a couple. Last year I gave her a CD and a bag of chocolate. She threw the CD at me and ate the chocolates. How was I supposed to remember I gave her the same CD for her birthday." He whined.

"That is exactly why I am not helping you. She'll know if I helped and then we will both pay for it. She been extra moody lately and I am not going to get on her bad side."

"Seol-Hee," he drew out her name his voice high.

“Dong-man,” his long time friend mocks in a sing song voice.

“Give me a hint? Has she said she wanted anything? I new rice cooker? A toaster? Coffee Maker?”

“Are you kidding? Do you want Ae-ra to kill you? You said everything you definitely should not give. I’m surprised you didn’t add treadmill,” she sighed over the phone.

“Did she say she wanted a treadmill?” He asked hopeful. He was starting to make good money training at the gym. 

“No!” Seol-hee yells into the phone. “Give her something from the heart and she will like it.”

“That is not helping,” he groans.

“Well it's the best I can offer because I will not, can not help you.”

She hung up the phone and his last chance of easy shopping was lost. Dong-man cursed under his breath and looked around. He has known Ae-ra for most of his life and he has never been able to give her a gift she really wanted. He had no idea how he has been able to convince her to marry him. 

As soon as she agree he rushed them along to get married scared she change her mind. They moved into a her bigger apartment and Seol-hee took over his. He retired from fighting as promised and started coaching. People were coming from all over the country to work with him. Ae-ra announcing career was off to a promising start. The talent he’d always know she had been recognized by others. He always made sure to make video recordings of everyone of her broadcast. 

Dong-man knew he needed to get her something special but no matter how many years he knew his best friend Ae-ra he was still getting use to his wife Ae-ra. They still argued, still teased each other but now fights ended with kisses and teasing leads to the bedroom. 

The store he chose had everything from home goods to cosmetics and not one thing screamed his wife. Frustrated he shoved his hand in his sweatshirt and hunches his shoulders to stomp out of the store. A flash of light stops him. He looks down into the glass counter his heart beats faster. 

For the first time in twenty years he had found the perfect gift and she would not out do him.

Dong-man was the first one to wake up Christmas morning. He looked down at his sleeping wife. Most days she’d be the first one up demanding the first shower in the last few weeks she started sleeping in. Fighting a stomach bug the drained her and messed with her appetite. He made her promise to go to the doctor after the holidays are over if she did not get better. 

He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before crawling out of bed. The dark circles under her eyes worried him and he wanted her to sleep as much as she could. They had plans to meet up with their friends later and a visit to her father this weekend. All in all, it was the perfect way to spend their first holiday together. 

An hour later Ae-ra dragged herself out of bed. Her hair stuck up in different angles. She rubbed a hand over her stomach and grumbled. She sat down at their small table and shoved the plate of eggs and rice away. 

“Just toast, I can’t even look at eggs today,” she mumbled. 

She took small sips of water and small nibbles of toast. 

Dong-man reached out and pressed his hand to her forehead. His body relaxed when she didn’t appear to have a fever. 

“Did you make an appointment for the doctor?” He asked concerned. 

“Already went early this week. I should be fine in a few weeks.”  

He dropped his spoon. “Weeks, he said weeks. Is this a real doctor? Did he give you anything to help you keep food down? Or tell you what’s wrong?”

She shoved toast in her mouth, eyes wide and nodded.

“I’m fine, I promise. What time are Seol-hee and Joo-man coming over?” 

Dong-man scowled at his wife's attempt to change the subject. He was not ready to let go of the idea that she could be sick and there is nothing he can do to help her. His biggest fear is losing her and watching her get sick day after day was driving him crazy.

“After noon I believe. They were going to make a few deliveries around town first. I think they just wanted to give us some private time.”

Dong-man stood from his chair and reached out his hand to her. She took his hand and stepped into his warm embrace. His chin resting on her head. 

“In case I don’t tell you enough, I love you. I am the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side and I will spend my life loving you.” 

She snuggled closer tightened her arms around his waist and sniffled. 

“Why you have to go and make me cry first thing this morning?” 

“Hey, don’t cry Ae-Ra. Come here,” he coaxed her toward the couch. He sat down and pulled her into his lap. She snuggled into him rubbing her nose on his shirt. 

Dong-man smiled, he dragged and hand over her hair. Laying the curls down and calming her emotions. He reached under the pillow and pulled out the small box and placed it on her lap.

“Merry Christmas,” he said with a kiss on her forehead. 

“It better not be another, EXO CD.” She said with a chuckle.

“You like EXO and this is too small to be a CD.” 

“If this is an MP3 player with EXO I will also kick your ass.”

“Again I know you like EXO so stop pretending and just open it.” Dong-man grumbled.

Impatient she tore the brightly colored paper. A small velvet box sat in her hands. She slowly lifted the lid and gasped. 

Inside was a rose gold microphone pendant encrusted with tiny diamonds on a rose gold chain. The microphone was delicate. Ae-Ra started to cry again. 

“Those are good tears right?! I did good? I can go get the new EXO album you’ve been dancing too.” She shakes her head and flingers her arms around him.

“It’s good, it’s very good. I love it.”

“I am so proud of you and just wanted everyone to know.” 

“You are at every one of my announcements and I believe you cheered louder for me then anyone there for the actual fight. No matter how many times you deny it I know you created the Ae-ra fan club on Instagram."

He rolls his eyes and shrugs,  "I will always be your biggest fan."

She kisses him soundly on his lips then each cheek. Before crawling off his lap. He reached up for her trying to pull her back down for more kisses. She dodged his outstretched arms and grabbed a small box out from under their tiny tree. 

"There is no way your going to top my gift this year. You may have reigned supreme for years but I have this one in the bag," he bragged.

She handed him box a smug smile on her face. 

"We will see about that, just open the box."

Dong-man open to box. Under the lid was a black and white blurry picture he couldn't make out. He pulled back the tissue paper. Inside is two little red shoes. A folded white shirt tucked under  the shoes with big bold letters saying "hi daddy." 

He dropped the box and jumped to his feet. His eyes wide, mouth open words trapped in his chest. Tears welled in his eyes and fell to his knees in front of her. He pressed kisses to her stomach while wrapping his arms around her. 

"Seriously!? Really your preg.." he choked on the word. His throat closing up with overwhelming emotions.

"I'm eight weeks and the doctor said the baby and I are fine." She lifted the box up and pulled of the picture he ignored. "Here is the first picture of our baby. No bigger than a blueberry."

"A blueberry," he said in awe. "You win, I can never beat this gift."

"Technically you gave it to me first." She said with a slight smile.

Ae-ra drops down to wrap her arms around him. They are laughing, crying though their sloppy kisses. Dong-man lifts her up into his arms walked back into their room and gently places her on the bed.

"Can we still…?"

"We can definitely still do that." 

Dong-man kick the door shut and spent the rest of the day celebrating the world's best gift and the woman that made it possible.

"You don't think he gave her another CD and she killed him?" Joo-man asked. 

They had been standing at their friends door for almost 20 minutes knocking with no answer. The phone calls sent straight to voicemail. Seol-hee had avoided the newlyweds home unless invited scared she walk in at the wrong time.

"I doubt it, at least I hope so. I am terrible at lying and haven't updated my alibi list since they got married."

"Want to go get something to eat and watch a movie?" Joo-man offered. 

"I pick the movie." She said with a toss of her hair walking down stairs toward the main street.

"Yes, of course, whatever you want."

Joo-man dropped the gifts at the door knocked once more before chasing after her. The small box burning a hole in his pocket. 

[shibereshu]

“and they were in quarantine” [3]

Cao Yuchen // ‘OMG They were quarantined together’ AU

Neither of you talked much on your way to the house. You spent some time at first trying to come up with something to talk about, but then decided he could be the one to speak up. After all, you were the one having the hard time, so you would rather relax and stop worrying about the silence inside the car. He did start some smalltalk, but it died as soon as it started. It was okay, though, because silence didn’t bother either of you that much.

You finally arrived to Yuchen’s house, and, after moving everything to the room you were going to stay in, Yuchen decided to order some food from a restaurant nearby. While he called the restaurant, you walked around the house, getting used to the glossy floors and tall walls and making mental notes about where each bathroom and toilet was. There were way too many rooms for a boy who lived alone, but it was quite funny to realise that every room had a purpose after all: Yuchen slept in one of them, his dog in another one, then there was one were he could exercise, one where he could relax and watch TV, another one for gaming, and then one which was basketball themed, where you would sleep for a few days, Hopefully only one or two.

Yuchen’s dog had greeted you happily right after you entered the house. When you went back to the living room, he was lying down, waiting for someone to scratch his belly. Happily, you kneeled down and played with him. You had a soft spot for dogs as cute as that one, you loved tickling and petting them. You played with the dog for a while, and then Yuchen came back with the food and you sat down to have dinner together. The food was warm, right out of the stove, and you could hear your stomach growling when you saw the steam coming out of it in front of you. It smelled delicious. Yuchen’s stomach growled too, which made you chuckle, he was a real person after all… Usually people would think of famous actors and singers as perfect objects, but they were made from flesh and bones, just like yourself. Even though the house was huge and the car was really expensive, you could tell Yuchen lived like any other person you knew. He bought expensive food for his dog, but he ate regular food from a restaurant that you also liked to visit. His clothes were really nice when he went out, because he had to wear what the companies gave him to promote them, but inside he would wear a regular old sweater and black simple pants. His house was comfortably messy and wet dishes rested beside the sink in the kitchen. It was nice. You thought you would feel out of place, but the truth was, you could see yourself getting used to living in a place like that. I could, but I won’t, because I’m only staying here until I find another place You reminded yourself.

“So, (y/n), can you please explain me in full detail the reason you are here tonight and not wherever you used to live before?” Yuchen blowed on the steamy piece of chicken covered in sauce that he holded with his chopsticks, “I know they kicked you out… but why?”

You told him the full story, trying not to miss any detail, and noticed it was really easy talking to him. He would react when necessary, but he would not laugh at everything, only at what he really found funny. His stare was the one of someone who was really interested in what you were saying. Actually, his stare was the one of someone who was interested in you as a person. The thought of that made your ears turn slightly pink, just because you weren’t used to receiving that kind of attention. He also made fun of you because of your accent and the way you pronounced some words, but you liked to make fun of yourself too, so it was fine. It was really enjoyable overall, and when you had finished your meal, you felt both full and fulfilled at the same time. 

You helped him clean up the table and then he looked for some clean blankets for you to use while you washed up and changed into your pajamas. After that, he took a shower while you poured yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. 

    You were drying up the glass and putting it back when Yuchen came out of his room, wearing a full set of Mickey Mouse pajamas and a face clear of make-up. You let out a giggle at the sigh, and he squinted his eyes with annoyance.

    “Don’t you dare laugh at me. This is my house and I wear what I want to.”

    “Yes, sir.” You answered, while laughing quietly.

    “So, do you want to do something before going to bed? We can watch TV or play some games… I… don’t really know what you like to do…” Yuchen scratched the back of his head and looked around, thinking about any other options he could offer you.

    “Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think it’s for the best if I go to bed now and try to get some sleep.” You couldn’t wait to finally lie down and close your eyes, you were exhausted.

    “Oh… Yeah, sure! You must be tired… You had a crazy day after all hahaha.” He seemed to relax a bit, knowing that you weren’t planning on staying awake any longer, “Then… Goodnight. Bang on my door if you need anything… Will you be okay?”

    “Yeah! Thank you Yuchen… This is more than I could ever ask for…”

    “But… are you sure you are really okay?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Sure?”

    “sUrE? I’m fine Yuchen. Goodnight! See you tomorrow! I wake up pretty early, so don’t worry about being too loud or anything.” Saying that, you walked into the basketball room and waved to him before closing the door. 

    You stood there, your back on the closed door, for a few minutes, overthinking everything that had happened during that day and feeling the weight of the uncertainty on your shoulders. You had no idea what would happen from that moment on, but you were grateful, because you knew you were really really lucky. There were people who had to live on the streets for their whole life, but there you were, in the guest room of a famous actor, living a life only the elite class was used to enjoying. 

    You closed your eyes and let your thoughts drift for a moment before making sure the door was locked and throwing yourself on the bed, where the blankets embraced you and made you feel like you were lying on a cloud. You fell asleep almost immediately, and dreamt about a huge house like that, where a nine year old that looked just like you at that age ran through the open doors, playing with a happy dog that resembled the one you had as a kid.

The next morning, you let out a groan when you felt the sun rays hitting your closed eyelids, creating a show of lights and shadows before your eyes. You had slept more than enough, you knew that because your body felt rested and full of energy. However, you didn’t want to leave the bed, it was so comfortable… But you remembered you would have to sleep on it for at least one more day, so you got up happily and put on a new set of clothes before walking out to the living room.

Humming a popular tune that was all the time on the radio around that time, you washed your face before heading to the kitchen area, where Yuchen was already working on preparing a nutritious breakfast. You stood at the door, looking at the bunch of dishes of multiple different colours and aromas, feeling your mouth begin to water. You would usually just drink a cup of tea or coffee and munch on an excessively burnt toast, since you didn’t have much time before having to leave for work. Yuchen noticed you standing there and greeted you.

“(y/n)! You woke up early… I still haven’t finished this… But it’s almost done. Did you sleep well?” As he said that, he looked up from the pan he was using to grill a pancake and looked at you instead. 

“Yes, thank you, it was really comfortable…” You hugged yourself, already missing the softness of the bed sheets and the firmness of the mattress, “I’ve never slept so well… Yu- Yuchen, the pancake!!” Without noticing, Yuchen had tilted the pan he was using, where the golden pancake was slowly but steadily slipping and already hanging halfway out of it. The boy tried to lift it and aimed to throw the pancake to the air and pick it up again with the pan, just like professional chefs usually do. However, he used too much strength and the pancake flew and landed on top of the fridge, before sliding from there to the floor. Dumbfounded, you both looked at it for a moment before you burst out laughing. Yuchen did too, just a second afterwards.

With tears in his eyes, Yuchen tried to recover his breath, “I… I cook well when I’m concentrated… This… This doesn’t really happen…”

“I was starting to think you were secretly a professional chef, looking at the amount of food on the table, but I guess you are not that cool” You couldn’t stop laughing at the scene, and your belly started to ache because of that.

“I am cool! This was just a slip in my successful career as a Michelin-chef, just you wait.”

After a few more pancakes, all of them successful after that, the breakfast was ready, and you sat down on the table and started enjoying it together. You chit chatted for a bit, and then Yuchen decided to turn on the TV so you could watch the morning news report.

You immediately dropped your chopsticks and asked him to turn the volume up when the reporter announced there are important news about the popular virus.

“...an emergency hospital is being built in the province, and people with minor illnesses and injuries are advised to call their primary care doctor instead of driving to the nearest hospital to prevent big groups of people and overcrowding…”

“Wow… Is this for real?” You looked at the woman stating the facts with a mix of disbelief and fear on your face. Then, the word important appeared on the corner of the screen, in bright bold red capital letters, and the woman stuttered before announcing the following:

“From today on, indefinitely, every citizen must stay inside their homes. This affects every area of the country, and every person. We remind you that it’s for the better, and that going outside could be immensely harmful, for you, your dear ones and also the citizens around you. Only supermarkets and first need stores will be open, workers must stay inside and children will have to take online classes. This is a message from the authorities. Please, take care and follow the instructions provided by the World Health Organization when trying to prevent the spread of the virus. Remember to wash your hands…”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. You couldn't believe what you had just heard. The reporter kept talking about the preventive measures, but you couldn’t hear her words anymore. You saw her mouth moving, but your head suddenly felt extremely dizzy and the room started moving in circles in front of you. You looked at Yuchen, who had a look in his face that you imagined was the same one you yourself were wearing. 

“Are… are we not able to leave this place?” You managed to say, looking at your untouched dish of food while doing so.

“Apparently not…” Yuchen gulped and you looked at each other, realising you would have to live together for the time being, until they announced the quarantine to be over.

Having no idea of what’s going on, Yuchen’s dog ran and rested his head on your lap, asking you to give him a bite of your breakfast. You looked at him and flinched before petting his head. 

Oh my god, little friend… What have I gotten myself into...

[paladin-andric]

The Stranger

It’s about damn time, isn’t it?

Well, enjoy a fantasy western short story I haven’t gotten around to finishing for quite some time. Fair warning that this isn’t a genre I’m experienced in, so take that for what you will. Enjoy, however, wacky hijinks, bad wild west slang, magical cowboys fighting dragons, and an EXTREMELY strong reference to Blackheart! A mysterious stranger arrives to a town on brink of destruction, and promises to turn things around...

“Son of a bitch!”

A loud thud rang out as Red slammed a fist down onto his desk, fury written on his face.

He was an older man with gray hair, wrinkles on his face, and a bushy mustache. He slumped over, holding his temples with one hand while the other flexed in a fist, still held against the wooden surface of the desk.

Red wore a gray sleeveless vest, a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black pants. Topping off his ensemble was of course, his all-important badge. A silver, six pointed star with the word “SHERIFF” engraved with bold letters.

Another man was standing next to him. The accomplice had a slightly less tan complexion, and a goatee and mustache. He had a green jacket that was open down the middle, showing a tan shirt underneath. He also wore a white hat, and had a badge pinned to his jacket. It being a plain, five pointed star denoted that he was a standard officer.

“Sir, I know this is crazy but-”

“Crazy?! Crazy, boy?! This isn’t crazy…” the sheriff shook his head sadly. “This is a disaster!”

The lawman put his hands on his hips and looked down. “Shoot…don’t give up yet, sheriff. There’s a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance,” Red answered harshly, “I want to WIN! I want those damn leeches dead! I want those people SAFE! And now you say we got a damn monster to wrangle too?!”

“Everything bleeds,” the other man offered.

“Yeah...and we’ll be bleedin’ all over the ground soon enough!”

“Look, we gotta run NOW.”

Red sighed and took out his revolver, quietly spinning the cylinder, checking each chamber was loaded. The officer had never seen him like this before. He was normally so stoic, unflinching...of course, he could hardly blame him with he was burdened with, but still.

“Let’s go. Whatever happens, we gotta try to protect these folks.”

Red grimaced. “Better start prayin’ to God if you believe in him, boy...maybe he’ll help us out.”

“Maybe I can help you out, too.”

The unfamiliar voice made Red’s face shoot up.

In the doorway, quite a surprising figure stood sideways, leaning against the doorframe with a taloned foot resting against the frame as well. His head was turned to the side as to look straight at the pair of men.

A koutu, one of the birdfolk of the west was standing in the doorway. His feathers were white on his head and brown everywhere else. He wore a brown duster, sleeveless of course as to not interfere with his wings, with a red kerchief tied around his neck. Underneath was a brown button-up shirt, and he wore short pants as well. As they stopped at his raptor legs, Red assumed they were just for modesty’s sake.

He had a pistol holster at his side, pouches along his belt, and some sort of bag slung over his back. Finally, he had a brown hat with a wide brim atop him, looking like it was shaped custom-made for his avian head.

He looked at the pair with a confident though serious gaze, not a smile or smirk to be found. Red immediately jumped out of his seat, revolver firmly in his hand. The officer in the white hat held onto his holster.

“What the hell?!” The sheriff yelled out. The bird only reached up and tipped his hat.

“Howdy.”

“Who the hell are you?!” Red shouted, authoritative and snarling. If the bird had eyebrows, he would have been raising them.

“Nobody important, sir. Jus’ passin’ through.”

Red’s aggression quickly simmered, though he groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. A wanderer, huh?”

“If you’d like. I prefer the term ‘wayfarer’ myself, sir.”

The officer in the white hat shrugged. “Sorry for the attitude, mister. Sheriff’s got a lot on his plate, you hear?”

“I hear ya.”

“Whaddya doin’ in my office, stranger?” Red demanded. The koutu looked to the side.

“Couldn’t help but overhear ya while I was passin’ by, you two. Sounds like you’re in a real fix. I’d like to help you fellas out, if I could.”

“And jus’ howdya think yer gonna help us? Kill all the bandits yerself? Or maybe you’d like to kill the goddamned dragon!”

“Well, not by myself. But I can pitch in.”

“Mighty kind offer,” the officer said with a nod, “We need all the help we can get.”

“Ain’t gonna do a thing,” Red said bitterly, “We’re all gonna get blasted to high heaven.”

“I’m worth my weight in bullets.”

“Oh yeah? You think yer some kind of hero? Think you can tumble with those beasties out there?” the sheriff said with a sneer.

For the first time since he appeared, the bird smirked.  “You’d be surprised…”

The sheriff shook his head and put his revolver in its holster. “It’s your funeral, stranger. Follow us.”

The koutu got off the doorframer and stepped to the side. “After you, gentlemen.”

The group of lawmen left the sheriff’s office with the koutu in tow. The bird was silent for some time until they began to make their way out of Pike’s Creek.

“So what’re you thinkin’? What’s yer strategy here?”

“Not a damn clue,” the sheriff admitted.

“We, uhh...we ain’t never had to deal with dragons before,” the officer said quietly, “Though we were thinkin’ maybe dynamite might blast that sucker out of his britches.”

“Dynamite?” the koutu said, voice dripping with skepticism.

“What’s the issue?” the officer shot back.

“Pah! Big lizard’ll just fly up! You’d better have the throwing arm of a god if you wanna reach em’ with those!”

“You got a better idea?!” the sheriff snapped.

The bird hesitated. “Actually...yeah.”

“And just what’s that?”

The koutu hurried up beside them and pulled out his revolver. It was large, long and looked heavy as hell.

“I’m gonna plug em’ full of holes.”

The sheriff scoffed. The officer gave the bird a funny look. “You sure that’s a good idea, mister?” “You’ll see,” the koutu offered.

“Yer crazy!” Red shouted, “Yer as good as dead if you think you can just up n’ shoot that beastie!”

“You’ll see,” he repeated. The sheriff shook his head again.

“God, why do I always get the loony ones?”

“Uh, hey,” the officer interrupted, “I’m sure you’re a good shot and all, and that’s one hell of a big iron, but this ain’t no outlaw.”

“Oh, I know. This ain’t the first dragon I’ve tangled with.”

The officer looked genuinely surprised at that. “No kidding?! Well shoot, maybe you really can get us outta this, then…”

“You’ve fought one of these things before?!” Red questioned, his anger seeming to melt at the realization.

The bird nodded. “Yup. She was a biggun, lemme tell ya. ‘Course I had help during that scuffle.”

“How’d ya do it?” the officer asked.

“Well, me n’ a few other gunslingers rounded up a posse. Ganged up on ‘er. We had all sortsa big guns on our side so it wasn’t too bad. Speakin’ of...am I gettin’ any help from you or the rest of your folks?”

“We’re uh, a little busy, what with the gang comin’ to town n’ all.” the officer answered with a frown.

“Ah...well, what about you two?”

“We’ll pitch in...as long as we can,” the sheriff answered grimly.

“Appreciate it. You don’t have to go too crazy out there. Keep your distance. Just make sure to pop off a few rounds whenever I’m in a fix, ya hear?”

“Well shoot, don’t wanna leave you doing all the work out there,” the officer announced, “Shouldn’t be the rear guard, now!”

“You know any fancy spells?” the koutu questioned.

“Naw, not a soul ‘round these parts.”

“Then don’t push yourself. Just trust me. I should be fine.”

“If you say so…”

The harsh, unforgiving rays of the sun were starting to make all three of them sweat and sigh, and they hadn’t even started exerting themselves yet! They reached the outer limits of town, the lines of wooden buildings coming to an end as they began their march to the river outside.

“Say, I didn’t catch your names,” the bird said, turning his head to the pair.

The officer in the white hat spared him a glace. “Ah. Well, the name’s Michaels. Officer Michaels.” He pointed a thumb over to the sheriff. “Aaand that there’s Red. Sheriff, sure as you could tell.”

“I see. A pleasure to meet you folks.”

There was a long pause as the three walked. Finally, Michaels turned to look at the koutu again.

“...so?”

The bird shot him a look back. “So...it’s nice to be acquainted.”

“But we ain’t.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You haven’t introduced yourself.”

The koutu shrugged. “I haven’t.”

Michaels frowned. “Y’know, it’s mighty rude not to introduce yerself after everyone else has.”

As they talked, the group neared the edge of a cliffside. Near where they were there was a massive arch of stone hanging over one side of the cliff to the other, almost like a miniature tunnel. There was also a large drop below, and on the other side the ground came back to the same level. A gorge. A gorge with a large river flowing through it.

A gorge where a dragon was currently sitting.

The beast wasn’t too large, likely a young adult. It had red scales, a firebreather. He was currently lying in the river, head resting against the rocky grounds while his body was partially submerged. Was he washing up? Stopping to drink? Just taking a dip?

The koutu didn’t know, but he did know one thing; his target was waiting.

“Tell ya what,” he spoke in a whisper, “If I live through this, I’ll tell ya my name. How’s that?”

“Oh, fer-”

“Yeah yeah,” he interrupted the sheriff, “You two, take some cover,” he pointed at a large boulder beside them, “I’m goin’ in.”

“You nut!” Red whispered back, “He’ll charr ya to smithereens!”

“Just back me up n’ we should all be headin’ back soon,” the koutu assured him.

“Well...shoot, alright,” Michaels muttered, “But I still got the dynamite.”

“Get it ready, you won’t have a chance once he’s in the air.” The koutu took a deep breath. “...here we go. Best a’ luck to ya, officers.”

The koutu spread his wings out and leapt over the cliffside, soaring out into the gorge. The sheriff and lawman quickly crouched behind the boulder, guns drawn.

The bird landed on a flat strip of rock about halfway down the gorge, still without his weapons drawn. “Howdy, mister!” The red dragon’s eyes snapped open, his body unmoving as his gaze focused on the gunslinger.

“You dare rouse me from my rest?” the great beast spoke in a melodious, yet mighty voice, “Who are you that is so foolish to anger me?”

“Oh, ‘scuse me mister, but I’ve heard some nasty things...like that yer’ about to burn that little town down yonder to ash?”

“Indeed I am,” the dragon retorted, “My domain is mine to play with. Your point?”

“Ah. That’s a damn shame, ‘cause I take offense to that, sir.”

“Oh?” the dragon rose, his head quickly moving to rise on par with the koutu’s ground. “And just what are you planning on doing about this, you who are so small and weak?”

“Well for starters, Plan A is askin’ ya nicely to reconsider.”

The dragon let out a booming laugh. “Gahahahaha! Pathetic! No, you will not be asking anything of me. This withering husk of life will be purified by my most sacred flames. I shall not be persuaded.”

The koutu shrugged. “Worth a shot. Looks like I’ll just have to stop you myself then.”

The dragon’s grin grew manic. “I would like to see you try. Go on. Raise your arm to strike. I will cut you down in a moment.”

The bird smirked before letting out a sharp whistle. The dragon looked confused for a moment before realization hit him...in the form of a stick of dynamite.

Hurled from over the cliffside, it smacked into the dragon’s head before exploding in a spectacular fashion.

“Damn perfect throw, officer!” the koutu yelled before reeling back and letting a bolt of magic loose. The glowing blue spear flew forward, piercing the beast that still reeled from the explosion.

Michaels’ eyes went wide. “He’s a sorcerer!” he cried out to the sheriff, “No wonder he was so damn cocky!”

“Shit,” Red mumbled, “Maybe I was wrong about all this.”

The beast roared out in fury, eyes burning as they honed in on the now flying koutu.

“YOU WILL BURN AWAY FOR THIS, FOOLISH MORTAL!”

Mood Music

“Yer’ outgunned, friend!” the koutu shot back, whirling to the side as a plume of flames erupted from the dragon’s maw. Using his momentum, the stranger spun around mid-flight and took out his revolver, fanning the hammer and emptying all six shots into the beast.

The two humans noted a strange blue tinge of air that enveloped the bullets as they flew through the air, becoming plumes of magic that dissipated around the scales where the bullets landed.

“Enchanted bullets too!” Michaels shouted, “We can do this, sir!”

Red’s eyes narrowed. “Cover him!” the Sheriff began firing off rounds from his revolver at the dragon, while Michaels did the same.

Shell casings hit the ground alongside the stranger, who quickly reloaded his revolver as the dragon snarled, coming to a sudden pause. The beast felt the bullets from the pair up above hit him in the back.

The dragon whirled around, letting out a roar and glaring at the sheriff and white hat…

But before he could go after them, the koutu held up a taloned hand, before bringing it down. A bolt of divine lightning descended from the sky, striking the beast and making it cry out in pain.

Huffing, the dragon slowly turned his head to see the stranger, hand glowing and pulsing with magic as his other hand held his revolver aimed at the behemoth.

There was a moment of silence as everyone took in what just happened.

“Y-you…” the beast spoke softly, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m right here, huckleberry!” the koutu shouted, firing off another round and striking the beast’s head.

The red dragon let out another roar, recovering from the blast before flying out towards the koutu, who leapt off the cliffside he stood on and began flying along the gorge.

The two humans’ eyes were wide as dinner plates. Michaels looked over to Red.

“Well shoot, sir! He ain’t no sorcerer...he’s a goddamn paladin!”

The sheriff shook his head. “Crazy bastard...no wonder! Well it’s about damn time we got some proper help around here!”

Michaels frowned. “This shooter ain’t doin’ it. I need more kick.” the lawman tucked his pistol away and reached for the rifle on his back. Unslinging the lever-action repeater into his hands, the officer closed an eye and took careful aim.

A steady barrage of gunshots rang out as Michaels started firing and cocking the lever of the repeater, while Red kept firing his revolver.

The dragon, furious by this point, ignored the pain of the volleys of bullets hitting his back and went flying after the koutu, eyes near slits.

With another roar, the dragon let forth a jet of flames from his maw, the koutu whirling to the side as the fire flew past where he had been just a moment ago.

The sudden spike in temperature made the paladin wince. “Hoo! That’s hot!”

“You will wish that was as hot is it gets when I am through with you, bird!” the dragon barked back, spinning through the air himself as he moved to the stranger’s side.

The speed and agility of the dragon caught the koutu by surprise. Just a moment ago he seemed so clumsy and lumbering, but the dragons were the rulers of the sky…

With a crack of his tail, the koutu was slammed into with murderous force, sent rocketing to the cliffside and slamming into it. He hit the rocks so hard he left a small crater...but the paladin groaned, and grabbed at the sides of the man-sized crater.

He had thrown up a ward at the exact moment the dragon’s tail shifted. If he had been just a fraction of a second slower…

“Holy land of God, he’s alive!” Red cried, both of the humans staring slack-jawed as the bird pulled himself forward and onto the ground. Even the dragon seemed to reel back from the koutu’s survival, unintentionally showing his own fear.

“B-but you...I…”

The stranger snarled at the dragon, hand already pulsing with magical energy.

“I’m gonna put you in a world of hurt, amigo.”

The bird reeled back and the magic changed, blue lights shifting into the likeness of a javelin. He heaved the javelin forward and let it go with all his might, magical weapon flying through the air and straight into the dragon's chest.

The beast roared and snarled as the holy javelin pierced him, quickly fading away into nothing. The stranger followed up with another bolt of lightning, and then began firing off shots as he leapt back into the air and began flying back towards the humans.

“Graaaaah...it is nothing! Your fortune cannot last! I WILL BURY YOU!”

 The koutu huffed as he twirled through the air, occasionally popping off shots at the dragon. They only cause minor injury, but they were certainly starting to pile up. The beast was grunting and growling with each movement, wincing as he adjusted his wings and moved his body.

All that punishment had certainly hurt him, only...there was quite a ways to go.

Narrowly avoiding a claw swipe then diving straight down to avoid a gust of flames, the paladin knew the dragon was right; his luck would run out eventually. If he just kept trying to whittle him down…

Have to think of something quick. Those humans, there has to be something they can do...

His eyes darted to the massive stone tunnel. It was enormous, enormous enough to fit even the dragon currently on his tail.

Wait...that’s it!

The koutu focused for a moment, eyes narrowing as he honed in on the white hat’s mind…

Hey, Michaels! You still got some dynamite?!

He could hear the bewildered response in his own mind. W-what?! What the hell?!

Yeah yeah, I’m talkin’ to your mind, I can do that! Now tell me, ya got that dynamite?

Wha-yeah, yeah I do! The hell you askin’ for, mister?!

I’ve got a plan, the birdman announced, I need some heavy explosives. How much you got?

There was a pause. W-well, I uhh...look, don’t tell Red about this, but I brought a couple crates. Hid em’ here ‘cause I thought we’d need em’. Right by that tree behind us. You plannin’ somethin’ big?

VERY big. That big ol’ archway, put those crates by the supports. You follow?

Michaels’ voice was ecstatic now. Ho boy, do I! On it!

The koutu continued evading the dragon and darting from left to right, dodging swings and fire breath all the while.

“FILTH!” the dragon roared, “YOU ARE FINISHED!”

“We’ll see about that!” the koutu hollered back, twirling through the air as he picked up more and more speed.

In the far distance, he could make out the two humans hurrying down a less steep incline to the bottom of the ravine, carrying a massive crate between the pair of them.

He kept up the pace. His initial skirmish with the dragon had caused them to fly pretty far from their initial starting point. Behind him, the dragon breathed fire and shouted further threats.

The two lawmen reached the stone arches and quickly got to work, burying bundles of dynamite along the foundations of the stone.

The gunslinger looked over his shoulder just in time to see the dragon breathe a plume of fire at him, diving and whirling to the right just in time. He could feel the scorching heat of the flames as they flew straight past him.

Further along, the humans seemed to be wrapping up their job, with dynamite scattered all throughout the bottom of the archway.

Alright, the white hat called to his mind, What’s our next move?

On my signal, light the fuse and run like hell…

The koutu dove lower, increasing his velocity as he dropped from the sky to only just flying above the river. The dragon remained in pursuit as they approached the stone archway…

Now that he was closer, he could see the pair shouting at each other, waving their hands wildly.

There was little doubt in the koutu’s head that they were arguing over the plan. Red likely started yelling about how crazy it was after Michaels told him.

“Come on...don’t let me down now…” the paladin muttered as he flew closer, the water underneath him nearly touching him as he struggled to keep his momentum.

Continuing to rocket forward with the dragon hot on his tail, he narrowed his eyes, judging the distance between himself and the others, along with the speed he was moving. If he just made it a little closer…

NOW! He shouted in his head, sending the order to the lawman.

In a moment, he saw the pair of humans bolt up the path they came running down, with lit fuses on the piles of dynamite signaling the impending explosion…

The koutu noticed a shift in the winds behind him. He turned and saw, much to his shock, the dragon slowing down, a noticeable amount of concern written on the creature’s face.

It knew what he was trying to do.

“What’s the matter, scared?!” the bird called back, “You yellow-bellied coward!”

As he turned his attention back in front of him, he noticed the sound of wildly flapping wings and deep snarl. It was now doubling its efforts to catch him.

Perhaps it was arrogance. Perhaps it was blind fury. Perhaps the dragon simply thought it could catch him before they reached the craggy rocks up ahead. Either way, it was now gaining on him, trying desperately to get him.

The gunslinger could feel his heart pounding against his chest now. He was in between a furious, rampaging dragon and a pile of lit dynamite that could blast him to pieces...and both were closing in on him.

As he reached the arches, he could practically feel the dragon on his back...and below him, he could see the lit dynamite’s fuse was entirely gone.

The koutu winced, praying to God for just a second’s more time-

A deafening explosion signalled the end to his plan. Dipping through the archway and emerging out the other side, the stranger barely had enough time to think as the earth shook, more explosions triggered as they caught more dynamite in each blast, and the dragon behind him let out a howling roar of agony.

The koutu turned and saw a whole ton of solid rock collapsing, the unique natural landmark crashing down onto the distracted and pain-wracked dragon. The beast collapsed into the river, covered in rubble.

The two humans, having looped around along the top of the cliffside, slid down into the gorge. The koutu, meanwhile, landed on the ground beside the carnage.

Michaels let out a loud cheer, keeping a hand on his hat as he slid down to the koutu. “Hoo-wee! You did it! I can’t believe you did it! That was a helluva stunt there, partner!”

Red reached the bottom after him, shaking his head. “Goddamn. I thought you were roast turkey, friend.”

The stranger shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

Before either of them could answer, another voice made itself known.

The low, pained cry of a dragon.

The trio turned to look at the beast. It lay half-buried in the rubble of the stone that once stood tall above the river. Only the front half of the dragon was visible through the ruins. With claws outstretched towards the group, and an expression of suffering written on its face which was half submerged in the river, there was no doubting this creature was badly hurt, if not close to death.

“A-aaahhh...o-oh, my…”

Micheals quickly took his revolver out of his holster and took aim. “Ain’t so tough now, are ya, partner?”

Red followed suit, walking up and aiming his revolver at the eyes of the beast. “What’s that I heard about scorching my town?”

The dragon let out a groan. “No...not yet...not like this…”

The koutu put his hands on his hips and gave the beast a serious look. “It’s over, amigo. Yer finished.”

The dragon’s eyes widened in horror. “It cannot be...no...NO! You must not!”

The paladin shook his head. “Gimme one good reason.”

The beast, to his surprise, remained silent. The koutu raised a brow.

“No promises of riches? No artifacts? No blusterin’ threats?”

“I...I have no hoard, no fortune. I have nothing. Nothing of my own, and nothing to give, a-and…” the beast’s eyes grew hazy and distant. “F-feels...cold…”

The koutu’s eyes shot open as he realized it. This beast was dying.

The explosions had done more damage than he had thought, and with all the rubble he couldn’t even check.

The humans behind him coldly stared at the monster in silence, guns still aimed at him. They seemed to believe this might have been a trick.

The paladin turned back to the dragon, a promising, yet risky and optimistic idea in his mind.

“I can save ya.”

“What?!”

That word had been uttered by both the dragon and the humans.

“Yeah. If you want.”

“The hell are ya doin’?!” Red demanded, glaring at the birdman.

“Y-you would...do that?” the red dragon asked. Both surprise and hope were apparent in his desperate speech.

“Suuure...but this is conditional, ya hear? You gotta make me a promise.”

“Anything!” the beast cried. Apparently once his delusions of invincibility were shattered, this dragon realized just how much life he had left to live, and was willing to do what other dragons might not to preserve it.

The koutu crouched down next to the dragon and stared straight into its large, reptilian eye. “In exchange for your life, I want you to do a complete 180, ya hear?”

The beast stared back at him, but his eye was unfocused and clouded. “What...do you mean?”

“From here on out, this ‘domain’ is not yours to ‘play with’...but to protect.”

A sharp hiss rang out as the dragon attempted to move its body among the rubble. “Y-you mean…”

“That’s right. You keep an eye out on this town. You come runnin’ when they holler for yer help. You help out the law with criminals on the run, keep the town safe. Hell, maybe you should help em’ out with gatherin’ and huntin’ too!”

Michaels sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Look, that’s a mighty nice thing you’re tryin’ to do here pal, but I don’t think he’ll-”

“Yes...I will do it...”

The lawman tilted his head. “Wha-”

The koutu smirked, craning his neck towards the dragon. “What was that, mister? I didn’t quite hear that...”

“I agree!” the red beast said hurriedly.

“Swear on it.”

“I swear on my life, my honor, and all I hold most dear!” the dragon cried, “Please...my vision grows dark…”

The koutu grimaced. “This is gonna take a lot outta me, partner. You PROMISE yer gonna keep up yer end of the bargain?”

The beast began to twitch. “P-please...I beseech thee…”

Realizing he had to do this right now if he wanted the dragon to live, the paladin kneeled beside the beast and placed his hands upon the larger creature.

Closing his eyes, the paladin willed all the energy within his body to move into the dragon, muttering quietly in prayer as the divine aided him.

The two humans viewed this scene with a healthy amount of skepticism, backing up and keeping their weapons at the ready.

“Lord, this is crazy,” Red muttered.

“Who knows?” Michaels said with a shrug, “Maybe it’ll work.”

After over a minute of praying and utilizing his holy magic, the paladin at last stopped, his body spent from the taxing effort of healing this great beast.

He rose to his feet, wobbling for a moment before going for a pack on his belt. He took out a sleepskip potion and quickly began to guzzle it down.

The dragon, in the meantime, began to blink. Its head rose and it looked around the area with a vested interest.

The koutu sighed as he screwed the top back onto the potion and stuffed it back into his pouch. “What are ya starin’ at, partner?”

“Hmm...my vision has returned, in perfect clarity.”

“Good! So...feel better?”

“...I feel perfect.”

The dragon followed this up with a surge upwards, bursting out of the rubble with seemingly no effort. He flapped his wings and rose above the debris and ruin, circling around and landing in the gorge beside the koutu.

With the huge beast staring down at him with an unreadable expression, the paladin worried he might have simply just gotten tricked. He tensed up, ready to act, when the dragon spoke.

“You saved my life. For what reason, I am unsure. You have no reason to trust me. I am a threat. I am your enemy...and yet, you showed me kindness anyway.”

The koutu shrugged, a false grin plastered on his beak. “Figured I could take you if you turned out to be lying.”

“...you are a poor liar. But it is obvious that is not your trade. No, you follow the old ways. Those tenets of honor and chivalry, a sacred warrior code forged in the crucible of your precious church.”

The koutu let out a laugh. “Aww, what gave it away?”

“At any rate...I am in your debt, and as such, I will uphold our bargain. For this second chance, I, Astronomus, hereby proclaim myself as the Guardian of Pike’s Creek, home to those venerable warriors that showed me mercy when I needed it most.”

The koutu nodded. “That’s good to hear...cause we’ve got yer first mission ready, friend.”

Astronomus seemed genuinely surprised. “Already? Did you offer me this deal because you had a use for me to begin with?”

“Dead on.”

Astronomus’ eyes narrowed. “Very clever...very well, what is it?”

…

Gunshots rang out all around the town as the bandits continued their advance. Each time they attacked, the town posse was pushed back. Each time the citizens attempted a counter attack, they lost people. They now settled for giving ground rather than risking more lives.

Deputy Harry loaded yet another six rounds into his revolver, sitting behind a fence as cover. He had lost his rifle when the bandits blasted his cover with dynamite further up the street. Like all the other lawmen, he had a hat, vest, and a shiny badge identifying him.

A few others were spread out along the street, hiding behind various bits of cover as both they and the bandits popped off shots at each other.

Things were getting desperate now. A few of the men that joined up to fight had run out of ammo, and were sent back to the sheriff’s to get more. A couple had been killed, and two had been shot.

Harry grimaced as he shot a bandit and watched him go down. There were too many. Things were getting desperate…

A man rounded the corner and tackled him, sending both of them to the ground. Just as the bandit rose to a kneeling position and aimed his gun at the deputy, a loud bang made him freeze.

The man collapsed on top of the deputy, who quickly threw him aside and looked out to the road.

A woman in a simple dress, holding a rifle, nodded at him. This was Alice, the local cook’s daughter.

Things were bad, and they needed every hand they had…

“Thanks!” Harry called out as he got back up and pressed himself up against the fence. He steadied his balance, taking a deep breath and reading himself for the next attack…

With a bellowing cry, the entire group of bandits charged forward, aiming to overwhelm the defenders in a blind rush. Crowds of men stormed down the street, closing the distance with exceptional speed.

It took a moment for it to sink into Harry’s head: No matter how much they shot, they wouldn’t take enough of them down before they were overrun.

Gritting his teeth, Harry cried out. “Everyone, fall back! I’ll cover you!”

He only fired two shots before an earth-shaking roar made everyone taking part in the battle freeze.

That roar came from behind him, and after the scare this morning, that could only mean one thing…

Slowly, he turned and looked up, and within the sky, the source of his fears approached. A massive beast of red scales and sharp eyes, wings blocking out the sun with their sheer size, and an imposing visage of a legendary creature.

The dragon had arrived.

Harry let his shoulders slump and his head lower. It had kept its promise; it was here to burn Pike’s Creek to cinders and kill everyone inside.

The town’s done for...but maybe I can get a few folks out…

Steeling himself, Harry took a few sharp breaths and held his revolver in a vice-grip, hands shaking.

Before he could even call out for everyone to follow him, a bewildering sight caught the breath in his throat.

A birdman in gunslinger garb stood up on top of the dragon and leapt into the air, doing a backflip before catching the wind and flying forward towards the group. 

The dragon passed the town posse and stopped in front of the charging bandits, giving them only a moment to scream before he let out a plume of flames from his maw.

The jet of fire poured down onto the crowd of bandits, charring them to bits in a mere second. There was some comfort in the lack of screams; at least the usually agonizing way to die was quick with dragonfire.

The dragon then landed among the buildings along the main town road, only having barely enough room to do so. In a moment that only furthered his shock, Harry watched Sheriff Red and Officer Michaels slide down the beast’s back and onto the ground.

“What in the goddamn…?”

“Heya, deputy!” Michaels shouted cheerfully, a lever-action rifle resting on his shoulder.

“The hell is goin’ on?!” Harry shouted, confused.

“We made a new friend,” Red explained, pointing a thumb over his back, “Not this one, another one who talked him into...helping out.”

“Helping out…?” “This fella’s turned his way around, ain’t that right, pal?!” Michaels called out, turning around.

The dragon frowned and lowered his head. “Indeed. I am Astronomus, and I am here to aid you. In exchange for mercy at the hands of these victors, I have sworn to become the Guardian of Pike’s Creek. I will drive these rabble out.

Michaels pointed at the building beside them. “Err, hey, Astronomus…”

The tavern had been hit by the flames as well, part of the wall currently covered in flames that licked at the chipping paint along the welcome sign.

The dragon performed what Harry could only imagine was an embarrassed grin before flapping his wing at it, the whipping winds snuffing out the flames.

The deputy watched as the koutu in the distance twirled through the air and fired a few shots at what he presumed were fleeing bandits.

“Who wants some lead in they ear?!” the bird cried out faintly, “Step on up!”

Harry took off his hat and gave Red an exasperated look. “You got some weird help around here, sheriff.”

…

“...and that’s it.”

Red gave the bird a grin. The pair were overlooking Pike’s Creek from a hill on the northern side of town. The sun was beginning to set, the sky bathing the town in a vibrant hue of orange.

After the fight concluded, folks had began to clean up. The dragon was busy helping out and adjusting to its new role as protector rather than destroyer. With everyone else busy, Red decided to humor the stranger’s request to see him off.

“So all your affairs are settled,” the koutu noted.

“That’s right, and it’s all thanks to you, stranger.”

“Eh, I lucked out. If my gamble with the dragon backfired…”

“It didn’t, and that’s all I care about. You saved our bacon out there.”

The koutu shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

The sheriff turned his attention from the sunset to the stranger. “So, if you don’t mind me asking...who in the hell are you, son? You did some amazing things out there, with that there holy magic.”

“Perhaps this ain’t the sorta thing to admit to a man of the law, but...I’m a vigilante out for blood.”

The sheer, stark honestly of that statement made the sheriff’s eyes go wide. “Eh?”

The koutu nodded. “It’s true.”

The dragon said he’s a terrible liar…

Red cleared his throat. “Well, then...what in the blazes are you doing?”

The koutu gazed into the setting sun, expression turning sullen. “It goes back a long way. See, back in my hometown, there was this...bully. He liked to torment us other kids, got a real kick out of it.”

Red seemed skeptical. “Okay…”

The koutu’s eyes narrowed. “But then he beat my little brother with a rock.”

“Ah, blazes…”

“I beat the stuffing out of em’,” the koutu admitted, “I beat him so bad he threw up and couldn’t move til’ a grown up found him some time later.”

“So that’s gotta do with yer’ blood feud?”

“Yeah. You see...that kid...he didn’t make it.”

“Holy hell…”

The stranger shook his head. “My little brother nearly didn’t, either. If I hadn’t stopped him…”

“I understand,” Red said quietly, “I get it. It’s fucked up, but I get it.”

The koutu slowly nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the pair before the koutu gathered himself and continued.

“Well, his paw didn’t like that very much. Came to my house and stabbed MY paw. Thankfully some fine folks were walkin’ by and saw the whole thing. Paw pulled through, he skipped town when he realized he was gonna be thrown in jail, and life moved on.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Joined the church, they realized I had a knack for the whole magic thing, so I joined up with the clerics. Ascended to paladin not too long ago.”

“Impressive,” Red said with a nod.

“Well, I tried to move on. You do things you don’t mean sometimes, you know? I wish things had turned out differently, but all you can do is try to make up for it, go onto a better path. Ya know?”

Red nodded. “I gotcha...but you don’t seem at all like a man out fer blood.”

“I wouldn’t be normally, but something happened recently. Came home and found my brother out like a light on the floor. The folks were out of town...and my sis was missing. On her bed, I found a note taunting me, about how vengeance was finally his...and it was signed with that man’s initials.”

The sheriff reeled from the information. “He came back after all those years to hurt ya?”

The bird nodded, eyes locked on the ground. “Guess he was planning to settle the score while everyone else was tryin’ to forget…”

“My God…”

“Well, I started tracking him, he left a pretty obvious trail on the way out. I started out on the roads, and began to notice that I thought I had a pretty good idea where he was going. I came to Geralthin, was passing through here, and, well...here I am.”

“You gotta rescue yer sis, and you wasted all this time helping a couple of fools out?!”

“It’s what I do,” the koutu said, more quietly than the first time.

“Aw, hell, pal...you didn’t need to do this. You’ve got more important stuff to worry about.”

“I told you already, I’m not a man to leave others out in the dark. I know what it feels like to be helpless, to lose what you care about. I ain’t about to watch that happen to Lord knows how many folks.

“...you’re a good man. I apologize for the tongue lashin’ back when we met.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the koutu assured, “All water under the bridge. Now I’ve gotta get goin’, but first…”

The gunslinger reached into the pouches on his belt and began to rummage through.

“I’d like ya to have this.”

The bird pulled out a large rock, decorated with strange runes, the indents along the design were glowing a dim blue. He held it out to the sheriff.

“A...a rock?” Red questioned, taking it and inspecting the surface.

“Wrong. An anchor, partner. The second half to this.”

The bird pulled out another rock with similar designs and a blue glow, but this one was much smaller, and shaped to be easily held in a fist, unlike the large, disklike stone he had offered.

“Anchor? You mean that fancy magic that holds stuff?”

“Not exactly. This is the anchor half of a spell, not the anchor spell itself. That’s part of the teleportation ritual. Ya see, that’s what teleports, and this here rock in my hand tells it what to teleport.”

“You mean…”

The koutu grinned. “Yup! You just put that rock on the ground and say the magic word, and I’ll be alerted from my half of it. I should come runnin’ unless I’m doin’ somethin’ REAL important.”

Red was in disbelief. “Y-ya mean you’ll help us out of ANOTHER fix?!”

“If it comes to it, yeah. I’m really startin’ to like you fellas, and yer fine little town. If you need help, or if you just wanna see me, by all means, call me over!”

“Aw hell, you’re really somethin’, ya know that mister?”

The koutu answered by quickly wrapping his wings around the man in a hug. The human was shocked by the sudden display of affection, unsure how to respond.

“Resolve,” the bird whispered, beak beside his ear.

“Eh...what?”

The paladin pulled back and winked. “The magic word. Just call it out when you want to and the magic in that stone’ll spring to life.

“Oh! I gotcha. Jeez...you caught me off guard, there.”

“You know how it is,” the koutu admitted, “Dunno when I’ll see ya next, so might as well put my cards on the table. I think you folks are swell, and I hope the best fer ya all!”

“You too, mister!”

The koutu stretched his arms. “Eyup...well, I really should be going, now. Baddies are awaitin’!”

As he took a step forward, Red held an arm out. “Wait a second!”

The koutu stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”

“You never told me, stranger!”

The bird raised a brow. “Told ya what now?”

“You said if you lived you’d tell me yer name!”

The koutu’s eyes lit up. “Ah, right! Well...call me...Razorwing!”

Red blinked. “Yer...Razorwing?”

“That’s right! Now...see ya around, sheriff!”

The stranger leapt into the air and unfurled his wings, catching the wind and soaring off into the sky. In his wake, he left a conflicted and confused sheriff.

…

“Yeah, it’s right here.”

Michaels led Red further into the library. When the sheriff told the lawman what the bird had told him, Michaels got a funny look in his eye.

He claimed he knew something about “Razorwing”.

Now Red watched as Michaels pulled a book off of the shelves, holding it up to the sheriff’s face.

Two things really caught the man’s attention. Firstly, the picture.

The cover had a lovingly crafted illustration of a koutu with a striking white head and a brown body. He wore flowing, white robes with a short, vibrant red cape and had a quiver on his hip. In his hands he held a longbow, aiming it up and striking a heroic pose worthy of a statue.

The second was the title of the book: “The Adventures of Razorwing”.

Red blinked. “W-what in the hell?”

“Yeah,” Michaels said, “That’s Razorwing.”

“B-but he’s lookin like some man from the dark ages!”

“Close,” the officer said with a smile, “He’s from the Middle Ages, about 1350. He was a big celebrity in his day, and his fame only increased after a couple generations. He was an archer that went on all sorts of adventures. Fightin’ monsters, stoppin’ bad guys, savin’ everyone...a real man of honor. Did you know he could shoot so straight he could shoot a man twice and split the first arrow?”

“You know an awful lot about this bird fella.”

Michaels shrugged innocently. “Consider me a fan. Mama always read me storybooks about him when I was a kid.”

“He’s that popular, huh? Well, anyway...what does all this mean? I don’t get it,” Red admitted.

“That man that helped us out...think about it. He’s a warrior on a mission, a skilled and brave man out adventurin’ to stop bad guys. He’s a shooter with some special kick, and he shares his looks with a certain famous someone…”

“Ya mean...he took his name?”

“That’s right. He chose an old folk hero from his country he identified with...and he’s tryin’ to keep the torch lit. Least that’s what I think.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Two Razorwings...that’ll throw folks for a loop, don’t you think?”

Michaels laughed. “That’s only if he ever becomes famous.”

Red looked out a window beside him, gazing into the quickly darkening sky. “...I got a feeling he’ll make it through his journey. He’s something else.”

“True,” the lawman uttered quietly, “It’s like Razorwing always said...every age has its heroes.”

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadchronicles, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @candy687, @fierywords, @shewrites-sometimes, @nerds-and-nebulae, @purpleshadows1989

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Hold Me While You Wait {Shiro x Reader}{The Rockstars Series}

The Rockstar Series: a series of fics documenting rockstar!Voltron falling in love.

Words: 14k

Summary: What a coincidence that the first person to catch you breaking and entering is also the lyricist for your favourite band.

Genre: angst

Warnings: swearing - violence - abuse  

Notes: masterlist - well the rockstar series took an angsty ass turn. 

--

The window was open. That was their first mistake.

   It was almost as if this stranger wanted you to crawl into their house. The open window, the fact that they were never home. It was the perfect setting for a perfectly set out plan – one you were going to put into action today.

  Lotor took the lead, struggling to fit his broad shoulders through the relatively cramped window panes that apartments on this side of town provided. You stood impatiently behind him, arms folded over your chest and eyes gazing up into the sky – nobody could see you, considering the stranger hadn't cut down their trees in a number of years.

    “Take your time,” you jabbed. “I'll just wait here.”

  “Be quiet!” Lotor hissed, before he finally managed to squeeze himself through the window. He stumbled, just barely catching himself on a small coffee table holding an empty fruit bowl. You followed in after him, managing to squeeze through a lot quicker.

  Lotor glared at you as if that very fact was an insult on his pride.

  You ignored him and started what you had come here to do; even though you knew you had all the time in the world, there was still a sense of rush that came with doing things like this. Zarkon would never forgive you if you and Lotor walked back to the house with nothing to show for the days endeavours – those were the worst kinds of punishments. He hated it when you spoke back to him, hated it when you were out late, hated it when you didn't pick up the phone, but the worst kind of punishments always came when the two of you didn't do your job right.

  The apartment was smaller than you were led to believe from the outside. There was a sofa, a small TV, a small kitchen and three steps leading to a hallway that directed you to what you assumed had to be a bedroom and the bathroom.

  “I'll take the living room,” Lotor said. “Stuff in here is heavier.”

  You nodded, refusing to argue. You darted up the three steps and headed for the first door you could see. Opening it revealed a bedroom, a double bed in the middle, a guitar propped up in the corner, multiple crumpled up pages strewn across the floor. You didn't fail to notice the half-open bin of notebooks at the end of his bed – where most people kept a hamper of clothes, another desk perhaps, this stranger kept a bin full of old, used notebooks.

    You would be lying to say the curiosity within you didn't peak, because it certainly did. You had broken into many, many houses in your time, and each one had a story of their own. Why did they choose that wallpaper? Why did they like the pattern on that sofa? What made them not want to get Sky and instead suffer through the limited channels of Freeview?

  For this particular house, why did this stranger decide to keep an abundant amount of notebooks?

  You couldn't give yourself the time to think of an answer. Downstairs, you could already hear Lotor shuffling around, the crinkle of his bin bag as he stuffed it full of possessions that were not his own. You shoved the guilt to the side and darted into the bedroom, unrolling your own bin bag and starting from the bottom.

  You started with clothes. Mens clothes, mainly consisting of black and whites, a few grey shirts thrown in for selections sake. They looked close enough to Zarkons size – he would be happy about that. He would praise you for those.

    You moved on to the wardrobe. Inside, another guitar was propped up. You ignored the twitch of your fingers, that voice in the back of your head that was telling you to just give it a go. Just this one time. But already you had passed boundaries that nobody should ever pass, and you didn't want to throw any further risk on yourself or Lotor.

  So you shoved past it and dug inside the shoe boxes that were lined up by the wardrobe wall. Inside was even more notebooks.

   You frowned. What the hell? Were you dealing with a collector? Were any of them actually used? You didn't know, but you wanted to find out.

  Lotor was still rummaging around downstairs. You were ahead of the game, had a few extra minutes to kill before the two of you would start going through the escape plan and getting the hell out of here...

  You convinced yourself. You reached forward and snatched one of the notebooks up, leaning back on your heels to read through it.

  Lyrics.

   Lyrics, poetry – whatever it was, it littered each and every page. The words were accompanied by tiny doodles, the words 'Smokey Saturdays' written across the top of one of the pages in big, bold lettering.

  So the stranger was a fan of Smokey Saturdays too.

  The fact amused you; you had been a fan of Smokey Saturdays for years now, having bought their debut album entirely on a whim when you and Lotor were out perusing the high street for Zarkon. You had been a fan ever since, and here you kneeled in a strangers home, getting ready to steal their belongings, only to get distracted by the fact that they had something in common with you.

  “It's a small world,” you mumbled, before Lotor's heavy feet came barrelling through the hallway.

  You whirled around just in time to see his red face appear in the entrance. He skidded to a halt, grasped the door frame and said three little worlds that sent your heart stamping into overdrive; “He's home early.”

  You had no time to think about your actions, to think about the bin bag you had left stranded on the strangers bed. You shoved the notebook back into his shoe box, slammed the cupboard door closed and followed Lotor out into the living room – the living room that lad been left an absolute mess by Lotor's grappling hands.

  You froze. “We can't leave it like this.”

  Lotor was busy stuffing towels into his bin bag. “We don't have a fucking choice, alright? Now help me haul this thing back down the fire escape. Did you get yours?”

  Your heart thundered as you shook your head. Lotor's gaze hardened, his mouth opening; he was on the verge of yelling at you, on the verge of telling you how stupid you were because you both knew what this meant – you would arrive home empty handed, and Zarkon wouldn't like it. He would lose his head. He would punish you.

  Nonetheless, Lotor was smarter than that. He was also aware of the time crunch, and refused to spend another moment dwelling on your failures – not whenever the man who owned this house was on his way upstairs.

  “Fine,” Lotor said, going back to his own collecting. “It's fine. We're fine. Maybe my bag will be enough. Now help me-”

  He swung the bag over his shoulder and darted to the open window. You stumbled after him, gripping the window frame-

  Lotor tried to squeeze through and got caught halfway. Your heart sank.

  “Not now,” you whispered. “Lotor, not now.”

  “I can't help it!” he hissed, struggling against the frame. “Fuck, this hurts!”

  He had managed to launch the bag through the window, but his body refused to follow. You shoved your shoulder into his side, but you did nothing besides cause him pain. He swung his head back, white hair billowing over his shoulder.

  “We'll need another method.”

 “Hurry up!” you hissed. “You said he was home!”

  “I saw his car pull into the car park,” Lotor replied, before he inhaled deeply, turned back to the window and-

  He fell down the fire escape seconds before the front door opened and a voice echoed out in the living room.

  “What the hell?”

  Of course there was nothing you could say to explain what was going on. You didn't even want to turn around, afraid of what you would see because it was obvious what you would see – the stranger would be stood there, and he would see you and he would see the mess Lotor had left behind. It wouldn't take him long to add two and two together.

  You pursed your lips and slowly rotated to face him. He stood in the doorway, handling a guitar case, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed with what was obviously exhaustion and shock mingling into one. He didn't look up to meet your eyes when you turned. He just stood there and stared, grip tightening on the handle of his leather guitar case.

  You recognised him.

  You recognised him, because he had been on the back of those albums you adored so dearly. You recognised him, because his name had been plastered over the acknowledgements of those very same albums, the word 'LYRICIST' stapled to his name. You had watched interviews with him, had never taken much notice of him because he wasn't part of the band but in more ways than one, he made the band.

  You swallowed thickly. This was Takashi Shirogane – Shiro. The man who wrote all the songs for Smokey Saturdays.

  He was a celebrity, and you had just been caught stealing from his apartment.

   You were so lost in your own thoughts that you barely registered the moment he looked up and met your eyes. They were a harsh grey colour, but you could only imagine they looked ten times more fierce now.

  You coughed, scratching the back of your neck. “I can clean this up if you want.”

   “Who the hell are you? And what did you do?” he barked. The anger had been released. He dropped his guitar case to the floor and darted forward. You flinched, half expecting him to grab you and toss you out the window, but he did no such thing. As you curled back against the wall protectively, he dropped to his knees beside his shredded sofa.

  “It wasn't – I mean, it wasn't me exactly,” you said, before wincing. “But that doesn't really help the situation, does it?”

  “I'm calling the police.”

  Your eyes widened. He stood up, headed towards his phone but you latched on to his arm before he could get very far. Where the momentum had come from, you could not pinpoint, but the sudden adrenaline rush that came with such a threat was unlike anything you had ever felt before.

  He looked down at where your hands wrapped around his bicep and raised a brow. A muscle continued to twitch in his jaw, a sure sign that he was still furious, and still had every intention to call the police on you.

  “Listen, why don't we just talk for a minute?” You were trying. It wasn't working.

  “I've got nothing to say to you,” he growled. “Get off me before I get you done for assault, too. It'll be easy enough with the theft charges.”

  “No, look, we don't have to go down that route.” Even as you continued begging, you uncurled your fingers from his arm. You stood back and watched him as he headed back into the kitchen – the window behind you was open. The fact you weren't running and clambering back out onto the fire escape was one that confused you just as much as it must have been confusing Shiro.

  He wasn't listening to you. He continued to stare, but the desperation in your voice was clearly not registering with him; he dialled those three essential numbers, pulled the phone to his ear-

  You dove for him.

  Hurting him was not your intention. You were wiser than that. Plus, you had eyes. It was clear that Shiro could overpower you in a matter of seconds if he so wanted; the idea of pinning him down was beyond even your imagination.

  Instead, you reached for the phone and smashed it against the sink.

  It shattered. Pieces of plastic and glass flew left, right and centre. A pain welled up in your wrist, and you bit your lip to stop from crying out because, at this moment in time, you had no right to be complaining about your pain. Blood dripped from a fresh cut in your hand, but you span around and darted for the living room before Shiro could mention it.

  “Hey! Hey, don't you dare!”

  You stumbled, catching yourself on an upturned piece of furniture. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was so uncalled for. Jesus Christ, I'm making this worse for myself-”

    “You're gonna fucking bleed out, you maniac.”

    You jumped, turning just in time for Shiro to catch up to you. He grabbed your wrist and tugged you – not kindly – back into the kitchen, shaking his head.

  “You broke my fucking phone,” he mumbled almost to himself. “You broke into my house, ruined my stuff, and I'm sat here bandaging you up...”

   “I'm sorry,” you repeated.

  Shiro glared at you. “Stop saying that.”

  Never before had you been so confused.

  This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to be in the back of a police car at this point, or at least handcuffed to a table leg as you waited for the polices arrival. However, you were doing neither of those things – instead, you were being lowered onto a wooden chair with a celebrity cradling your wounded hand. Blood welled up from the fresh cut, and it took everything in you not to pass out at the sight. It reminded you of Zarkon, something you did not want to think about right now – it brought you back to your punishments, the punishments that he would inflict on you if you eventually got home, the punishments he would inflict on Lotor.

  You shivered. Shiro's grip tightened on your hand, stilling you as he dabbed water onto your open wound.

  “I want answers,” he said, ignoring your clear discomfort. “I want answers, or else I'm calling the police and getting you arrested.”

  You swallowed thickly, looking up at him. He didn't look back at you, but instead continued to dab at your open wound with his black hair falling into his face. He looked so much taller than he did in interviews. His voice was a lot sterner, though you had a vague idea that that was more due to circumstance than anything else.

  “Anything,” you replied. “I'll answer anything.” And you would, because you could not afford to go to prison.

  “How did you get in?”

  “The fire escape.”

  “What did you take?”

  “Nothing.”

  He raised a brow. “Was that a lie?”

  “I'm still in your apartment. I didn't take anything. I never got the chance to.”

  “But you wanted to.”

   You paused. “I guess.”

   “What's that supposed to mean?”

  You shifted your gaze to the open fire escape. “None of it was for me.”

    He tested this statement out for a second, narrowing his eyes. “Did you find my address online or something? Was it leaked?”

  “No. I didn't even know this was your house until you walked in.”

   “You know who I am?”

 “Oh yeah. Big fan.” You cringed. “Sorry.”

   He shook his head, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “You're too young to be doing this kind of thing.”

   “I'm not much younger than you.”

   “That doesn't mean anything,” he snapped. “I would be too young to be doing this. It's not right. You have so much left to do, and you're spending your time breaking into other peoples houses.”

    “Not by choice, you know.” The words were out before you could stop them. Fear spiked in your system as soon as you realised you had spoken aloud, eyes darting back to the fire escape. Somehow, somewhere, Zarkon had heard that sentence and he was on his way to punish you right now, no doubt having already beaten Lotor to a pulp, maybe even to death. Your heart thundered in your chest, and you reached your good hand up to your pulse, pressing down on it as if that would-

  Shiro grabbed your wrist and lowered it. He was looking up at you now, eyebrows raised and mouth quirked. “Woah. Hey. What's wrong? You look like you're about to pass out.”

  “I'm fine,” you snapped, not entirely meaning to. You shook Shiro's hand off of you and stood up. Your hand was still bleeding. You ignored it. “Look, are you going to call the police or not? I can – I can help you clean up. I can get your stuff back. I just need to get back home before – before people realise I'm gone.”

   Shiro didn't answer. He just stared at you, a grey gaze that held so much emotion and power it almost made you stumble. In any other circumstances, you would have perhaps been hit with a wave of awe at the fact one of the most respected celebrities in your repertoire was standing before you, but the panic that had risen to the surface was blocking out any other natural, human emotion.

  You needed out. You needed to make sure Lotor had gotten home safe, was still breathing, that Zarkon hadn't gone too hard on him. There was no doubt in your mind that he would receive some sort of punishment – that couldn't be avoided – but Zarkon needed to understand this was your fault. You were the one who had gotten distracted by some stupid lyric book, the one who had left their bin bag on the bedroom floor, the one who had insisted Lotor go first, only for him to get stuck.

  You swallowed thickly and turned away from his gaze. “I need to go home.”

   “Your hand is gonna get infected.”

  “It'll be fine.”

  “No.” Shiro reached out, grabbed your hand and tugged you forward again. “It won't. Now sit down and let me get some bandages. And then you're gonna tell me who you're so afraid of.”

  ---  

   It was silent. It shouldn't have been silent.

  He should have been yelling. He should have been screaming, threatening you, asking questions you could never safely answer. He should have hated you, and yet he was sat cradling your bandaged hand in his own, refusing to look at you.

  You were good at profiling people. A trick Zarkon had taught you from a very young age, because he liked to know that nobody could slip past him – not when you and Lotor were around. Lotor was basically a human lie detector, whilst you had been trained to slip into the minds of others, get a glimpse of their next move before they had even done it.

  It was easy enough to do with Shiro. Though he was quiet, he wore his emotions on his face. Already he'd made a comment on your age, how you were too young to be doing this kind of thing. Judging by the way he refused to look up at you, the way he treated you so delicately, it was obvious he still believed that, and it was obvious that he was conflicted over whether or not to punish you for the crimes you had committed.

  His silence was good, though. Unnatural, but good. It gave you time to come up with a lie about why you had been so startled only a few minutes prior – something you were still ashamed to admit. Zarkon would call you all the names under the sun if he knew you had let your guard down so easily.

  “So when are you gonna start talking?” Shiro piped up.

  “When you tell me what you wanna know.”

  “I've already told you.” He looked up, your hand dropping to your side. “Who are you so afraid of?”

  You pursed your lips. “An awfully personal question for someone I've just met.”

   “A question you should be answering if you don't want me to call the police.”

   You faltered. “Good point.”

  He simply nodded. You were hoping he would talk some more, but he knew what he was doing – if he started talking, you would only stall further.

  You inhaled deeply. “It's just . . . . somebody I know. Somebody I've known for a while.”

  “Is this person friendly?”

  Your silence was answer enough.

  Shiro sighed, running a hand through his black hair. He crouched on the floor in front of you, one hand resting on his knee whilst the other tousled and messed with his hair. He chewed the inside of his lip, mind no doubt working at a million miles per hour.

  “It's okay,” you said. “If I just get home to him now, he shouldn't be too angry...”

  Shiro glanced up. “Do you wanna go home?”

  The question struck you into silence. Having lived with Lotor your entire life, you had grown used to the tactic of just falling silent whenever you wanted to lie; you could never lie around Lotor. You often forgot that not everyone in the world could sense deception as easily as him.

  By the time this realisation dawned on you, it was too late to backtrack your silence. Shiro had caught on to it, examined it and was staring at you intently. You bit the inside of your cheek and looked away.

  “This is – This is gonna sound ridiculous,” he started. “But you can stay with me overnight if you want. If you really don't wanna go back there.”

  Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your jaw dropped open. Your mind worked at a thousand miles per hour, because nothing he had said made sense; he was meant to be fuming. He was meant to hate you! It was common practise, common knowledge that a person wasn't supposed to offer the person that had stolen from them refuge, even if they needed it. Even if the idea of going home was so gut wrenching it almost made them double over.

  But Shiro didn't look like he was joking. His face was relaxed, shoulders slouched with just an eyebrow peaking to show that he held any emotion to his words at all. It made your stomach flip.

  “You can't be serious,” was all you could say.

  “I can set a room up for you quickly,” he said, already standing up. “If I can't, I can just hire out a room across the hall for the night. It's not a big deal.”

  You scrambled up after him, wincing at the pull of your hand. “You don't have to do this. I tried to steal from you, for christs sake.”

  “And you clearly regret it,” Shiro shot back. “You're young. I'm giving you a chance.”

  “You keep calling me young as if that excuses anything.”

  Shiro shrugged. “It doesn't. But I'm young, too, which means I know just how much life you have left to live. Life you won't be able to live if you keep doing what you're doing.”

   He wasn't listening. He was being generous for the sake of it, not knowing the true extent of his actions. Zarkon would come and find you eventually. He would grow tired of waiting for you to return home on your own like the good little lap dog you were, and he would come for you – with Lotor in his reach, it would be easy enough to get your location.

  He would kill Shiro for even trying to protect you, because in Zarkons eyes, there was nothing to protect you from. In Zarkons eyes, he was doing the right thing. Always.

  Shiro was heading towards his bedroom by the time you finally caught up to him. You tried to grab his arm, but he pulled it out of your grip and pushed open the door before you could; it was then that he saw the damage you had done.

  It wasn't much, not nearly as bad as the living room, but your bin bag was still slung carelessly on the bed, and there was no denying that you had definitely been rummaging around in his stuff. You faltered in the doorway – maybe this would be it. Maybe the evidence of your infiltration would finally break him, and he'd throw you out and tell you to never come back again – that's what he needed to do. That was the wise thing to do.

  But he simply inhaled, shot you a glare over his shoulder and said, “At least you didn't take the covers. You're gonna need those.”

   You closed your eyes. “You're fucking insane.”

   “Ah well.”

  ---

  You fell asleep and woke up in Shiro's bed.

  He had slept on the sofa downstairs, generously giving you his own bed despite your protestations. The two of you had been up until the early hours of the morning, with you questioning him on his motives, and him simply shrugging as if this arrangement meant nothing. He was too casual. He was treating you too kindly.

  Nonetheless, you had never slept better. You awoke with no pain in your neck, no pain in your lower back – not like you usually do. It was a good change, and you found yourself smiling as you hauled yourself from beneath his covers and made your way downstairs.

  He tried to clean up the living room. It was still a mess, the coffee table still broken, but it was beginning to look a little less messy than it had the night before. Maybe that could calm some of your guilt.

  Shiro was still asleep on the sofa when you walked in. One arm was draped over his forehead, the other dangling off the sofa that looked two sizes too small for him. His bare feet dangled over the opposite arm rest, the spare quilt bundled between his legs, his pillow long since knocked to the floor.

  Despite his cramped form, he looked peaceful.

  You made your way to the kitchen, pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and started the morning tea. It must have been the sound of the kettle boiling that roused Shiro into consciousness, as he groaned, rolled over and just barely managed to catch himself on the floor before falling flat on his face.

  You turned. “Good morning.”

  “You're still here,” was his immediate response, as groggy as it was. “I thought you'd have taken off by now.”

  “How is that any way for a person to say thank you?” You folded your arms over your chest. “I'm making tea. Do you drink tea?”

  “I'm more of a coffee person.”

   “Diabolical.”

  “What time is it?” He sat up, the quilt sliding down to show off his bare chest.

  “8:30.”

   His eyes immediately widened. He struggled against the quilt before stumbling off the sofa and grabbing for his phone. He opened it, groaned and ran his hands through his hair in that way you had seen him do so often the previous night.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My alarm didn't go off.”

   You raised a brow. “Alarm?”

  “I was meant to be meeting Hunk and Keith at the studio today to go over some last minute details for the album,” he replied, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “I'm already a half hour late.”

   You frowned, despite the thumping of your heart and the urge to smile brewing in your stomach. You knew who Hunk and Keith were. They were the voices you heard on your albums, the guitar and the drums that pulled the songs together. You wouldn't admit it to Shiro, but the idea of meeting them was exciting to say the very least.

  You quickly reigned that hope back in, because it was pointless. Shiro would never let you meet his friends, because you weren't a friend. You were someone he took pity on.

  “I have to get down there now,” he continued. “Get dressed.”

  You faltered. “Sorry?”

  He clicked his fingers, already dragging the quilt back onto the sofa. “Get dressed. We're leaving as soon as possible.”

  You stumbled. “I don't have any clothes to wear, and I can't just-”

   “You can borrow some of mine,” he said. “Forgive me, Y/N, but I don't exactly trust you alone in my apartment at the moment.”

  You ignored how greatly those words affected you.

  “Go pick something from my wardrobe and meet me back down here.” He looked down at his phone, gritted his teeth and said, “Fuck,” one final time before you shot off upstairs and got ready.

  ---

   Shiro might not have called the police on you, but forcing you to appear in front of two musicians you looked up to wearing his clothes was punishment enough for your actions the previous afternoon.

  Even Shiro couldn't keep the small smile off his his face as the two of you approached the doors of the studio. His grey shirt reached your knees when you first put it on, and you were forced to tuck it into a pair of basketball shorts he gave you – basketball shorts that you were pulling up every two seconds.

  “This is humiliating,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice low in the quiet hallways.

  Shiro glanced down at you, said nothing, but you made out the twitch of his lips. You rolled your eyes.

  Soon, you both stopped at a door made of glass, a black curtain drawn over it from the inside. Shiro opened the door, and your heart immediately lurched into your throat.

  Because they were there, and they were real, and this entire situation was actually happening.

  Your throat closed over. You forced yourself to follow Shiro into the room, even as your legs felt heavy and your palms became sweaty with nerves. You quickly dashed them along Shiro's basketball shorts, hoped you were being subtle enough for them to not notice.

  Keith turned around first, a black bass guitar propped up on his knee. His black hair was partly hidden beneath a grey beanie, and he wore a red jacket affixed with a black shirt underneath. A large brown belt dug into his abdomen, keeping a pair of dark, ripped jeans fixed upon his waist.

  “Look who finally decided to show up,” he said, strumming a few low tones on his bass. “Over half an hour late, Shiro. What kept you?”

  “Nothing,” Shiro replied without missing a beat. “I just slept in. What have you got so far?”

  Hunk had yet to turn around, but you were swooning nonetheless. His large bulk was huddled over a computer, a complicated looking program pulled up on screen. He was chewing at his thumb nail, his dark eyes narrowed and focused purely on what he was working on. In one hand he held the mouse, the other a single drum stick which he twirled round and round his index finger with professional precision.

  “We're doing the basic chords for Keiths solo,” Hunk replied without turning round.

  “So why am I here?”

    “We agreed that you would control the panel whilst I did the drums.” Hunk raised a brow, shooting Shiro a sideways glance. “Jesus, Shiro. You're usually on top of your game. What's wrong?”

  Keith raised a brow in your direction, the first sign of anyone in the room noticing your presence. “I think I can tell you the answer to that.”

  Shiro clicked his fingers in Keith's face, forcing the boys attention back to him. “Leave them out of this. They're just here because they didn't want to be left alone in my apartment.”

   “Apartment?” Keith said, slowly pulling himself out of his usual slouch. “You were in his apartment?” The question was directed at you. If you weren't still trying to figure out where your fluency of the English language had suddenly disappeared to, you would have replied with a snarky comment.

  But you could only stay silent, gaze bouncing between Keith and Shiro in a desperate attempt to get Shiro to acknowledge that he really needed to take the reigns right about now.

  With his eyes still glued to the computer screen, Shiro sent a swift kick into Keith's leg. “I said, leave them out of this.”

   Keith hummed, narrowed his eyes at you one last time before he stood up and headed towards the booth on the other side of the room. “Just tell me when to start.”

  Hunk sent him a thumbs up, and that's when business ensued.

  You hovered by the door, watching the magic unfold with utmost interest. It wasn't faked. You didn't grow bored, despite the fact that you were doing nothing. You watched as Shiro and Hunk took control of the panels, as Keith blasted his bass guitar in the microphone, closing his eyes and getting lost in the rock music you had listened to so many times by now.

  Rock music had never been your forte. In fact, music as a whole wasn't something you would say you particularly enjoyed – it was difficult to enjoy something you weren't allowed. Your memories of music consisted of you and Lotor sneaking around the house with your mothers old CD's, lowering the volume extra, extra low so Zarkon wouldn't be able to make out the soft bump of the bass guitar, the dull thump of the drums, or the harmonic voice of Lance McClain. The two of you would sit shoulder-to-shoulder and just listen, but it never lasted long. One of you would get paranoid that Zarkon could hear, and you would switch it off and scuttle back to your rooms before this paranoia became a reality. A lot of the time, you had to listen to one song in two sittings, purely because it was almost impossible to get all the way through a song without one of you getting cold feet.

  But this was different. This was the closest to a concert you had ever been, and you would be lying to claim it didn't make you feel alive. You would also be lying to claim that it didn't wake you up to the startling reality of just how little of a childhood you had really been given.

  “What do you think?”

  Your head shot up, eyes darting to Shiro. You hadn't noticed him standing up, but he was stood beside you now, awaiting your answer.

  You nodded. “He's good. He's always been good.”

  “I forgot you were a fan.”

  “Big fan.” You shrugged. “I'm glad you brought me here.”

   Shiro scoffed. “It wasn't a treat. I brought you here so you wouldn't steal from me again.”

   You frowned and looked away, quickly composing yourself. He had every right to bring that up. He wasn't exactly wrong that it was one thing letting you stay with him when he was in the house, but it was a completely different thing to leave you unattended in his apartment whilst he went to work.

  He wouldn't trust you, and he had absolutely no reason to.

  “We've got a few more seconds to record and then I think we're all gonna get something to eat.” Shiro looked down at you, spoke as if the words pained him to say. “Do you wanna join us?”

  Knowing you had nowhere else to go was the only reason you nodded along to his offer; you couldn't go home now. It was too late. If Zarkon didn't already have some of his men looking for you, it wouldn't be long until he did. You would be better off trying to lay low for as long as possible, no matter how odd the circumstances were.

  And so you waited until Shiro, Keith and Hunk wrapped up in the studio before you joined them for lunch at the cafe, located helpfully in the lobby of the studio. Shiro and Keith took your order and headed for counter. Hunk, on the other hand, joined you at the table, sitting down directly to your left.

  The big man leaned into you, a straw already dangling from his lips. You, Keith and Shiro hadn't even ordered yet, so it was a complete mystery to you as to when Hunk had acquired a smoothie of his own.

  “So,” he started. “Now that I'm not distracted by work, I think it's an appropriate time to ask who you are.”

  “Y/N,” you blurted out. “My name's Y/N.”

  Hunk hummed. “Have you been staying with Shiro long?”

   “Only last night.” My final night, because there was no way you planned on spending another day in his house. Staying in one place for too long would be dangerous, especially considering Lotor knew where you were.

  Hunk looked up then, glancing over at the counter. Shiro and Keith stood side-by-side, Shiro with his hands stuffed in his pockets and Keith doing air drums as he waited for his turn to order. Knowing the coast was clear, Hunk leaned in and said, “And how did that night go?”

  You jerked back as if Hunks words were a physical blow. You looked down at him, one eyebrow raised, hands clenching the leather of your seat. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Hunk shrugged, playing the innocent card now that he could see you hadn't taken his question lightly. “I've just never known Shiro to let some random person stay in his house before. He likes his solitude. It's how he writes all those moody lyrics we're forced to sing.” He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if it wasn't for the rock beats I put over them, those songs would lead someone to tears.”

   “I only slept in his house because I had nowhere else to go,” you admitted. It wasn't the whole truth, but you could see the tiny bit of reality in your words; that was good enough for you, good enough to release the guilt you may have felt if you were to have come up with an entirely different story.

  “Do you not have a family to go back home to? A house of your own?”

  “No,” you mumbled. “Shiro and I didn't exactly meet under normal circumstances.” You were treading on thin ice now, getting closer and closer to a truth you did not want to admit.

  Hunk opened his mouth to respond to your eerie comment, but never got a chance to question you before two more people appeared at the side of the table – people you recognised instantly.

  The gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Your eyes popped open, hand clamping over your mouth. Shock overtook you, and you could do nothing but sit completely still as Lance McClain and Pidge Gunderson looked at you like you were insane.

  Hunk chuckled. “Y/N L/N, meet-”

  “Hi,” you squeaked out. “Nice to meet you.”

   Pidge raised a brow, fighting an amused grin. “Nice to meet you, too.” She turned back to Hunk. “Friend of yours?”

  “Friend of Shiro's.” Hunk gestured to the empty seats. “Go ahead and sit down. I'll tell Keith to get you something to drink.”

   Lance grunted, slumping down in the seat directly across from you. His knee nudged yours beneath the table. He refused to sit up straight, instead slouching until his shoulder blades were digging into the top of the chair. His head tilted back, his brown hair falling away from his forehead.

  Pidge rolled her eyes, sitting beside him. “Don't mind him.”

   “Is he tired?” you asked.

  “Exhausted,” Lance replied. “Do you know how difficult it is trying to get the ticket companies to just pick up the fucking phone? I've been making phone calls since eight am this morning, trying to figure out where the false tickets are coming from.”

  “We told you that Coran was gonna deal with that,” said Pidge.

  Lance shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “I don't want Coran to deal with it. Nobody with a fake ticket is getting into one of our shows, and I'm going to be the one to make sure of it.”

  Pidge rolled her eyes again. “Forever the hero, aren't you?”

  “I better be.” Lance's head suddenly snapped up, his eyes trained solely on you. “Wait, who is this?”

  “I think Shiro might be hooking up with them,” was Hunk's casual reply.

  You squeezed your eyes closed, resisting the urge to turn and belt him across the face. “You thought wrong.”

  “Why would you think that?” Lance asked. There was now a glint in his eye. His attention had been piqued. He sat up straight and leaned across the table for details. Even Pidge – who so often pretended like she didn't care – glanced between you and Hunk with an eyebrow raised.

  Hunk glanced at you. The fact that you were covering your face with your hands didn't seem to matter to him. “Shiro let Y/N sleep over at his house yesterday, and then he took them to work this morning.”

   Lance's eyes popped open wide, snapping to you. “Ooooh, is this true?”

  “Yes, but-”

   Lance reached over and grabbed your hand, giving it a firm shake. “Lance McClain. It's an honour to meet someone who can finally get Shiro to loosen the fuck up.”

   “What are you doing?”

  Shiro's voice startled the table into silence. Lance dropped your hand, grinned brightly as he placed his own hands on the back of his head. Shiro carried two smoothies whilst Keith sipped idly at his own on the other side of the table.

  “Absolutely nothing, my boy,” Lance replied. “Come, have a seat! It feels like I haven't seen you in ages.”

  Shiro narrowed his eyes, handed you your smoothie and lowered himself onto the seat next to Lance. “We saw each other yesterday.”

   “Only briefly. You went home early.”

  You grunted. He did indeed.

  “I was just talking to your good friend Y/N here whilst you were getting your smoothies,” Lance continued. “I was getting told all about how you spent the night together.”

  Shiro scoffed. “You make it sound like a lot more than what it was.”

   “That's what I was trying to explain,” you spoke up.

  Lance waved a dismissive hand through the air, as if you and Shiro denying any unspoken claims was irrelevant. “Are you two planning on taking this little fling to our concert next week?”

  You faltered. A concert?

  Growing up, you hadn't even been able to listen to music on CD's, let alone go to live shows. It was always something you wanted to do, always something you craved to experience, but at the time, it looked impossible. You had one job and one job only, and that was to serve Zarkon in whatever way he needed you to serve him.

  Now, here you were, being all but offered the chance to go and see one of your favourite bands perform live. It was enough to choke you into silence, enough for you to dart your gaze over to Shiro, silently begging for him to take the reigns and answer the question. At the end of the day, it was entirely up to him; if he didn't want you there, you wouldn't blame him.

  Shiro took a long, drawn out sip of his smoothie before shrugging. “We'll see.”

  And that was that. He put the lid on the matter quickly, swiftly changing the subject to instead talk about a new song he had been working on. Everybody else looked at you, gouging your response to such a simple reply, but you hid your emotions well enough so as to not provoke any suspicion. You were good at that when you wanted to be.

  As Shiro and the others fawned over Shiro's brand new notebook, already littered halfway through with fresh lyrics that they all critically analysed, you let yourself sink into the background. Your heart was still thundering. The conversation had distracted for only so long, but now the attention was diverted and you were allowed to dwell on the thumping of your heartbeat and the thrum of the blood in your ears; all of this was utterly insane. 

   You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the seat, inhaling deeply. It would come to an end. All good things did, and you knew that. You had trained yourself not to get your hopes up, and as much as it hurt to put that training into practise now, there was no other choice. Not unless you wanted to be completely crushed in the long run.

  ----

  You tried to protest. Not very much, but the attempt was there.

  Shiro took you back to his apartment after lunch. The others had broken up for practise, meaning Shiro had no reason to hang around; he claimed he had lyrics to catch up on, an album to plan that would not write itself; you tried informing him that you would be fine on your own, but he insisted on taking you back to his place.

  “Why are you doing this?” you asked him at one point during the drive. Your arms were folded over your chest, eyes still set firm on the window. You watched the road skip past, the trees and the houses, the children coming home from school. You imagined yourself in their shoes, just like you always did. They were living a childhood you had never been given – it was a bitter sweet feeling.

  Shiro didn't look away from the road when he answered. “I don't know what you're on about.”

  “Yes you do. You're being nice to me for no reason. I don't deserve kindness from you.”

  “I'll decide who I'm kind to, thank you very much.”

   You bit the inside of your cheek. “You should have called the police on me. You should have knocked me out, saw me as dangerous as soon as you saw the state your apartment was in. You definitely shouldn't be giving me a place to stay.” You looked at him. “It doesn't make sense, and I refuse to believe you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart.”

  It took him a minute to respond. You profiled him, slipping into his head without really meaning to – he had already proved to you that he wasn't a man to make rash decisions out of nowhere. He didn't want to be spontaneous, didn't want to risk hurting the career he spent years building up. He didn't even have to tell you that his journey into the music business had been a long and bumpy road; nobody loved their occupation like he did. Not unless they had to work for it.

  So why was he taking the risk with you?

  His jaw twitched. “Do you wanna put some music on?”

  You gritted your teeth behind your lips but did as he said; you knew an indirect order when you heard one. He didn't want to talk, and you could respect that. It wasn't your place to question him.

  When he finally pulled up, the two of you walked into his apartment in utter silence. He held his notebook under one arm, a pen clipped to the collar of his black shirt. You had come in barehanded, fingers knotted in front of you. The silence was heavy. Too heavy for you to feel any type of comfort.

  Shiro closed the door behind you and gestured to the sofa. “I'll get the kettle on.”

   “Let me do that. You've got work to do.”

  Shiro raised a hand. You paused, raised a brow at him. “I've got it. Sit down.”

    You sighed and did as he said. It didn't take a profiler to recognise when someone didn't want to argue.

  You tapped impatiently at your leg as you waited for Shiro to finish in the kitchen. All that separated you and the door was a broken coffee table and the knowledge that Shiro was only a few feet away; he would hear you, but when had that fact ever stopped you? It was strange. You sat there, perfectly still, listening to the buzz of the boiling kettle and you didn't even really want to move; you weren't entirely comfortable, but the idea of stepping outside and risking the sight of Zarkons men was a lot more terrifying than the idea of sitting inside with Shiro.

  You supposed you should have been grateful. You were still here. His men hadn't come for you yet – he hadn't come for you yet. Maybe Lotor managed to get away with just a mild scolding, or maybe he had taken his chance and run for good. Maybe the two of you had left Zarkon in the dirt, just like you should have done years ago.

  As soon as you set eyes on the page tucked behind a sofa cushion, you knew your thoughts were misplaced.

  It was an intuition. Maybe it was because you had been anticipating disappointment this entire time. Maybe it was just because you were good at this kind of thing – before you even reached over and looked at the page, you knew what it was. It was the same cream paper you had seen so many times, stapled on the walls of your childhood home, locked in some oversized binder that held details so descriptive and so tormenting it was difficult to bring them to the forefront of your mind. It was that same paper.

  You grabbed it. The handwriting was familiar. The weight of the words was familiar. The entire thing was familiar, because you had been at his elbow so many times when he had written these notes in the past. He was never happy when he had to do it, and it was very rare that the person the letter was addressed to lived long enough to take the chance Zarkon always offered them. It was more of a throw-away kindness than a genuine offer.

      Dear, my sweet little Y/N.

   I understand. I really do. We all do. You got caught, and you're embarrassed, and you don't want to face us. You don't want to tell us the truth of your failures. I understand.

    I'm giving you a chance to come back. A single chance, one that you would be wise to take because you have nobody else. Lotor is with me, safe and sound, but worried. You don't want to worry him, do you? You know how he gets when he's worried, and if he explodes at me, my little Y/N, I will not show him the same kindness I'm showing you.

    You were always my favourite. It would be sad to lose you just because of a little blip in the system. You can make it up to me. I won't be mad. I promise.

   Come home and see for yourself just how understanding I can be.

       Hugs and kisses,

              Zarkon.

  “What's that?”

  Shiro sat down beside you, had already grabbed the letter from your hands before you could protest. A quiet whimper escaped your throat. You wanted to sob, but you couldn't. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't. You wanted to jump up and run as far from this place as possible – but you couldn't.

  Not whenever Shiro's eyes turned and clicked onto your own, wide and desperate for answers you knew you could never give him. Not now. Not now that Zarkon's men knew where you were.

  Shiro was on his feet in seconds, throwing the piece of paper back onto the sofa. He darted towards the fire escape, checked to see if it was locked – it was. He bolted towards the door, did the same thing and again, the door was locked and secured just as he had left it after walking in.

  He turned to you. “What the hell is that?”

  “Ignore it.” It was a demand, not a suggestion.

  His face fell. “Y/N. Y/N, what the fuck? What the hell did he mean? Who is Zarkon?”

  You stood up abruptly. “I'm leaving.”

  “You're not going anywhere. It's obviously not safe for you-”

   “It won't be safe for you if you don't let me go.”

  Shiro stared. “And who's gonna be the one to hurt me – you or this Zarkon guy?”

  Your stomach clenched. This whole thing was a mistake – you had said it from the very beginning. Shiro had given you refuge, taken care of you, made sure you didn't go out into a world that wanted nothing but the absolute worst for you, but he would never trust you. He would never look at you and think you were worth anything, because your initial meeting had set off the time bomb that would go off as soon as Zarkon grew tired of waiting.

  Which wouldn't be long.

  Shiro's words told you only one thing – he thought you were capable of hurting him. He looked at you, and he saw the mess left behind in his apartment, the way you had snatched the phone out of his hand and slammed it against the sink, the way you barely winced when the glass sliced your hand. He saw something that wasn't there, an idea based off of loose statistics.

  You looked down at the ground and bit your lip. Maybe it was because you idolised him. Maybe it was because he was right – you were capable of a lot. You could have hurt him. You could have got up in the middle of the night and slit his throat. But you hadn't, because he was Takashi Shirogane.

  He stepped forward. “Come to the concert with me next week.” It wasn't an invitation. “That way I know you're okay.”

   You squeezed your eyes closed, clenching your fists. “This has gone too far already. I can't stay with you for another week.”

   “You can't go out there either,” he replied. He sounded desperate. “I read the note. I read the threats. I don't – I don't understand a lot of it, but I'm not stupid. Somebody wants to hurt you.”

   “He doesn't want to hurt me yet.” Why were you standing up for him? “He wants me to come home.”

   “And what's gonna happen if you do go?” Shiro stepped forward again, so close that you could feel the heat coming from him.

  Your silence was enough. It was always enough.

  Shiro hummed. “I'll take the sofa again. Tomorrow I'll get the guest bedroom set up so we both have proper places to sleep.”

   “Shiro-”

   He turned on his heel, snatching the piece of paper up. He didn't let you finish your sentence, didn't let you protest before he turned to the lit candle placed upon the counter. He tilted the edge of the paper into the open flame and watched the words burn.

  ---

  Days passed. Your anxiety didn't waver.

  Shiro was trying. He woke up every morning, and he greeted you with a smile and a cup of tea, made exactly how you liked it. He tried to make casual conversation, to the point where you could genuinely sit down with him and talk like he was a good friend of yours.

  But it wasn't enough.

  He tried to distract you, but it wasn't going to happen. Days had passed. Zarkon knew you'd received his letter. It was becoming clearer and clearer that you were ignoring him. You weren't planning on coming home, and that was going to make him very angry.

  You slid into Zarkon's head on this particular morning. Morning, because it was four am and you hadn't slept yet. Your mind had been racing as you tried to fight off the urge to profile the man with the dark thoughts, the man who had raised you, the man who had tormented you and clearly had no plans on stopping. But it was as the clock struck four that you let your thoughts go, the exhaustion making it too difficult to fight. You slipped into his head.

  He knew who the apartment belonged to. He was a smart man. He knew Shiro was a celebrity, so he wouldn't risk breaking and entering. No. He would wait until you were loose on the streets and then he would take his aim. He would wait until you were completely vulnerable – maybe in a public place? A place where you would least expect it. He would put snipers on the roof. You had seen him do it. He would take you down and he wouldn't think twice, but he wouldn't risk getting Shiro involved in the story.

  You squeezed your eyes closed and pushed your thumbs into your temples. His head was too scary for you. You had been profiling people since you could understand the basics of the English language, and even now you were unable to bare the process of slipping into his head.

  You were awake now. You came to terms with the fact that you would not be getting any more sleep and slid from beneath the covers of the guest bedrooms bed. You headed downstairs to the kitchen, flinched in the doorway when you saw Shiro standing by the counter, drinking from a carton of milk.

  “You're awake.”

  He whirled around. His hair was a mess, and he was in his usual bedtime attire of no shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His grey eyes widened when he saw you standing there, looking no more dishevelled than you had done when you went to bed that evening.

  “So are you,” he replied. “Have you slept yet?”

  “Nope.” You snatched the carton of milk from his hand and took a gulp, savouring the brain freeze.

  Shiro raised a brow, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing you like a father eyeing a sick child. It made you almost want to roll your eyes. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

  “I don't have nightmares.” A lie.

  “So why couldn't you sleep?”

  “I just couldn't.” Yet another lie. Why the truth was so difficult to admit, you weren't sure, but you didn't intend on indulging him any further. “Why are you awake at this time of day?”

  Shiro shrugged. “I was finishing up some songs and kind of lost track of time.”

  “Really? What were you working on?”

  Shiro tapped the side of his nose and slowly turned away from you, snatching the carton of milk back on his way round. You pouted, both grateful for the sudden shift in mood and frustrated at the fact he wasn't going to tell you what it was he had spent his time working on.

  “Come on,” you grunted. “I'm a fan. You can't just tell me you're working on something for my favourite band and then refuse to tell me anything else.”     “The fact that you're a fan is a big enough reason for me to keep quiet. You might post it on a forum or something.”

  You scoffed. “You take me as the type to have some kind of fan account?”

  He shrugged, smirking around the lip of the milk carton. “You never know. I've seen some crazy things in my career.”

  You grumbled. “Fine. Don't tell me. When are you going back to the studio?”

  “Whenever the others can find time. They've been rehearsing for their show next week.”

   You faltered at the reminder – the show. It startled you that you had forgotten all about it, considering this was the first concert you would ever be attending, and it was the concert of one of your favourite bands. You should have been ecstatic, counting down the days, marking it on your calendar.

  But once again, Zarkon had crawled into your mind and stolen those remnants of normal human emotions. Even when he wasn't physically there, he still somehow managed to alter the thoughts in your brain.

  “I was thinking we could get you some clothes for the night,” he continued. “Don't get me wrong, you suit my shirts and my shorts-”

  “I absolutely do not.”

  “But this seems like a more. . . formal event. We're gonna have to get you something nice.” He lowered his voice. “Something to make you stand out.”

   Your breath hitched. You looked down at the attire you were wearing now – a pair of Shiro's old boxer shorts and an oversized Nirvana shirt that he claimed he had worn back in high school. It was one of the only shirts in his wardrobe that wasn't completely plain.

   “How about tomorrow?” He glanced at the clock. “Well, today, I suppose. We can go out after breakfast and see what you like.”

  You nodded dumbly. Shopping. Clothes. New clothes – something you very rarely got to splurge on.

  Shiro grinned and kicked himself away from the counter. “Good. I'll see what I can do.”     ---

  “You look...”

  “Just tell me you hate it. Just tell me you hate it, so I don't have to embarrass myself any further than I already have.” Your eyes were squeezed shut. Your hands were curled into tight fists at your sides. Your shoulders were bunched up around your ears-

  Shiro's hands on the back of your neck startled you back to the present. “Would you calm down? I was gonna say you look beautiful, but I didn't want to make you more flustered than you already are.”

   Your eyes snapped open, darting immediately to Shiro's own. Over the past few days, you had grown used to those storm grey eyes, the way they always managed to be the first thing you noticed. Even in a room full of people, Shiro's eyes stood out.

  He smiled at the eye contact and gently turned you towards the dressing room mirror. Your breath hitched, because it certainly wasn't the Y/N L/N who had been cooped up in Zarkon's home who stared back at you. This was different. The clothes hung loose on your body, but it somehow worked. A pair of black skinny jeans, a dark orange button up shirt that showed a tiny bit of your chest, tucked half into the jeans, half hanging out around your sides. Along with it, Shiro had insisted you try on a pair of grey ankle boots.

  You looked good. You looked expensive.

  “This is too much,” you said. Shiro stiffened. “I don't even have the money for the top, let alone the jeans and the boots.”

   You started towards the dressing room, already tugging on the buttons of the shirt, but Shiro caught your wrist. You whirled around, startled at the sudden action but immediately your face heated up at his amused expression.

  “What have I said now?”

  “Just go get changed and put the clothes in the bag,” he said. “I can't believe you thought I'd make you pay after I offered to take you shopping.”

 It took a minute for his words to settle in your brain. “Wait, what? No. You're not paying for my stuff.” You said it with a scoff and a roll of your eyes, as if the idea of Shiro paying for you was a joke.

  Shiro narrowed his eyes. “You do know that I'll just buy it anyway. Buying you an outfit isn't going to put me into bankruptcy.”

  “But I'm an adult, and I shouldn't expect-”

  “Just go get changed,” he groaned, throwing his head back like a child having a tantrum. “It's my treat, alright? Now go!” He nudged you towards the dressing room door, leaving no room for argument.

  ---

  The crowd was big. Much too big for your liking.

  You thought you'd be fine. You were excited, craved to hear the music that had been promised – the music of Smokey Saturdays. The music you had grown up listening to, no matter how stealth you had to be to do so.

  But a crowd like this was dangerous. A crowd like this could hold so much danger and you wouldn't even be aware of it until it was too late.

  That was why you stayed as close to the edge of the room as you could possibly get. You tugged on your dark orange shirt, silently cursing your lack of carelessness – orange wasn't exactly a subtle colour. You would stand out amongst the array of people in black rock shirts and leather jackets. But it was too late now. Shiro had already disappeared back stage, and you were left to your own devices as you waited for the show to start.

  You were on high alert, even when the first chord was played and suddenly Lance, Keith, Hunk and Pidge appeared on stage.

  You wanted the breath to be sucked from your lungs. You wanted to jump up and scream and lose your head, perhaps even faint, because that was the concert experience. That was what the articles said.

  But even Lance's melodic voice and Shiro's gut wrenching lyrics could not pull you back to the surface. The crowd had swallowed you up. The realisation that you were completely vulnerable was suffocating you until you were shoving through the crowd in search of an exit.

  In search of Shiro.

  He had become a constant comfort. You hated to admit it, because it was dangerous territory to be on, but he had. Any time he saw you growing panicked, he was by your side, making sure you remembered to breathe, letting you know that everything was going to be okay no matter how terrible things felt in the moment. He was there for you, and you needed him to be there now.

  The music blocked out the sound of his voice in the beginning. You were on the verge of running, tackling people to the ground in any attempt to get to the exit. Zarkon's written words came back to the forefront of your memory, reminding you just how thin the ground you were walking on truly was. He was going to get you if you didn't leave now. He would have figured out that the concert was happening today and he would follow you until-

  A hand wrapped around your waist and dragged you backwards. You stumbled, getting ready to cry out but a low, deep voice cut you off before you could do so. It was close to your ear, the stench of smoke on the culprits breath.

  “If you scream, this entire place goes up in flames, and everyone with it is going too.”

  You clamped your mouth shut, curled your fingers into the palm of your hands. Crescent moons indented into your flesh. It kept you grounded, because you recognised that voice. He had come for you directly – what a strange move on his part.

  “Zarkon.” His name was a curse. It burned your tongue. “You found me.”

  “As I promised I would,” he replied. “Are you enjoying your little break, Y/N? Your little taste of freedom?”

    “I was going to come back.”

  “Bullshit.” His spittle slapped against your ear. You didn't wipe it away, too scared to move. “You and that Shiro bloke were far too enamoured with each other to remember little old me, weren't you? He took your mind off of things. He made you feel special.”

  Zarkon had taught you everything you knew about profiling. He could slip into your head just as easily as you could slip into his. You wanted him out. You didn't like him tracing your thoughts without even trying.

  “This man who should have hated you gave you a place to stay, a comfort blanket, gave up his own bed for you-”

   “How do you know that?” You knew the answer. You just needed to make sure your voice still worked.

  He continued as if you hadn't spoken. “So what were the chances you were going to give that life up to come back to me, hm? Me. The man who gave you a home for your. Entire. Life.” He punctuated each word by pinching your hips. You squirmed against him, pain flaring through your body. “You call it growing up, I call it being an ungrateful little bitch.”

  The first song ended. Zarkon leaned forward. His grin was against your ear. “Pretend we're dancing. Pretend we're just enjoying the show.”

    You did as you were told, because that was all you could do. That was all you had ever been able to do. It hurt – physically strained you – but you put a smile on your face and swayed, cheering to the sound of Lance's voice. The lead singer didn't even look at you as he addressed the crowd, already panting from the performance of the first song. He messed with his ear piece, taking it out to listen to the unfiltered screams of his fans – you wanted him to hear you. You wanted him to get the hint, hear your desperation even as you grinned and pretended everything was fine.

  He put the ear piece back in and announced the second song. The band started to play. They started to jump around on stage, and the crowd only got wilder.

  Zarkon took his chance.

  He made it look so casual. His arm was resting on your waist, and he was grinning from ear to ear – that's all it took, really. The crowd parted for him as he led you out towards the back door of the club, nobody questioning the tears brimming in your eyes. They took one look at your smile and just assumed you were perfectly fine.

  The fresh air hit you like a wave. The crowd was gone. You no longer had any security around you, no witnesses. If Zarkon were to kill you now, he would. He could, because he was good at what he did and he knew that.

  You broke out of his hold as soon as the door swung closed. You were trapped in the alleyway. Nobody was here. The music was too loud, thumping through the walls. If you were to scream, no one would hear you.

  The smile on Zarkon's face told you he knew that.

  He stepped forward, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I don't want an explanation.”

  “Where's Lotor?” you asked. “I want to see Lotor.”

  “He got home safely.” That meant nothing to you. Not coming from him.

  You wrapped your arms around your middle.

  Zarkon sighed. “Did someone let you dress yourself this evening?”

   “Don't treat me like a child.”

   “Shiro must really care about you,” he continued, talking with a childlike drawl just to get under your skin. “Buying you all these expensive clothes, giving you a roof over your head – a refuge, if you will. A refuge from me and mine.” Zarkon grinned. “You used to be mine. Do you remember that?”

 “Why are you talking?” you demanded, stepping back. “You're mad at me. You lost your control. You lost the one thing you thought you had forever, and you're mad.” You were profiling him. His nostrils flared. “Why are you talking then? Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?”

  Zarkon grinned even deeper. “I taught you better than that, Y/N. Use your skills. Use the skills I gave you – you tell me why I'm not killing you right now.”

  You slipped into his head again. It was easy. The answers were laid out in front of you, but you wanted to ignore them because sometimes pretending it wasn't there was easier than falling victim to an obvious truth.

  Your voice trembled when you spoke. “This isn't about me. You're not mad at me, you're mad at Shiro. You're mad at him for keeping me away from you.”

  “Go on...”

  “You're keeping me alive so I can watch you make him suffer. You're preserving me.”

  Zarkon shrugged. “Guilty.”

  “You can't hurt him. People will know. People will care.”

  “You say that because you care,” Zarkon pointed out. “But when has that ever mattered to me?”

  The door behind Zarkon swung open. You knew even before you looked up who it was – it was a gut feeling. You were yelling before you could stop yourself.

  Zarkon swirled around and laughed. He laughed at the expression on Shiro's face, the draw back of his shoulders, the flare of his nostrils. Shiro didn't move from the doorway, because of course he didn't. He didn't know who this crazy man was. Chances are, he saw you get dragged backwards and followed you out. But he didn't know that this was him, the author of the cryptic note that had been mysteriously left tucked behind his sofa cushions.

  “Shiro,” you cried out. “Go back inside. Now.”

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Zarkon shoved you with his shoulder. “Where's the fun in that? There's enough room in this ballroom for another, I think.” He grabbed Shiro's hand.

  And he twisted it.

  Shiro's eyes popped open in surprise and pain. He grunted, his knees trembling beneath him, but he was strong. He managed to swing his other arm around and catch Zarkon in the jaw just enough for the older man to release his hand. Shiro took the chance and stumbled to the side, gripping his wrist.

  “What the hell?” he exclaimed.

  Zarkon growled and whirled back around. “So you're a feisty one, are you? That's okay. I've dealt with worse.”

  “It's Zarkon,” you said, eyes pointed on Shiro. “You need to go. You need to-” You grabbed for Zarkon's collar, tried to pull him back, but you weren't as strong as him. Zarkon taught you how to be sneaky, how to profile people, how to get around without being detected. He was wise enough to know how bad it would be if he were to teach the people who hated him how to fight.

  Zarkon's elbow slammed into your chin, knocking you backwards. You grabbed for the wall in any attempt to keep yourself upright, but there was no use to it. Your fingernails welled up with blood and you fell to the floor with an 'oomf.'

  Shiro made to rush towards you, but Zarkon hooked him in the stomach before he could get very far. Shiro kicked out, slamming his toe into Zarkon's shin like a child – it was the only thing he could do. One of his wrists had already been broken, and now he was winded.

  Zarkon simply grinned at Shiro's sad attempts. “You know, Y/N – I don't really know how I feel about you letting this excuse for a man protect you. Clearly he doesn't know what he's doing.”

   “Zarkon, let him go,” you wheezed. Your vision was growing blurry. “Let him go and I'll go back with you. I'll do whatever you want.”

  “No,” Shiro grunted. His voice was barely audible, but you could make out the definition of desperation in its undertones.

  Zarkon sighed. “I find it very cute that you really believe you're not going back with me if I kill him.” He turned. “We both know that's impossible. Once he's dead, you'll have nowhere else to go. Your finger prints will be all over the crime scene. You'll be known as the person he let into his house, the stranger who showed up out of nowhere. You'll be the first one on the suspects list, and you'll have nowhere else to go except back home with me, or prison.”

  You shook your head. “I'd rather go to prison. I'd rather die than spend another minute in that hell hole you call a home.”

  Zarkon's nostrils flared. You hit a nerve. You meant to.

  He stepped forward. “There you go again with that ungrateful attitude. I think you're forgetting that I gave you everything. I kept you breathing. You and Lotor were mine.”

  “We were never yours. We were just too young to go anywhere else.”

   “And where is Lotor now, huh? Lotor came running right back to me after I asked him to ransack Shiro's apartment. He respects me.” Zarkon slammed his boot into your side. You squeezed your eyes closed, bit so harshly into your lip that blood dribbled down your chin. “You, on the other hand, need to be taught a lesson. I thought I'd raised you to know better, but I guess I was wrong.”

   You caught your breath. It was a gasp. Maybe it would be your last one. With the pain you were in, you were beginning to sink into that hopeless mindset of I hope so.

  “I guess you were,” you managed to choke out.

  Before blood sprayed out from the side of Zarkon's head.

  You cried out, jerking back as well as you could when his body tumbled to the floor. His legs wobbled, gave out and then he was beside you, and there was blood pouring from a wound in his skull, and his eyes were closed, and your breath escaped you, and-

  And Shiro's arms were wrapped around you. His lips were pressing into the side of your head. His tears were soaking the side of your face as he rocked back and forth and whispered soothing words in your ear that were probably meant more for him than for you.

  You panted, looking to the rock at Shiro's side. The rock he had just used to knock Zarkon unconscious. The rock stained with that monsters blood.

  Shiro's words fell away. They crumbled. You listened as they descended from words of comfort to one simple phrase that captured the nights mood perfectly.

  “Oh god.”

  This, he spoke on repeat until the ambulance arrived.

  ---

  “Lotor has been taken into questioning. He was asking about you.”

   You nodded at the police woman, still dazed from the slumber she had woken you from. “Is he going to jail?”

  The lady pursed her lips. “If his story is the same as yours, he'll be okay. You two are victims in this.”

   You nodded again. It was all you could do, words no longer computing. There was a phrase you could think of; goodbye, maybe. It seemed like the decent thing to say as the police woman gave you a warm smile, squeezed your fingers before she exited the hospital room.

  You should have said goodbye.

  “You didn't even give her a goodbye.”

  You looked up as Shiro entered the room. His wrist was cradled in a cast. His lip had been split open. He was shirtless again, revealing the bruise that was slowly forming on his lower abdomen.

  You smiled at him, the first person you had properly smiled at since you had been locked up in this hell hole and questioned until your voice was hoarse.

  He sat beside you. “The others are in the waiting room. I told them it would be a bad idea to overwhelm you right now.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Shiro's grey eyes softened. A small smile formed on his lips, and he spoke through a light hearted chuckle. “Yes Y/N. I'm fine.”

   “You've never had to . . . you've never had to do that before, have you?”

  A cloud shadowed his expression. “No.”

   “I'm sorry,” you croaked out. “He was after me, but he blamed you. I should have known better than to ignore his note, but-”

  “Don't, Y/N.”

  You faltered. “What's wrong?”

  Shiro ran his hands through his hair, inhaling shakily. “Don't apologise. Don't try and pin this on yourself. He's not here any more – the police have him in custody. You don't have to think about it. You can move on.” He reached over and gingerly touched your fingertips, silently asking permission. “We can move on.”

  You swallowed thickly. Slowly, without any comment, you flipped your hand over and intertwined your fingers with his. He looked down at the point of connection, a tiny, tiny smile gracing his face that had you unable to fight the smile that took over your own.  

  “He was the one that made you break into my house,” he said. Again, it wasn't a question. “You and that Lotor guy.”

   You nodded. “We've been ransacking places for him since we were eleven. It doesn't excuse our actions, but-”

  “You were brainwashed.”

“We were scared.”

  Shiro nodded. He nodded as if he understood, even though you knew he didn't, and for some reason that didn't frustrate you like it used to. He was trying to understand. He was trying to make sense of a situation that didn't make any sense, and you were grateful for his attempts.

  ---

   Shiro took another sip of his coffee. And another. And another, until he eventually tilted his head the whole way back and downed it.

  You looked up from the documentation in front of you, raising a brow. Whilst you were busy going through the piles upon piles of documents the agency had given to you to read over, Shiro was busy trying to come up with lyrics for Smokey Saturdays new album.

  He was clearly struggling a lot more than you were.

  “This isn't fair,” he grumbled, slamming his coffee cup back down on the table. “How come you're a natural profiler and I can't even get a hook down?”

  You chuckled. “That's what's got you so stressed?”

  “Of course it is.” He turned his notebook in your direction, letting you look at what he had done so far; once upon a time, Shiro's lyrics had been his most prized possession. It took a good six months of living together for him to finally trust you enough to let you read what he wrote.

  On the page, however, was not words, but a simple drawing – two stick figures. One in a detectives hat, and one with a guitar.

  Your cheeks warmed. “You're so cheesy.”

  He grinned from ear to ear, yanking the notebook back. “Isn't it perfect? Love of my life – the FBI profiler! And me – the lyricist who genuinely can't get a hook down.” He frowned, flicked his eyes to your own. “I wasn't joking about that. This song has been driving me crazy for weeks.”

  You rolled your eyes, putting your pen down on top of the pile of suspect profiles given for you to study. “You just need inspiration. I've seen you do it before – you get an idea, and you come up with something amazing. It'll hit you eventually.”

  Shiro pouted, looking down at the page. “There is one thing that usually sparks some inspiration in me.”

   “What's that?”

  He looked up. He didn't say anything, simply puckered his lips and leaned forward. You raised a brow, immediately gripping on to what he was getting at – your stomach flipped in that way it always did, and despite the heaps of work you had to get done, you couldn't help yourself when you leaned forward and kissed him.

  He hummed against your lips, pressing a hand to the back of your neck, gently stroking the chain of the necklace he had gotten you – the necklace that held the key to your shared home. The first home you and Shiro had bought together.

  You pulled away quickly, picking up your pen and shaking your head. “This is why I never get any work done when you're with me.”

  Shiro's eyes were still closed. He dragged his tongue along his lower lip, nodded, and then his eyes flicked open and he started writing.

  You watched him with your jaw hanging open. “Are you serious?”

  He smirked. “I told you. You inspire me.”

[justimajin]

Baby Blues

→ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

→ Genre: Fluff, Comedy

↳ A Lovely Little Mess Drabble

→ Words: 1.6k

→ Summary: Exhausted from a long shift at work, all you wanted was to drown in some much needed sleep. But being a new parent wasn’t the world’s easiest task, especially when you and your husband can’t seem to manage to figure out how to stop your small daughter's cries.

Notes: Wishing a Happy Birthday to Seokjin! Although this drabble is for ALLM, I can’t link it here because of issues with tumblr but it is all linked on my masterlist. Anyways, I hope you guys like this fluffy drabble ^.^ 

➱ Timeline wise this takes place between Part [10] and the [Epilogue] of ‘A Lovely Little Mess’ 

You let out a deep groan when you finally flop onto your mattress, the long day’s exhaustion still freshly soaked into your tired bones. You had failed to turn off the lights in your room or at least conjure up the strength to pull the blanket on top of yourself, because soon you’re being dragged into a deep slumber – which definitely meant you weren’t waking up anytime soon.  

Before you know it, hours pass by with the sound of your snores, with a new sound of shoes entering the room accompanying them.

Seokjin let out a sigh and then chuckles to himself when he sees the sight before him; you sprawled all over the bed you two shared together, mouth wide open with loud rupturous snores leaving from your throat. He notices that the bright lights in the room were still turned on and that somehow the blanket was only managing to cover up one of your legs, yet you continued to sleep with no care in the world.

He takes off his shoes and jacket, placing them on the side before turning the lights off and sliding into the bed next to you.

You feel your body being covered by something soft and soon a pair of arms embrace you into there warmth. Stirring a bit, you wonder if the imagination in your dreams was really all that good but a small whisper that comes from your side denies the fact.

“What would you do without me?” It says, and a bashful smile appears on your lips.

It seems like your husband had finally come home.

The swirling clouds dancing around in your head give you the wonderful illusions in the form of a dream you were having and there was no doubt that you would be planning on escaping soon.

Unfortunately, dreams tend to only stay as dreams.

It snaps.

The peaceful dream you were floating amongst is broken with the loud daunting sound of cries coming from the corner of your home. In an attempt to avoid them, you bury yourself in your husband’s warm embrace and try to settle back into the comfort you were embarking in, but reality decided to have its own plans for you that fateful night.

The cries continue to grow, and at this point so does your misery.

With an exasperated sigh, you get up. Hair filled with tangles and knots, legs slightly wobbly from the abrupt awakening and eyes lined with darkness that would probably scare anyone away, you exist the warmth of your bed. Your eyes flicker towards your husband, whose face was currently implanted in the pillows in his own attempt of avoiding the noise as well.

At least one of you should be able to get some decent sleep.

You walk into your daughter’s room and see her lying in her crib, her face red from the loud cries leaving her and wet trails streaming down her face. You quickly hold her in your arms, stroking her back to get her to calm down. She doesn’t seize her crying however, and you decide to check if she needed to be changed or was hungry.

Both proved to be wrong.

Usually whenever she cried in the middle of the night, it was because of the two initial problems you had just thought of but oddly enough that didn’t seem to be the situation right now.

You bite your lip, wondering what you could do in that moment to help but you were out of options. Being a new mother did have its disadvantages after all, at times like this you couldn’t help but feel lost.

You hear the soft padding of feet shuffle into the room and you turn around. You didn’t think it was possible for someone else to look as terrible as you did in that moment, yet inevitably you were proven wrong once again.  

Jin’s sleepy eyes and swollen cheeks were defiantly doing him worse justice than your own were, and his brown hair was sticking up in strange directions making your hair look exceptional in comparison, “What happened?”

“I don’t know, she hasn’t stopped crying yet.” He takes her from your arms and you hope that maybe being in her father’s arms would allow her to calm down, but that had also proven to be false.

“Did you check her?” Jin questions, his voice coming out in a deep tone from the lack of sleep.

“Yeah, she’s not hungry either.” You say with a yawn and Jin looks like he’s contemplating something, before gesturing for you to hand him the small rattle in your daughter crib.

“Give me that.” You hand it to him and a part of you wonders how your husband doesn’t lose his childness even when he’s dressed in blue pajama’s and looks like he was ready to sleep on the floor right then and there.

“Loook!! Look at the pretty rattlleeeee!!!” You really didn’t mean to laugh, but when his voice drops down to one that sound’s like it came from some children’s movie, you let it all out.

Jin rolls his eyes at you when you burst out laughing from his silly faces directed towards your daughter, whom seemed like she wasn’t having it all either. He soon brings out peek-a-book faces and instead of crying, your daughter looks absolutely terrified, so you tell him to stop.

“ARGH! There has to be something Y/N!” Jin exclaims, the exhaustion of his antics taking a toll on him far too soon.

You wonder why she was crying like this in the first place, after all your daughter only cried whenever she was hungry for the most part. She would at least let out some giggles when Jin would try to make her laugh, but nothing was actually proving to stop her from crying.

You rack your mind for a solution, trying to think back to the all the books Mina made you read when you were pregnant for some sort of answer.

Kids for the most part, cry when there hungry, need to be changed, are scared…?

Your eyes suddenly widen.

Scared.

Scanning around the room, you see it.

You don’t know how on earth you managed to miss it, especially when its so ginormous and glaring right down at you. It’s set up perfectly in your daughter’s line of view and although part of you does think its cute, its size is defiantly what’s giving it the downfall from its cute purpose.

“Jin what is this?!” You point towards to the oddly large white alpaca plushie that looms over your daughter’s crib and when Jin sees it, he completely turns into a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh that…” Jin nervously chuckles, “I brought that in yesterday for her…”

“Why is it so big??”

“I thought it would be cute! Doesn’t it remind you of me?” He says and never had you once thought of your husband as a giant alpaca plushie that was watching your daughter sleep.

“It has to go, its scaring her!” You begin to push it out the door, to which Jin protests at.

“But its cute!” He argues, and you roll your eyes.

“Yes its cute, but I don’t want this oversized thing in here terrifying my daughter.” It turns out you were right in the end, because the moment you kick it out of the room your daughter’s cries immediately subside in Jin’s arms.

“She stopped crying…” Jin says and soon your daughter’s eyes begin to softly blink, the sleep deprivation caving in now that the fear of the giant plushie was gone. Jin places her back in the crib and the two of you watch her become comfortable in her small blankets – soon with soft snores escaping her lips.

Jin guides you back into your room and the two of you collapse down onto it, tired beyond belief and you take a glance at the clock which told you in bold red letters that you would only have an hour before you needed to go to work for some much-needed sleep. Soon you doze off, your home surrounded in silence with the three occupants sleeping in it and the plushie long forgotten.

Your eyes flutter when the light peers through your blinds and you stretch your limbs before getting up. Feeling glad you were able to help your daughter retain some sleep the night before, you were definitely not ready for what was to come that morning.

After all, you were making straight contact with the very same plushie that was haunting your daughter the night before.

“Jin!!” You yell, placing your hand on your chest and trying to calm down your racing heart, the plushie big eyes continuing to stare at you. Jin walks in, dressed in his work suit, and smiles to himself when he sees your reaction.

“Doesn’t it look nice? I thought it would look better in our room.” Those were the last words he said, before he was dashing out the door with a very angry you attempting to chuck a pillow at him.  

*Jin trying to convince Y/N that they need RJ by showing Hoseok but he’s not having it either* 

[dead-inside-mcgee]

Nightmare

I was supposed to be working on the next part of The doctor and the demon, but i had a bunch of original ideas. The story along with all the characters are mine. Let this satisfy your cravings for more Fanfiction. If you have any questions about the story or the characters, then ask.

_______________________________________________________________

When I fell asleep I had the worst nightmare of my life. Nightmares are fairly common for me and I can usually recover pretty quickly, but something about this one really bothered me.

 I start in a black, void like, room. In front of me stands a woman, her back towards me. She’s wearing a purple dress and she has bright pink hair, with a stripe of black. Something about her seems familiar.  

 A voice speaks, and my blood runs cold. I can’t tell where it’s coming from. It sounds as if smoke itself gain a voice, it sounded vaguely feminine.

 “Good evening, my love,” the voice spoke. The woman jumped back, looking as terrified as I felt.

 “Mare! I told you no!” the woman screamed, her voice sounded familiar to.

 “You come on, love. Just hear me out,” the voice almost sounded desperate.

 The woman trembled, even if I couldn’t see her face, I knew she was crying.

 “I can’t kill anymore,” she finally spoke, her voice shaky, confirming my suspicions. “I can’t live with that guilt.”

 “You don’t have to kill. All you have to do is stay on my side.” There was pause, soft sniffles echoing through the room. “I really do need you.” The smoky voice sounded heart broken, enough to make my heart wrench.  

 The woman reached up and wiped her face. “Fine, I’ll hear you out.”

 A piece of paper appeared, flouting before her; It seemed to glow in the dark room. She took it without a word, and started at it for a long time.

 The woman sighed and looked up, I hadn’t noticed until now that there was a figure standing in front of her. I couldn’t make out any details, but there was someone there.

 “I’ll join you, under one condition. You leave her alone, I don’t want her to be a part of this.” The way she said it, and pointed behind her back, i almost thought she was talking about me.

 The voice laughed, or maybe it was laugh (it may have been choking). “Fine! Fine! She was useless anyway, but I’m keeping the other two.”

 I could faintly her something else being said, but I couldn’t tell what.

 The dream faded away and I found myself in another room.

This time I stood in a courtroom. The people in the stands, and the judge were hidden behind a weird veil of darkness. A spotlight of some kind illuminated the center of the room.

 There in the spotlight, knelt a different woman. She wore a white dress, and she had white hair. Her face was covered in bruises and scratches, but her hair and clothing were spotless. The thing that bothered me the most wasn’t the fact that her hands were chained behind her back, but that insane look in her eyes. It sent shivers down my spine.

 A voice spoke from the judges stand. “Violet!” it spoke, this voice also sounded feminine, but more human than the smoke from the last room, “You are charged with the drugging and kidnapping of Samuel Darwin Eve. How do you plead?”

 “You’re sick, Stacy. Sick,” Violet coughed, glaring up at the stand. Now i noticed two glowing, light blue, dots, where the eyes of a person would be.

 The judge (Stacy?) laughed. “Of course I am, we all are.”

 “Don’t act like this is right! I was lied to and betrayed, you’ll be to.”

 “No-” now the two glowing dots were right outside of the light, i couldn’t even see a figure behind them, -”you are the traitor here. You failed your only job and now your being punished.”

 “I was promised love!” Violet screamed, tugging on the chains. In the back of my mind, I knew this was a dream, but I was scared for my very life. I almost felt bad for her.

 “I was promised love,” she said again, this time sounding drained, “but he didn’t want me. Zara lied to me, she's lying to you to.”

 “As if i would believe that,” Stacy said, in a condescending manner. “You were a terrible person and failed to get him to fall. Now.”

 An early tension filled the room and a sense of dread hung over my head. In the coldest, most cruel sounding voice, Stacy spoke again.

 “How. Do. You. Plead.” Taking a long, dramatic pause after each word.

 Violet hung her head low, tears fell from her face. “Guilty.”

 “The accused has come clean.” A cheer came from the crowd, it sounded like a laugh track from an old sitcom.

 After that, Violet, along with those glowing dots, disappeared. I was still in the courtroom, but now I was on top of the judges stand.

 I still couldn’t see the crowd, but standing in the spotlight, there was now a man.

 He wore a white, turtleneck, sweater and brown sweatpants. His hair was, probably, brown, it looked messy and unkempt. His face and eyes were red and puffy, like he’d been crying a lot. The glasses on his face were crooked and cracked.

 For some reason, I felt extremely guilty, like I was the one that hurt him.

 “Mister Weber.” I heard my voice speak, but my mouth didn’t move. “Don’t worry, everything will be okay, just show me your arm.”

 The man nodded, sniffling. He slowly pulled his sleeve down, showing a bunch of words carved into his skin. I could see them perfectly, most were in different languages, some I didn’t even know. But I could clearly see and understand two words.

 In big, bold, all caps, painful looking letters there was a phrase. “MY TOY.” He began crying.

 A phantom pain shot down my own arm.

 “That's enough. There's no need to cry, it’ll be fine. I believe you,” my voice said.

 A hand appeared from the darkness surrounding the spotlight. It carefully guided the man into the darkness, and then the scene faded.

The last part of the dream I found myself on a rowboat of some kind, traveling down a thin murky river. Just like the courtroom, everything outside of the river was darkness.

 Controlling the boat, there was a tall, cloaked figure. Reminding me of the grim reaper.

 “La da de, la da da,” the boat keeper hummed. It’s voice reminded me of the smoky voice from the first part of the dream, only more misty.

 “Oh how my river flows. If only I could share it,” it hummed. “My son won’t speak to me, my friends all died, oh how I wish I could share.”

 I tried to speak, but my mouth wouldn’t move.

 “Oh the murky water. As murky as the future, but may someone like you see through it?”

 The keeper turned to me, I couldn’t see anything underneath the hood.

 “Alexandria.” My heart stopped. How did this thing know my name? “Beware my son. He has gone too far. He won’t listen, he will come for you. Beware.”

 I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask a million questions. I wanted something, but I couldn’t.

 The boat lurched and I was tossed into the water. Then I sat straight up, I was in my bed, in my own house. The dream was over.

 I’d only slept a few hours, but I’ve never felt more awake. My heart was beating faster than I thought possible, I would not be falling back asleep.

 I snatched the knife Jonah gave me from my bedside table. It gave off a soft green glow that I hadn’t noticed before. I could see the corners of my room.

 Curled up in a fetal position, my mind wondered back to an old caretaker I had. Before I was adopted, there was this old lady that would tell us stories.

 Some nights, when I would wake up screaming, I would go to her.

 “Are my dreams real, or are they just things my mind made up?” I would ask.

 “Of course they’re just things your mind made up.” She would smile and hug me close. “But does that make them any less real?”

 Once I was taken to a new home, she faded from my mind. As a teen and now as an adult, I considered this just some ramblings of an old woman, but now something changed.

 One line the boat keeper said, kept replaying in my mind. Oh the murky water. As murky as the future, but may someone like you see through it?

 It made no sense to me, but at the same time i understood.

 There was one thing I was sure of. Things were going to change, and soon.

[jrazillashadowworks]

Footsteps Into Anarchy: Chapter Three

Warning: Gore, language. 

Word Count: 3288

Glad to bring back this story. I hope that you guys read and enjoy this. ^,,^ 

Overpass Bridge Outpost Two: Flotsam Islands/Seafoam fortress (District Four)

Through the scope, a decayed face shuffled between the crosshairs, one eye missing. Dry, cracked and torn lips pulled over chipped, corroded teeth. Pasty, molded flesh clung loosely to a half exposed skull, patches of hair spotting the melted scalp.

The steady sea breeze, caused the young gunman’s aim to falter, pushing the reticle downward, unwillingly. He took note of it, knowing full well its effect on the trajectory of the shot. Filling his lungs with the salty air, he let it linger, swirling about in gales. Fixing the sight, he waited for a single break in the wind. He wasn’t sure how long he had been holding his breath, save for the constricting of the throat that steadily twisted into a coil. Squeezing the trigger at the last moment, the butt of the rifle jerked sharply into the gunman’s shoulder, the cushioned arm guard stabilizing the strong tremor. The deafening blast would have ruptured his eardrums, were it not muffled by the tightly clamped, standard issue, military headphones on his head.

Grimacing, he recoiled and sighed. Missed. Miffed, he fired off a couple more misplaced shots, without much focus. Disappointed with himself, he growled with one final shot. The bullet whizzed through the air, whistling as it collided with the cheek of the zombie, blowing apart half of its face, in a blast of molded crimson. Though it was a kill, the shot was crude, and not centered, lacking his usual skill. Falling back from the rifle, he clanked the gun against the railing, slumping in his chair.

The sky was a swirling mess of grey and red above, the standard look of daytime. Crackling flashes of red lightning struck the thick, morphed clouds. Gulls fluttered about, pale beacons in the drab expanse. They cried, their voices strained and hollow, a death call to the unfeeling masses below. The sound was uncomfortable, making his skin crawl. Brushing the dark strands from his face, he simply watched them for a moment, winding down.

Finally letting his gaze fall, he peered out at the never-ending stretch of bridge that he was in charge of watching over, jutting out of the darkened ocean. This was one of the only two overpasses that lead to the Secret State Laboratory, doubling as a fortress, Tangaroa. He had only seen the outside of that massive facility, and it gave him the creeps. Though he was always curious what went on in there, his anxiousness kept him from asking. Then again, there was no longer anyone to ask.

By some horrible misfortune, all other soldiers that were stationed on this desolate overpass, abandoned their posts, leaving him all alone. With the world going to hell, and communications cut shortly after. The last order was for them to stay put and not to leave under any circumstance. He could not really blame them for leaving, wanting to check on their families and so forth. Some promised him they would return, yet…that was over a month ago.  

It was also impossible for him to keep them there, being of the lowest rank in the State’s Watch, not that they would listen anyway, their superior being one of the first to leave. He, however, had nowhere else to go. He was safe here and that was good enough for him. Although, he kept his radio on at all times, in some vain hope that he would miraculously receive new orders.

Taking one last look around the perimeter, he flipped the switch, turning on the magnetic field. The translucent shields sparked to life, sparkling clear, octagonal shapes, clinking together to create a diamond wall that was almost invisible to the naked eye. They were rather beautiful, a sight to behold each and every time. No undead could penetrate it, these shields used normally to protect from explosives and gunfire.

Peeking around the old, cement base, he could make out the faint, grey outline of the massive military compound and laboratory, shrouded by a light, never-ending mist. Shrugging, he entered the barracks, the sound of wind stifled as he closed the door. Taking off his long, white, uniform jacket, he hung it up and let his hair down with a sigh. He peeked at the lettering on the arm, ‘Harry.’ Heading to the small kitchen, he grabbed the first MRE he could get his hand on, not even paying attention to what it was.

Flopping down into one of the chairs, he tore open the sealed packaging, revealing a folded loaf that couldn’t possibly be real bread. More than accustomed to the bland food, he tore off a chunk. By some sick circumstance, he imagined he was tearing apart skin, the bread suddenly flesh in his hands, sinew between his teeth. What was supposedly tomato sauce, became blood, wetting his tongue, and leaking through his fingers.

Rolling his eyes and swallowing it down, things returned to normal. “Nice try,” he told himself.

Taking another bite of the tasteless loaf, he looked up at the poster plastered on the far wall, next to the fridge unit. In big, bold, blue lettering, the State’s Watch stretched, celebratory, across the top. Underneath, the great leader of the State’s watch, Tenzen Byakko, a woman of Asian descent, painted with flowing, raven hair and steeled brown eyes, stood proudly, grasping the flag, adorned in the insignia of their cause. She wore a form-fitting, white and blue accented, six button, leather, generals jacket, silk scarf tucked in, with just as tight pants and mesh toed shoes. A curved blade was sheathed at her side.

Harry had always been in awe of her almost regal beauty, her calm yet powerful voice a constant inspiration whenever he had heard her, replaying elegantly in his head. She was the reason he joined after all. When around his comrades, they would always tease him vigorously, calling him a fanboy. They weren’t entirely wrong, though he always denied it.

Standing beside Byakko, towering over her by more than three feet and thrice as wide, was an imposing, armored colossus. Amongst the uniform, the golden plated pauldrons, and knee pads, his right arm stood out most, linked in heavy duty, mesh armor, an unnatural light shimmering through the open creases.

His face was encased in a striking faceplate, with four eyes, searing emeralds. This being simply went by Divine. More of a title really than a name but still, his astonishing appearance lived up to the name. Harry, however, although never actually having seen him, assumed his image was highly embellished. Unless he was one of the State’s Watch’s mech’s or something. Ah well, he thought. Probably would never meet him anyway.

Finishing up his meal with a glass of crystal water, he trudged to the bunk room, past the communications room and showers. Entering the rectangular area, multiple bunk beds were pushed up against the grey, cracked walls. It was here that Harry felt the loneliest, passing by the messy, no longer used beds to his, at the farthest point. Only his stuff remained, a single military backpack and some clothes, folded on the nightstand, a handheld video game device crowning it all. Grabbing the system, he rolled onto the thin, lumpy mattress, expelling all the air within him.

Clicking the power button, he watched as the screen blazed to life, blinding him for a second, before animated bullet holes, riddled the screen. The sharp sound of glass shattered, as the title stretched across, in massive letters, wreathed in flame. ‘Whirlwind of Bullets.’ Sifting through the menus, he scoffed at the multiplayer function. Even though the WIFI field that encompassed the entire continent, remained unaltered, despite all that happened, he had not once found another person playing the game. Then again, he was sure everyone had more pressing matters, not as privileged in their situation.

Harry knew well how stupid it sounded, to check a video game, to possibly find someone out there but, he always had this ridiculous hope or, perhaps it was more out of curiosity. Habitually, he ended up choosing that option and immediately he was thrust into a destroyed battlefield. Choosing his specialized class, he ran through the hi-res fields, shooting at all manner of beasts and soldiers. Vibrant, flashing colors, washed over his face, tantalizing, intense music and gunfire, pounding from the hidden speakers.

After a while of play, taking out over a hundred hell beasts, Harry thought he saw something peculiar, strike over one of the far rising hills, a few, out of place pixels perhaps? His mind began to reel, pulse racing, despite his brain telling him it was probably just a glitch. Giving in, he ran over to the hill and upon cresting its ridge, glanced out at another player standing in a horde of beasts. Railing against them, this bulky soldier blasted all with a Light machine gun.

Utterly shocked, Harry’s heart shooting up into his throat, he was about to run to them when he saw their player name….Gurgle_My_Balls. At that very moment, he let out an almost painful groan, his expression morphing from incredulousness to a defeated resignation. Forehead creased, he wondered if it was better if humanity went extinct.

Seriously questioning whether he should approach them now, he was taken off guard when they wheeled about, the beasts lying dead all around them, in a mire of gore. They both froze, staring at each other for a moment. Too late now. Pressing forward, he made his descent down the hill, turning on his mic.

“Hey there,” he said, in a friendly tone, though a touch of exasperation leaked through. “I never thought I would find another player here… My name’s…”

He was cut off, when the other player lifted their gun, blasting a hail of fire in his direction. Inhaling sharply, he cursed as he ran back up, zigzagging away from the ballistic trail behind him, uprooting grass and dirt. Kneeling down behind cover, he called out. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let’s talk!” He was practically screaming into the mic. “We could the very last people on earth!”

The response was a whistling, a grenade landing just beside him, tapping against his arm. Stomach dropping like a boulder into the ocean, he whispered….”Fuck.” With a massive explosion, his body was obliterated into a thousand, mutilated pieces, littering the hill. The surroundings spinning, they constructed the words all gamers hated to see, ‘YOU DIED!”

Almost throwing his handheld, he shot up, headbutting the top bunk with a loud clink. Exclaiming, he held his forehead, shooting pains, striking in all directions. Gritting his teeth, floaty, colorful specks filled his vision. “Damn asshole!”

Out of spite, he fought through the pain to rejoin the game but, unfortunately, they were gone. He tried repeatedly, restarting over and over to find them to no avail. It must have been a couple of hours of continuous attempts before he finally passed out, from stress and exhaustion. Arm hanging over the bed, his system fell to the floor.

It was to a massive, resounding boom that ripped him from sleep, the bridge beneath the base quaking. With a start, he smacked his forehead on the top bunk again, groaning as he threw his legs over and wobbly stood up. Peeking through his fingers, he noticed just how dark it was, everything around him, almost pitch black. Stumbling about, he found his flashlight inside the nightstand, flicking it on, creating a cone of stark luminance. Groggy and perplexed, he hurriedly scrambled to get outside.

Hit with the salty night air, mixed with a burning taste of ash, he retched. A palpable smoke danced on the sea breeze, shooting up his nose. The red glow from the crimson flashes above, allowed Harry to navigate around to the back of the base. Though he had a hunch it could be an attack, he never could imagine he would see Tangaroa, the establishment he guarded, reduced to absolute rubble. Bleeding hellish flames that writhed in the cacophony of smaller explosions, a pillar of swirling, black smoke encased the scene.

“What the hell?!” Jaw dropping, he felt a cold sweat creep upon his forehead, mind a broken, jigsaw puzzle. Gripping the railing to keep upright, he tried to make sense of how an attack of this magnitude could take place, and without him knowing. It was then that he realized, a bit late, that the power had been completely cut off from the laboratory fortress. A protective measure, to keep power uninterrupted by anything, all lines lead under the bridge and were supplied from the lab's generators. Aided by the disbelief that whoever attacked could make it past their defenses, especially those ridiculous Anarchists, it was a bewildering happenstance.

With everything suddenly falling apart, Harry tried to fight through his clouded mind, to think of what possibly to do next. Then, a strike of icy fear, shot up his spine, as he thought of the bridge. With the area now unprotected and him being all alone, the undead could easily swarm. Frantically, he began to panic. Then from the dark recesses of his memory, he remembered that the overpass base had its own generator, used only in the unlikely situation of such a thing happening.

About to turn, his peripheral caught sight of a fast ripple in the murky water. First thought to be a simple wave, he couldn’t ignore the screeching alarm in his heart. Reflexively scurrying back inside, Harry dropped low, as a geyser erupted from the water’s surface, followed by a fleshly slapping against the grating. Freezing on the spot, Harry’s hair stood on end as a dank, disgustingly horrid stench, flowed in, through the doorway. It was the fetid stink of rotten fish and long scrapped, boiled crustacean shells, in a fermented oil that was relished with a distinctly sour twist.

It was the most horrible thing he had ever smelt, throttling his throat, and scorching his nostrils. The slapping grew louder, as whatever accompanied that smell stepped into the base. Harry had snuck back into the bunk room, hiding under one of the beds. He did not have a gun, the only weapons being his sniper rifle, which he had left outside and the few munitions, sitting in the armory closet. He could only wait in silence, the stale cold of the floor emanating into him, chilling him to the bone.

In the stifling silence, there was an unearthly, guttural, clicking thrum coming from whatever had entered. It was akin to an animalistic, yet alien growl of some sort, the likes he had never encountered. Harry had thought that the undead to be the most abhorrent things in this new world but, apparently, there was something more.

Whatever it was, it had to be searching the compound, its steps, deft yet erratic. Harry listened intently as it went about, smashing things about in other rooms, throwing stuff around. It was one room, in particular, that received the brunt of its attack. By the sound of it and its location, it had to be communications. It made an unbelievable ruckus, smashing no doubt every panel in the place, a bizarre, hissing spray, punctuating all other sounds.

Once it had finished, Harry thought it was over, then the thrum entered the bunkroom, bouncing off the walls. Stifling his breathing with his hands, he waited as still as he could. Drops of something splat against the floor, the same hissing sound, rising up from where they had landed. Unable to see, Harry could only imagine what was in the room with him. The growl whirred, sharp sniffs mixing in.

Then the unthinkable happened. It dropped down on all fours, right beside the bed Harry was hiding under. It sniffed the flooring, something slathering against it. Every inch of Harry’s skin crawled, its broken breathing, washing over him. Gagging silently, he pressed his hands to his mouth as hard as he could. It was an unbearably possibility that it could be looking at him but, it was impossible to tell in the overbearing darkness.

After a few painstaking, heart-stopping seconds, by sheer luck, or some other unfathomable entity at play, it finally shot up and left. Remaining motionless until the sounds stopped, assuming the thing had returned to the sea that spawned it, he slipped out. Clicking on the flashlight, but keeping the beam contained, looking at the spots where the drops had fallen. In their place, the cement had been eaten away, leaving melted holes, remnants of the stench, curling with unusual steam. Only acid of some kind could do something like this.

Stealthily, Harry followed the trail, peeking around the corner to make sure it was indeed gone. Eyes moving to the open doorway, he fell upon an otherworldly being, standing atop the railing, back to him, filling him with a shocking disbelief, at what he was actually seeing. It was a repulsive mix between a fish and a human, greenish blue, striped scales making up its entire, athletic body. Jagged, blood red fins lined its arms and back, long, striped spines protruding between them. A few, deep crevices on its sides, and back, leaked streams of the puss colored acid, glistening.

Just as it bent down and lunged into the air, to return to the depths, Harry was absolutely certain he saw Xenolith’s symbol, branded into its right shoulder blade. With the slosh of water, sounding its departure, Harry’s head dropped. “They are the ones responsible? How the hell does such a creature even exist?” The questions were endless, followed up with the most important. What in the world was he going to do now?

After searching the base, Harry surveyed the irreversible damage the monster had inflicted, the control room left a melted mess. All controls and machines including the generator were cleaved and disintegrated, a layer of the mucous-like ooze, cascading every surface. Still reeling from what had happened, and lost as to what to do next, he went to the armory closet. Taking the only remaining military vest, he put it on and loaded up every compartment with whatever clips he could fit.

Lastly, he found a submachine gun, hidden behind a couple of empty bullet crates. Lifting up the lightweight weapon, and checking it, he exclaimed happily. With both the sniper rifle and submachine gun, he had both far and mid-range covered. Counting his clips, he figured he had enough to protect himself for a while at least if he was careful. Still, the question remained. What was he going to do now? Should he go check on the facility, despite its ruin, for survivors?

As if to answer him, his radio crackled on his belt, startling him, to jump on the spot. Fiddling with it in his shaky hands, eyes bulging wide, he gasped when a feminine voice, both professional, and strained fizzled through. “Whoever can hear this, this is an S.O.S,” she said. “My name is Mishy. I am a State’s Watch doctor. I would be eternally grateful if I could get some assistance.” She rattled off her exact latitude and longitude, placing her in the city of District four, just across the bridge.

Collecting his things and realizing that this was the best choice out of the two, he walked back to the coat hanger, he pulled on his long jacket and exited to collect his rifle. Picking it up, he peered out as far as his eyes could reach, the city a mere outline in the dark haze. Lifting the radio up, Harry cleared his throat and pushed on the receiver. “This is Harry, a Soldier of the State’s Watch. Stay put. I’m on my way.”

[vickyvicarious]

max and the way after midnight visitor (bmw 1)

So last weekend I decided to check back in on Paranatural for the first time in years... such a good move. Still my favorite by far. And hey, I’m apparently back just in time for bullymagnet week, which wasn’t even a thing before. My timezones may be a little off, not quite sure, but this is for day one - night.

.

Max wakes up at 4:17 AM to the familiar sound of ol’ Hissin’ Pete freaking out. He groans, rolling over to put a pillow on top of his head, only to bolt upright when he rolls right onto his fractured arm.

“FLIPPIN’ HECK,” he screams through gritted teeth, curling over it.

“Mister Max! Are you okay?” PJ inquires, looming out of the darkness with a nightmare grin. Max means that literally. He’s had nightmares about that grin.

It does look a little more nervous than usual this time, though. He squints, honestly just to get a better look in the darkness, but PJ immediately quails before his face, admitting, “I’m sorryyyy, it was me that got Hissin’ Pete going but I only did it because a weird kid on your roof threatened to punch Lefty!”

“…What,” Max starts, only to be interrupted by none other than Johnny Jhonny swinging in through his window roaring a battlecry. PJ squeaks and vanishes through the floor. Hissin’ Pete hisses louder, before PJ reaches an arm up through the floor and yanks him away too.

“IS THAT BLOB ON YOU AGAIN MAX I SWEAR I’LL PUNCH IT REEEEEEAL GOOD BOI,” Johnny – threatens? Promises? …Consoles?

“Guess my clock’s three minutes slow,” Max mutters to himself, too worn out at this point to even bother with being shocked. Honestly, Johnny swinging through his window at four in the morning threatening to punch stuff is perfectly in character. The real question is how he even knows where Max lives.

“How do you even know where I live?” Max asks. Johnny blinks, and stops punching at the air in favor of approaching the bed to look down at him.

“Yeah so after hitball this girl comes up all wantin’ me to break in and steal your secrets or whatever so she can double-blackmail ya. Said she’d pay me with three stars. So I said sure an’ she showed me your ack-e-dem-ick files, son.” Johnny grins, bright and manic even in the darkness. “You got an A in three classes last year? NERRRRD.”

There’s only one girl who would ever offer to pay the school bully to break into his house and steal double-blackmail on him in the dead of night when he’s just been injured. Suzy, you monster.

“Oh yeah, I’m real lame. I can do basic math and everything: breaking in plus stealing plus phone call to the cops equals juvie.” Max whips out his cell phone with, dare he say, a good bit of flair. It’s totally a bluff, and honestly a pretty weak retort regardless, but he’s not at the top of his game tonight, okay. Spectral hitball really takes it outta a guy.

“Oi oi oi, gimme that,” Johnny hisses though, and leaps on the bed to snatch the phone out of Max’s hand and hurl it across the room. It crashes into the wall with an audible CRACK.

Max stares in utter disbelief.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR,” he yells indignantly, attempting to sit up further.

Johnny smacks a hand across his mouth, shoving him all the way back down into his pillow with embarrassing ease.

“SHHHHH,” he shushes, extremely loudly. “Don’t wanna wake yer folks, man.”

“Muh dah whlld mmfp frh uh nuhclr uhfalt,” Max complains through the fingers over his face.

“Don’t believe ya,” Johnny grins (of course he would speak perfect muffled-ese), and then just sits down so he’s straddling Max’s stomach, making it a little hard to breathe and also bringing back war flashbacks to their fight in the hallway a few days ago. His other hand swings down to hold Johnny’s right arm down as well with, again, embarrassing ease. “Anyway, you were gonna sell me out to the swine. Backstabber.”

Fed up with not being able to retort (finally, his brain’s kicking back into gear, and he’s got a real good one about bacon up a plan), Max licks Johnny’s hand.

Far from being phased, Johnny just leans in closer, grins the kind of grin that should come with its own tire-screech soundtrack, and licks the back of his own hand.

“WH TH FLPP,” Max protests, because what. Johnny’s nose was almost touching his, their eyes were meeting, for a moment he honestly just can’t breathe because what was that?!

“Little spittle never scared m-e…” Johnny brags, losing steam about halfway through and just staring at Max with wide eyes. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but his cheeks look red. Could he really… be realizing what a dumbass he’s being?

“Uh here talk,” Johnny yelps, sitting up and yanking his hand back like it’s been burned. He’s even flapping it in the air, there’s spit flying off, it’s just. It’s gross.

“It’s kinda hard to stab someone in the back when they broke into your house to steal from you, dude,” Max says, choosing to just let that whole licking thing go. Never mention it again. “Also, that makes two of my most treasured belongings you’ve stolen and destroyed forever.”

“I. Uh. Sh-shut up, you’re too beholden to the Man! I just saved you from yourself!”

“What does that even mean?”

“I dunno. Stephen always says it and sounds mega turbo cool though. Don’t get all beholden to the Man, man. ‘S bad for the liver.”

Max is sleep-deprived, his arm aches, he’s pretty sure there’s some spit on his face, plus Johnny is sitting on his gut telling him not to trust the government – he just. He can’t help it.

At first it’s just a huff. And then… really, it stays just a huff, because Johnny’s heavy and it hurts to breathe too much, but he’s grinning and laugh-huffing and up above him Johnny’s eyes get really wide and that makes Max laugh even more.

“K-kid, stop. Stoppit,” Johnny protests weakly. His mouth is moving kinda slow and his face looks all red again, and Max physically couldn’t stop if you paid him three Starchman stars, oh geez.

Then Johnny smacks him swiftly (yet somehow gently?) in the face.

“I SAID STOP, BOYO,” he roars. “D-don’t you be mirthin’ at me!”

“I’ll mirth wherever I please,” Max scowls. A bit of a grin’s still fighting its way out of his mouth, though. “It’s my bedroom.”

“I – I am gonna lick your face next time,” Johnny threatens. “Right all up on your forehead. Don’t test me.”

“…Well, I believe that,” Max concludes after a disturbed moment. “Fine. I’ll be mad at you again, happy?”

“NO.”

“Well then whaddaya want?! I don’t just keep blackmail lying around my room, okay?” (Max is very pointedly not thinking about the open drawer full of days-of-the-week underwear his dad bought to torture him but which he actually wears sometimes because Laundry Days suck and yet are still too far and few between. At least he wears them on the wrong days, but still.)

“Huh?” Johnny blinks down at him in complete bafflement for a minute, before his expression clears. “Psht, nah man, you think I care about that? I just wanted to know where ya rest yer noggin.”

“…so you don’t want to blackmail me for Suzy?”

“Why would I do that when I can just punch you in your face if I feel like it?” Johnny asks, with apparently genuine interest in the answer.

“I – I guess no reason,” Max admits, torn between basking in someone not trying to blackmail him, or sweating at the implication Johnny’s about to punch him in his face.

“Nah man, I’m just here to sign your cast,” Johnny continues nonchalantly, reaching into a pocket and emerging with a full rainbow of sharpies splayed between his fingers. “Gotta come quick. Early squirrel gets the birdseed, an’ all.”

“I. What – why?”

“Cuz.”

There’s really no arguing with that kind of logic.

“Okay, fine, I guess,” Max agrees, and shoves at Johnny with his good arm until the guy’s scooched off him enough that he can sit up and grab his lamp. It turns on with a cheery, ‘I’ll brighten up your day!’ and reveals Johnny’s eyes gleaming at his arm with a disturbing amount of focus.

“………this snow’s already trode on, yo,” he mutters with clear disappointment.

Max peers down at his arm. On it is a love heart with a doodle of his dad’s face inside, and the word lame from Zoey.

“Yeah, my family are pretty, uh, squirrely,” he agrees. “Feel free to cover them up. Especially the heart one. Please cover up the heart one.”

Somewhat cheered by this, Johnny whistles. Twirling the sharpies between his fingers, he bites at a sparkly orange one to yank the cap off with his teeth.

“Yer about to see a master at work, so listen close,” he says nonsensically, then goes to town.

Max wakes up in the morning to sunlight in his eyes, Johnny’s feet on his neck, and his dad beaming down at him from the doorway.

“Aww, sonbeam, you don’t have to sneak your friends over for sleepovers,” he coos.

“Rghrrmffo ‘way,” Max retorts, wittily.

He squirms loose from the death-cuddle Johnny has on his ankles after about seven minutes of mortal combat, then climbs over the bully and leaves the room to get dressed, all without interrupting Johnny’s snores once. In the bathroom, Max does his business, gets dressed, brushes his teeth and his hair and basically just avoids looking at his arm a lot until PJ peers over his shoulder like a total creep and makes excited noises.

“That looks s-so cool, Maxeus!” he exclaims, so fired up that he appears to be testing out weird nicknames and everything. Lefty, rising through the sink, gives a thumbs up.

Finally he looks down at his cast. Max slowly smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at the brightly colored picture of him and Johnny riding on the back of what he assumes is a Burnhound, since it’s on fire and appears to be eating some kind of electric lizard. Johnny’s name is in big, bold letters above this, along with the letters MVP, but there’s also a bunch of random doodles too, of fists and explosions and a can of soup and his baseball hat, and even something that kinda looks like a doctopus if he squints a little to the left. Johnny has also, for no apparent reason, drawn himself with his gang of friends on the back of Max’s cast, in what looks like one of their friendship fusion moves.

The art is not great. The colors are garish. There’s basically no space left on the cast for anyone else to write anything, unless their handwriting is really tiny, and Max had been kinda planning on letting Isaac sign it first to show they were still cool, if he asked. That’s sort of a pointless idea now.

Still…

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat,” Max agrees with PJ, before filling a glass of cold water to go throw at Johnny’s face. He tries to contain his smile at the way the guy leaps into instant murderous alertness, but he can’t completely stop it and, weirdly enough, Johnny stops choking blankets to grin back at him once he notices.

“Not bad,” Max admits, lifting his cast.

“Yer welcome, birdseed,” Johnny replies, before climbing back out the window and vanishing into the woods instead of staying for cereal like a normal person.

[keir-delay]

Trainboy (A dream I had last night)

There was this tour business where these massive trains would take people, mostly kids on tours of surrounding attractions around the town.

I got a job as a Trainboy, a job that required I hang on to the outside of the train and do maintenance work on the fly, while the train was moving, should any problems arise.

Of course hanging on to the outside of one of these trains was extremely dangerous because they would normally travel at over 200km/h.

I had to constantly be aware of my surroundings and any potential hazards and adjust my position around the train, dodge things like trees, train tracks and other trains with split second reflexes and sometimes even let go of my train and run alongside it and jump back on.

But I was good at my job. And every time I went on a tour, I stayed with my train, did my work and lived to come home at the end of my shift.

And these tours and the city, were absolutely indescribably unbelievable. The things we would see seemed not to even be of this world. Impossibly massive and complex highway systems, a super city with sky scrapers miles tall and huge underground mining caves with innumerable tunnels and a crystalline bioluminescent glow.

And with the train travelling at such insane speeds, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for it to lift off of the track and do jumps hundreds of feet in the air. It was all part of the show.

One specific moment I remember was entering the cave. We had to do a high jump to get in so I braced myself, held on to the handlebars on the side of the train, we jumped and I felt a climax of my adrenaline, a strong yet peaceful wind on my face and all around my body, and I witnessed a mesmerizing, other worldly view.

Like everything else in this dream, this cave was massive, almost impossible to even consider that it was man made, but it was. The entrance was a gaping maw whose diameter expanded the length of a thousand football fields, the edges adorned with millions of clusters of giant pink and purple crystals and the inner depths rolling with black rock hills and valleys with rivers and lakes of oil littered throughout, all extending into the horizon where everything was swallowed up by the deep black depth of the rest of the mine that the light had yet to reach.

This was where things started going wrong. I could hear the conductor doing his usual spiel, describing the history of the mines and other things you’d expect from a tour guide. But when he started to explain the “lower aqueducts”, I became an observer, leaving the train and my body and travelling down a hole in the ground.

This hole was one entry of thousands into the lower aqueducts which was a system of large tubes, each maybe fifteen feet in diameter, directing volumes of oil from deep beneath the earth to convenient refuelling locations on the surface. No one could actually give an estimate of how large the system was, not even the people that constructed it. It was THAT big.

I travelled miles down, the tube splitting into two, again and again, each split marked and forewarned with the classic reflective red and yellow diagonal stripe pattern often used on construction sites, implying that even now, thousands of miles below the surface of the cave, at some point in time, humans were down here, building this. This thought was terrifying to me.

The conductors voice was long gone. I, as an observer, finally slowed to a stop, rested on the inside of the tube, this part feeling like a rubber attachment, a tube connecting two of the main segments of the aqueduct and I became myself again. I was back in my body and the conductor was lying beside me.

And so, in the middle of nowhere inside this impossibly deep and confusing maze of an aqueduct system, thousands of miles underground, far from civilization and any hope of rescuers, in a hundred thousand years, following the correct path through the aqueducts to find us or even know we were down here. We were lost. Hopelessly lost. As good as dead.

I was panicking. It was hard to breathe. There was the muffled sound of wind outside of the tube and every time I moved, it bobbed and bounced up and down suggesting that this thin skin of rubber was the only thing keeping us from falling down what I could only imagine was a bottomless pit.

The conductor was astonishingly calm and confident that we would get out. I guess it could have made sense, he had been doing this job for most of his life and probably knew lots of things that I didn’t.

To my absolute shock, he pulled out his knife and sank the blade into the floor of the tube and everything lurched forward and a big wind started blowing, suggesting the entire aqueduct system was decompressing and deflating.

We had to yell over the noise to communicate and he yelled at me “TRUST ME, GO THROUGH THIS HOLE” and so lacking any other remote chance of escape, I felt I had nothing to lose so as he was ripping the hole open wider with his hands, I stuck my head through it. And then an arm. And before I even knew what was happening, we were back on the train at the train station. It wouldn’t have been outside the realm of possibility to imagine that the creators of this incredible mine employed techniques involving the use of extra dimensional technologies. It was just a theory however.

Anyway we were back on the train but we were alone this time. It was empty and we didn’t have any clue where the passengers were. A thought that I did not want to entertain was that they might still be in the mines, or even worse, the aqueducts. Trapped and without the conductors knowledge, lost forever. They will die down there.

No one seemed to notice that we were missing or that anything was out of the ordinary so the conductor suggested that we never speak about this to anyone. And I reluctantly agreed.

We resumed our duties the next day but we made sure not to go anywhere near the mine. Instead we took the passengers to a local swimming hole. It was run by an Asian family and when they spoke to each other, we couldn’t understand them. They looked at us suspiciously but I brushed it off as nothing. They took our money and lead us up to the top of what appeared to be a water slide type entrance to the pool.

Another thing was that the pools were above ground in these giant repurposed vats lined with tarp that did not look safe to swim in at all. the whole place looked very sketchy and rickety and there was water leaking all over the place. But I still went in.

When I got in, I could feel currents pulling around and sometimes under the water. I asked them how deep it was and they said it was 400 feet deep. I was a little shocked but I was still able to handle it so I wanted to slide in again.

I went down the slide a little too fast this time and I flew out the bottom, bounced off the edge of the pool I was aiming for and continued over the edge, toward another pool I didn’t notice before. As I was falling toward it, I could see that the water was much darker than the other pool and there were small whirlpools and this ominous bubbling in the centre of it. I fell in and didn’t have a chance. I immediately started sinking, and fast. I knew this was it, this was how I was going to die. While I was panicking and struggling to hold my breath any longer, I wondered how deep this pool was and I became an observer again. I panned out to the front of the pool house to a big colourful and enticing sign that read, in big bold letters, 1000 FEET OF FUN!

I thought the Asian family might have known what I was involved in with the conductor and the mine and this was them getting revenge or seeking justice by drowning us. I was never sure. After I saw the sign, the dream ended and I woke up.