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prefect30 · 1 year ago

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Little Dove

Instead of Lucy Gray, he got her younger, little sister, Rosalie Jade.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Four

Chapter Warnings: MDNI/18+/Mature scene - consented.

“I’m sorry ‘bout your friend.”

Today was the first “official” mentor-tribute interview day. Conveniently, the day after Arachne’s death. So here sat Rosalie Jade, along with the other 22 tributes, at a small table, where they were hand-cuffed to the table–the Academy didn’t want any more accidents–and each mentor was sat on the other side of the table, facing their tribute.

Coriolanus had already had an idea that Rosalie Jade was not one for violence, but rather peace and serenity. His idea was proven correct when he watched her throw up the food he had gotten her after watching Arachne be murder. It was further proven when he watched her comfort the one girl, who’s name he learned was Wovey, when Arachne’s murderous tribute had been displayed for all at her services, including the rest of the–very much alive–tributes. This was most definitely going to be a problem in the arena, where Rosalie Jade would be surrounded by destruction, violence, and death. She would not be able to hold someone’s hand as their head, and inturn, hers, would be cut off. So Coriolanus made a mental note to himself to make sure to work on getting her used to the site of blood, destruction, and death. How to do that, he would figure out later.

“It’s fine, Little Dove. She was just someone I knew from my childhood.” Coriolanus waved her off, sitting down across from her.

“She was a bitch and needed to die anyway.” Was what Coriolanus wanted to add, but decided against it, knowing how sensitive and fragile his tribute was.

“She was still your friend, though. Still someone ya’ knew Coryo.” Rosalie Jade responded, putting her small finger tips that the cuffs allowed her to, and traced small comforting lines back and forth on his hand.

Coryo. God, it sounded so good, I should have made her call me that from the start. And who knew that someone from District 12 could have such soft hands? They’re like fucking clouds. Can people feel like clouds?

“I guess you’re right. It’s ju-it’s been so different without h-her here.” Coriolanus lowered his head, putting his hand into hers so she was able to put her whole tiny hand on his large one, encouraging her to rub her thumb over his knuckles. Coriolanus would milk this tit all fucking day if he could. The sensations he was feeling from her hands on his just made him feel so comforted, wanted, loved.

“It’s ok Coryo. While I can’t promise you anythin’, just know that things will get better. You just gotta have hope.” Rosalie Jade tried to move closer to him, but a Peacekeeper near them put his hand on his gun, saying not to move any closer to Coriolanus, saying that the tributes were meant to keep a controlled distance away from their mentor. Coriolanus internally groaned at that and cursed Arachne for her stupid antics that now has everyone paying the price.

“Thank you, Little Dove.” Coriolanus smiled at her.

“Anytime Coryo.” Rosalie Jade smiled back at him, squeezing his hand in return.

Coriolanus, instead of doing his job and trying to help Rosalie Jade win, Coriolanus just sat there with a smile on his face that made him look like a teenage boy in love, trying to hold Rosalie Jade’s hand as long as he could, relishing in the wonderful feeling and burst of happiness he was getting from being touched.

“Hey, ah, where were you this mornin’? Everyone else’s mentors were here, but you weren’t. Thought you might’ve forgotten me!” Rosalie Jade joked, releasing her hand from his.

Feeling cold and wanting to get her warmth back, Coriolanus grabbed her hand again, in a comforting way, “Oh, I would never forget you Little Dove. I just had to drop something off for someone at the Citadel.”

It was true, Coriolanus was running late this morning because he needed to go to the Citadel first since he needed to drop off his paper of ideas for Dr. Gaul. The same paper that Clemensia insisted that she help on, which she did not. Since Arachne’s untimely death, Clemensia has barely talked to Coriolanus about the paper, let alone anyone. She seemed to have actually cared about that obnoxious little bitch that was going to try to blackmail Coriolanus. Coriolanus, however, couldn’t give two shits. He never really liked Arachne and when she started showed signs of wanting to blackmail Coriolanus, well that was the last straw. She had to go. But the day of her death, he found himself lying awake at night, not being able to fall asleep. Maybe it was guilt about not being able to save Arachne or maybe it was that her death reminded him too much of his mother’s. It was probably the latter. So that night, Coriolanus stayed awake and wrote the whole paper, putting all of his ideas down messily then fixing it up formally on the final copy. The last two nights had gone into revising the final copy so it would be perfect for Dr. Gaul. He needed this paper to be perfect for her if he wanted any chance of helping Rosalie Jade.

“Oh, ok!” Rosalie Jade smiled, leaning back in the chair as much as it would allow her, releasing Coriolanus’ hands for the final time. “So, whatcha’ got planned for me, Mr. Snow?” Rosalie Jade teased.

“Right! So for your final interview-” Coriolanus started but then was cut off by Rosalie Jade snapping at him, “I’m not talking ‘bout the interview, Coryo. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the Games. What can I do to live?”

“I’ll tell you later. Right now, we need to focus on your interview. That is what will help you.” Corioalnus told her, getting a little frustrated, that she cut him off.

“You want to help me?” Rosalie Jade questioned him.

“Of course Little Dove.” Corioalnus answered.

“Then start thinking that I can actually win.” She said, looking him in the eyes while leaning in closer.

Well, she does have a point there. But she is just so damn small! How can she survive?! Ohh!

“You're right. I’m sorry. When we get the tour of the arena tomorrow, we will look around for somewhere for you to climb or run and hide in. That is going to be your best bet. Don’t go into the Cornucopia right away, it’s just a trap to lure you into your death. That is where most of the deaths happen. We even call it the ‘Blood Bath’ whenever we go over previous Games in class because it is always so brutal and bloody.” Coriolanus tried to give her as much information as he could without overloading her small little brain.

Rosalie Jade didn’t say anything, but rather just stared at him in awe. In a terrified awe. Coriolanus saw as her sky blue almond eyes filled with tears. Other than the Reaping, where she almost cried in front of all of Panem, Coriolanus had never seen Rosalie Jade cry before. She had always been happy, making light of her horrible situation. Now, she sat in front of him with her head in her hands, crying her pretty little eyes out.

“Hey, it’s ok. I promise. My job is to protect you and keep you safe and alive. I intend to do that.” Coriolanus said, grabbing her hand and rubbing his fingers against her knuckles this time.

“I-I’m so-ory. I didn’t want to c-cry, b-but-I…I-I don’t wanna die, Coryo.” Rosalie Jade choked out.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to be sorry, Little Dove. You’re gonna be just fine. Ok? I promise, I am going to keep you safe.” Coriolanus said, taking his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, wiping away her tears.

“Why don’t I tell you what I got you for your interview, huh?” Coriolanus said, trying to distract Rosalie Jade.

“Y-yeah.” She hiccupped.

“I got you a guitar! Remember, just like you asked.” Coriolanus said enthusiastically, trying to cheer her up just like an older brother would do for their little sister.

“Really?” Rosalie Jade said, her tears glistening in hope.

“Yup! And my cousin is even going to let you borrow a dress just for the interview so she can wash your mother’s dress. She promises that she will be very careful.”

“T-that’s nice.” Rosalie Jade said, starting to come back to her normal, fun, light hearted self.

“Yeah.” Coriolanus absentmindedly said, so happy that he was able to make her happy and smile again. But as soon as he got her somewhat to her normal self, he remembered why he was here. Why she was here.

The form.

“Hey, so I need to ask you some questions to fill out this form on you. It’s to help with your interview.” Coriolanus said, hoping that the form wouldn’t upset her again and lead her to cry once more. He didn’t think his heart could handle his Little Dove crying again, this time because of him and not the Games.

Rosalie Jade just looked up at him, drying up her final tears with his handkerchief, and nodded.

“Great. So we have your name, age, District, and you already said that you have one sibling, your sister, Lucy Gray.” Rosalie Jade just sat there, nodding along with him in awe when he remembered her sister’s name, let alone that she even had one. She didn’t think that Coriolanus was listening to her when she had randomly brought up her sister.

“So that just leaves a partner, hobbies, and skills. We can cross off partn-” Coriolanus started but was cut off with Rosalie Jade saying, “Oh! I do have a boyfriend. Quite handsome if I do say so myself.” She smiled up at him, her previous sadness seemingly gone.

What!? Who?

Coriolanus internally growled to himself. Who could this little girl possibly be dating and why?

“Yeah? And who’s that Little Dove?” Coriolanus asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep his composure.

“The baker’s boy of course! Ryder Mellark, but we all call him Rye.” Rosalie Jade said matter of factly.

That’s such a stupid fucking name.

“Why do you care, though? You jealllllllous?” Rosalie Jade teased, dragging her L.

“W-what. No-o.” Coriolanus turned red at her accusation. He just wanted to know who thought that they were good enough to have his Little Dove.

Rosalie Jade just laughed at him stumbling over his words, “Oh my gosh, relax! I’m just playin’ with ‘ya. I ain't dating no one. Lucy Gray would rather have me hung than have me date someone. Though, the baker’s son is quite cute. Rye, not Corbin, he’s already datin’ someone…”

Coriolanus just let out a sigh of release as he let Rosalie Jade rant. He would let her talk as much as she wanted if it meant that she wasn’t dating someone. But for some reason, her thinking that Rye was cute, irked him.

“What about your hobbies?” Coriolanus cut off her rant as he realized that his time with her today was dwindling down.

“Oh, well I like to sing, but you already know that. I like to dance and swim too. Ooh! Before District 4 became District Four, when we were down there, Lucy Gray taught me to swim, so now I’m an expert! I swim so much down in the lake during the summer that my hands are almost always pruned up! You would like the lake, maybe one day you’ll get to see it.” Rosalie Jade smiled sadly at him, relaxing that she would never see her lake again.

“Or maybe I might visit you after you win and you can show me.” Coriolanus lied, trying to keep her spirits up. To that, she smiled back at him, this time more cheerfully. But there was no way in hell that Coriolanus was ever going to step foot in District 12 of all places.

“So I guess I can put swimming down as one of your skills. Do you have any more?” Coriolanus asked.

“No, sorry.” Rosalie Jade said, looking down, anxiously playing with Coriolanus’ handkerchief.

“Hey, it’s ok. At least you have something.” Coriolanus calmly told her, reaching his hands out towards her, wanting to take it in his hand again, but Rosalie jade took this as him wanting his handkerchief back.

“No, it’s ok. You keep it to dry your eyes whenever you need to.” Coriolanus told her.

It most certainly is not ok. You have no other skills than swimming in a dry land arena. How that fuck is that going to help you me?

“I can’t Coryo, it’s yours.” Rosalie Jade said, continuing to push his hand back to give him his handkerchief back.

Grabbing her hands and looking her in the eyes, Coriolanus said, “It’s fine Rosie Jay, it’s yours now. I have more at home.” He didn’t have many left, but she didn’t need to know that.

She finally accepted the handkerchief, but only in shock of him calling her Rosie Jay instead of Rosalie Jade or Little Dove.

“Alright! Time to go! Mentors, go please exit from the front left door! Tributes, stay where you are until a Peacekeeper comes to move you back into the monkey exhibit.” Coriolanus heard a Peacekeeper say.

He quickly stood up and walked to Rosalie Jade’s left side, giving her a kiss on the head, “I will see you tomorrow, Little Dove. I’ll make sure to bring you food, too.”

“Thank you, Coryo.” Rosalie Jade said, kissing him on the cheek in a sisterly love way, causing Coriolanus to blush and his body to tingle. Once he said goodbye to her, he started to walk away, contently until one of his peers, Festus Creed, started to join Coriolanus on his walk to his class.

“Quite the goodbye, huh.” Festus said to Coriolanus.

“I suppose you’re right. Just trying to calm her down.” Coriolanus defended.

“Right.” Festus laughed as he started to walk away from Coriolanus.

Idiot.

God, my pants are so tight.

Coriolanus was sitting in his seat, listening to Highbottom drone on about past Games and how the mentors could use them to their advantage to get a better chance for their tribute to win. But the only thing that Coriolaus could focus on was his pants. They just felt so tight.

Maybe Tigris did something to them or I outgrew them? Fuck.

Coriolanus kept moving in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable, but to no avail. His constant moving caught the eye’s of some of his fellow students, and Highbottom’s.

“Is there a problem Mr. Snow?” Highbottom raised his left eyebrow towards Coriolanus.

“Yes, I have a question.” Coiolanus said. He couldn’t say he needed the restroom without people thinking that he was about to pee himself.

“And what might that be, Mr. Snow?” Highbottom asked, condescendingly.

“You said that Cassius Heath was the first ever victor, from Two. The next from One, and the next, Two again. It has been a pattern since the start of the Games, with the occasion of one of the lower Districts winning every few Games. I mean, there have only been two winners from lower Districts. So why is it that the higher Districts almost always seem to win?” Coriolanus asked. He had made it up as he went, but as he finished, he heard the logic behind his made-up question.

Highbottom opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He looked stumped, like he didn't think Coriolanus was actually going to ask a question. Finally figuring out an answer to giver him, Highbottom said, “Are you proposing that the higher Districts are possibly preparing kids for the Games? Cheating?”

“I wouldn’t put it behind them. They have the money too, they could train them, maybe even get some to volunteer.” Corioalnus spoke confidently, amused that he had stumped High-as-a-kite-bottom for once.

“Hmm. Stay after class, Mr. Snow. I would like to talk to you more on this idea of yours.” Highbottom said, shrugging off Coriolanus’ answer. Coriolanus knew better than to think that Highbottom was going to actually talk to him about his idea. No, he was most likely going to lecture him about disrupting his class.

“Yes, of course, Dean Highbottom. Also, may I use the restroom?” Coriolanus quickly said.

“Yes, boy, go. I don’t need you disrupting my class any longer.” Highbottom waved him off.

Or maybe he’ll lecture me in front of the whole class.

“You know, that shirt looks quite good on you, Coriolanus.”

Oh fuck off.

“Thank you, Livia.”

Coriolanus was just trying to open the door to the men's restroom when Livia Cardew came up to him, flirting. Why? Coriolanus had no idea.

“Can I help you Livia?” Coriolanus asked, just wanting to try to fix his pants.

“No,” Livia said, bluntly walking up to Coriolanus, “but maybe I can help you with something.” She said, slightly rubbing her hand on his crotch.

Coriolanus immediately turned red, “W-what are you talki-what are you doing Livia?”

“Oh, come on, Coryo. You can't act all high and mighty in front of that tribute of yours, stump Highbottom and expect me to not be turned on. I mean, have you seen yourself. You look like a fucking Greek God. And that's with your clothes on, I can only wonder what you look like with them off.” Livia mumbled the end, continuing her ministrations on Coriolanus’ hard dick.

Coriolanus was about to speak up, to correct her when she called him Coryo, only Rosalie Jade could call him that, when he realized that he could use this situation to his advantage. Livia came from a wealthy family and with what she had said about wondering about him, Coriolanus could only imagine how many times she had gotten herself off to the thought of him. He had caught her on many different occasions staring at him or more specially, his arms, hands, and pants. He had caught many other girls, but Livia was a reoccurring face. What can he say? Coriolanus Snow was a catch.

Coriolanus, composing himself, grabbed Livia's hand and brought her close to him, and in turn his dick, causing her to whimper, “Why thank you Livia, but it seems that you want help from me though, doesn't it?” Coriolanus asked cockily, smirking to himself when he moved his free hand to Livia's waistband of her pants-skirt uniform, toying with it lightly drawing a soft moan from Livia.

God, I haven't even done anything yet and she is already a pathetic whimpering, moaning mess.

Livia just nodded her head as he lightly pulled her into the bathroom by her waistband. He let go of her wrist and locked the bathroom door, he knew no one would be in the bathroom during class, it was almost an unspoken rule of not going during class as it would ruining precious learning time, but Highbottom must hate Coriolanus so much, that he didn't seem to care much about his learning time. How rude.

Coriolanus moved his hand further down into her pants, lightly rubbing his knuckles over her wet underwater, drawing a gasp from Livia.

The second he ghosted his fingers over her clit, he pulled them away, “Too bad you said you didn't need my help. But I do recall you offering your help.” Coriolanus smirked as he watched her face go from pleasurable excitement, to disappointment, and back to excitement again. He continued to smirk as she lowered herself onto her knees in front of him.

“Good girl.” Coriolanus whispered, as she slowly brought down the lower part of his uniform. He looked her in the eyes as she brought down his underwear, watching his hard dick smack his stomach. He smirked as she gasped at his size and leaned his head back as she gently took his dick in her hand, pumping him up and down.

He closed his eyes in pleasure as she went faster. He let out small grunts and groans of pleasure, but nothing that would make Livia feel praised. She didn't deserve Coriolanus Snow's praise.

She slowly brought him into her mouth, taking as much as she could while jerking off what she could fit. The unexpected warmth caused Coriolanus to buck his into her mouth, making her gag slightly.

Coriolanus, deciding that her bobbing up and down on his length wasn't fast enough, brought his right hand down to her hair, roughly grabbing some of her hair, making her go faster. Livia whimpered from his hold on her head and gagged from the sudden movement.

God. I can't believe that I am doing this. I'm letting this pathetic, little self entitled bitch suck me off during class. But she came onto me, so it's not really my fault. Besides, I was already hard, I needed something or someone to give me some release.

Coriolanus slowly started to buck his hips more into Livia's mouth, causing her gagging to become more frequent.

I still can't believe that I am doing this in school. And right after talking to Rosalie Jade. Oh, Little Dove, what am I going to do about you? There has to be some way to keep you safe, to make sure that you live. That you can go back home to your sister, to me. We could be a family. You're like my little sister. Yes. My singing, fragile, cute little sister. I would protect you just like a big brother. I would do better than your sister did. I would have never let you get Reaped. I would keep you safe, my Little Dove.

As Coriolanus was thinking fantasizing about what to do with Rosalie Jade, he continued to fuck Livia's mouth, his pace increasing giving her mouth no relent.

Maybe I could keep you in the Corso, away from all the dangers of the world. Just like a bird in a gilded cage.

With that, Coriolanus' grip on Livia's hair tightened, keeping her on his cock as he released himself inside of her throat with a loud groan.

He kept her there for a moment, enjoying the warmth she brought that reminded him of Rosalie Jade, and reluctantly let her off to breathe.

Who knew blondes could give good head? I wish her hair was more golden though, like Rosalie Jade’s.

He went into one of the stalls and grabbed some toilet paper, cleaning himself off first, then walking over to Livia–who was still trying to catch her breath–and lifted her chin up with his two fingers, cleaning up her face, focusing on her mouth. He had to seem somewhat kind after he just roughly fucked her face, otherwise she might not like Coriolanus anymore with how he treated her and then he might lose a way to get money. But the lovestruck look in her eyes as Coriolanus cleaned her up told him otherwise.

Maybe she's a masochist?

He looked her in the eyes as he spoke slowly, “You're gonna keep this between us right? Our little secret?”

Livia nodded as she moved herself onto his left shoe, humping it gently, trying to relieve some pressure. Coriolanus quickly moved his foot away, gripping his jaw harshly, “Words, Livia.”

“Yes. Our little secret.” Livia answered, blissfully, for her dreams were coming true. Well, some of them.

Coriolanus just smirked, moving towards the door, exiting with cold words, “Then maybe you should go to the nurse, get an ice pack for your head, wouldn't want anyone getting suspicious of us both going to the restroom at the same time. It would ruin our secret, now wouldn't it?”

“Y-yes! It would. I will! Bye Cory-” Livia started, but was cut off with Coriolanus slamming the door on her face.

“What a gentleman, thinking about my head.” Livia said, dreamily as she got herself ready to go to the nurse.

“And why would you think this, Mr. Snow?”

Had Coriolanus known that Highbottom was going to tell Dr. Gaul about his “question,” he would have tried to at least prepare himself a little better. Instead, he stood across from a curious Dr. Gaul and a smirking Highbottom.

Fucking bastard.

“Well, while I know that the Games are still young, it seems that there has been a victory pattern. The higher ranking Districts seem to almost always win the Games, with the occasion of a tribute from a lower ranking one” Coriolanus was trying to make himself sound as serious as possible since he was now presenting his “question” to Dr. Gaul. Had it just been Highbottom, then Coriolanus would have been looking for ways to get Rosalie Jade food by now. He wasn't going to listen to whatever the incompetent man had to say.

“Are you suggesting that there is some sort of cheating going on in the Districts, Mr. Snow?” Gaul asked, with an eyebrow raised. Had she missed something? Was that why the ratings have been going down since the seventh Games? Were the people of the Capitol getting bored of seeing the same few Districts winning?

“I think there has been some sort of training going on in certain Districts. That they are preparing their tributes for the Games,” Coriolanus started, “That they are choosing certain boys and girls before the Reaping so they have a better chance of winning. The boy tribute last year even volunteered.” Coriolanus finished.

“But why, Mr. Snow? Why would a District go through all that trouble to just win back the same person they sent to die. They don't get anything else in return.” Gaul countered, getting more intrigued by the minute.

“For the sake of being the Victor. It is the only thing that they can win back from the war other than a kid they sent to die. But they can only be the Victor for a period of time. And that's what I wrote about in the paper you assigned Clemensia and me. I think that if there was something for the Districts to win other than the person back, they would be more inclined to try to win. To play our games.” The whole time Coriolanus was saying this, Highbottom was just watching the two of them, scowling in disgust.

What is his problem? He was the one that caused this. The Games and this conversation.

Gaul just looked at him in delight. She had a feeling that Coriolanus and her were going to get along just right.

“Yes, the paper. I read it and was very impressed. Please get Clemensia and I would like to see the both of you in my office at the Citadel in exactly 10 minutes.” Gaul answered, completely ignoring everything Corilanus had said except for the paper.

Coriolanus smiled as he nodded, his eyes watching Gaul leave the room. When he went to grab his damaged and decaying satchel, he heard Highbottom speak for the first time since this conversation had started.

“You are just like your father, you know that boy?”

What?

“How did you know my father?” Coriolanus asked, confused.

Highbottom just chuckled to himself and smiled at Coriolanus, “Some things are best kept a mystery.”

Coriolanus just stared at him, perplexed. He realized that this conversation was going nowhere, so he started to leave when he was yet again stopped by hearing Highbottom's rough voice.

“Hey, good luck with that little songbird of yours. You're going to need it.”

Fuck off.

“Thank you.” Coriolanus decided to keep his thought to himself, seeing as he didn't want to get another dermit.

“Coriolanus, know that I will do everything in my power to keep you from winning that Plinth Prize.” Highbottom said, calmly as he watched the boy continue to walk away from him, seemingly ignoring him.

“And know that I will do everything in my power to win and keep Rosalie Jade alive.” Corioanus told the man as he closed the door on him, giving Coriolanus the last word.

However, what Coriolanus didn't know was that Highbottom had been watching him during his interview with Rosalie Jade. How he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself, how he was getting closer to her. He didn't like that and feared for poor Rosalie Jade. For he was worried terrified that Coriolanus was more like his father than he originally thought. And that Rosalie Jade would suffer a similar fate to Juliet Snow, Coriolanus’ late mother.

“Could you at least give me a run down of the paper so I won't be completely clueless?” Clemensia pleaded with Coriolanus.

Had you done it with me, we wouldn't have this problem.

Coriolanus had got Clemensia just like Dr. Gaul had asked, and they were walking to the Citadel to see her. But since Clemensia had blocked herself off from what seemed to be the entire world after Arachne's death, she didn't write a single word on that paper. So Coriolanus was just informing her the basic gist of the paper and key points he wrote about.

“I can't believe you actually were able to even write anything or do anything for that matter after her death. I-I wasn't able to even sleep. I couldn't seem to do anything.” Clemensia said, looking down at her feet as they walked up the stairs to the Citadel.

“Well I couldn't sleep, that's how I was able to write it.” Coriolanus told her, not wanting to sound like a complete dick for not being sad over someone wanting to blackmail him, die.

Clemensia just hummed at him in response, keeping her head hung low as they followed someone to Dr. Gaul's office.

Maybe they were closer than I thought?

As the woman who guided them to Gaul’s office opened the door for them, Coriolanus quickly realized why the woman left them so hastily. Gaul’s office seemed to be more of a mad scientist lab rather than an office. It was covered from head to toe with odd and crazy looking animals, mutations, and in the far right corner there was a large case filled with some sort of fluid, holding what seemed to look like a human.

Its body looked mutated, its bone’s piercing through the skin, eyes bulging out of their sockets, holding onto dear life like the nerves trying to hold onto a young child’s extremely loose tooth. There were bald patches all over its body that showed signs of chemical burns, but where there was hair, feathers could be seen growing out of its body, giving it a hunched back form from the heavyweight of them. But its mouth. Oh its teeth had been melted into sharp fangs, blood stuck on the corner of its mouth. And as if there were invisible strings, it was smiling right back at Coriolanus. Looking him straight into his eyes, into his soul. As he got closer, he could see the pain and misery in its eyes. And that when he realized that it had no tongue.

It's an avox!

Bang!

“Ahh!”

Coriolanus quickly turned around at Clemensia’s shriek. She had gotten too close to one of the mutations and it had banged its head against the glass, scarning her. She hurried over to Corioanus and grabbed his arm, “I don't like this Coriolanus.”

“Neither do I.” He responded, holding her hand in an attempt to comfort her. While Coriolanus Snow wasn’t fond of many people, Clemensia Dovecote was one of the very few people Coriolanus tolerated being around, even though she had her moments.

“There you two are,” Gaul’s voice boomed. They both turned around quickly to see Gaul smiling creepily at them, “Follow me please.”

As they walked up to her, Coriolanus got a better look at some of the other mutations. The others are animals, or at some point in time, they were. There was a bird that had the body of a mauled lamb, and sharp claws like a lion. It was a bloody, disgusting mess.

“Do you like my mutts?” Gaul asked Coriolanus, catching him looking at them longer than Clemensia could stomach.

“What?” Coriolanus ask, confused.

“My mutts. Isn't it marvelous how something simple can be turned into something so beautifully dangerous?” Gial asked, dreamily.

Coriolanus simply nodded, not understanding how something so horrible looking could be seen as beautiful.

“Speaking of beautifully dangerous, I read your paper, and I must say I am very impressed by you two. Your ideas brought up good points, and gave me a new perspective of looking at the Games. How we can help the tributes, reap the rewards, and let them figure out the inner themselves. Individually, you both are good students, but together you show incredible potential.” Gaul said, smirking at them.

But right as Coriolanus and Clemensia went to thank her, she cut them both off, “You did both write this, correct?”

Shit.

Coriolanus knew that lying to someone as powerful as Dr. Gaul wouldn't go over well, so right as he went to confess, Clemensia interrupted him, “Of course we did, Dr. Gaul. Like I said on the day you assigned this paper to us both, we are partners, we always work better together.”

No, you idiot! Don't lie to Gaul!

Coriolanus went to say something, only to yet again be interrupted by Gaul, “Wonderful. However it seems my incompetent assistant put your paper inside my new creations home,” As she said this, she pointed over to a beautiful, large, tall case, holding rainbow colored snakes, “You wouldn't mind getting it for me, would you Miss. Dovecote?” Gaul asked, tilting her head, lightly pushing her and Coriolanus towards the case and up the stairs.

Clemensia just looked at the snakes in horror, asking, “Is there a point to the color?” To this Gaul laughed, stating, “Oh there is a point there to everything my dear. For them, I found that having the victims of their bites see a rainbow of color before their death, giving them a false sense of hope, is more amusing than watching them just die.”

Clemensia just looked at the mad woman in shock, not knowing how to respond.

Because the only thing more powerful than fear is hope.

“Now, are you going to retrieve your paper or not?” Gaul asked, tilting her head amused.

Clemensia gulped, “But how is this safe. I don't want to get bit!”

“Oh, relax child. You won't get bit, it is completely safe.” Gaul told her, reaching her own hand in, letting a snake coil around her arm. So Clemensia slowly started to reach her shaking hand in.

“Oh course if they have your scent, which should not be a problem because of your paper. But, if they did not, well once might not want to stick their hand in there.” Gaul told her, and just as Coriolanus put the pieces together, he was too late, again.

“Ahhhhh!” Clemensia screamed in pain, falling backwards onto the ground with a harsh thud.

Coriolanus quickly ran to the edge of the railless staircase. “Clemmie!”

“So it was your sweaty palms who wrote the paper?” Gaul asked him, nonchalantly as Peacekeepers quickly came in and put a shot into her neck, carrying her away.

“What, yes, is she going to die?” Coripanus asked her frantically.

“Depends on how hard she fights. Now your ideas, I liked them, all of them. I have already talked to my team about incorporating the sponsor idea and how to get them food and water there, but your other ones might take more time. The betting will happen this year though and it shall be the pinnacle of this year's Games.” Gaul continued, not caring about how one of her own students just got bit by one of her own creations.

Coriolanus, still in shock from what had just happened, almost missed what she had said.

She liked them, all of them. And she is going to move forward with them, some of them this year! This Is it. This is how I help Rosie Jay!

So he answered with the only thing he could get out of his mouth, “Ok. Thank you.” Gaul just looked at him, amused. “You may go now, Mr. Snow. I wouldn't want you to be late to your next class.”

With that, he turned on his heel and started to leave rather quickly, wanting to get out of this lab from Hell. But as he reached the door he was stopped by Gaul's voice, “Coriolanus, in the future, don't ever lie to me again. It will not bring you anything good.” She said, all amusement gone.

He just nodded.

Last night had brought much stress to Coriolanus, he had to somehow find extra food that he didn’t have, and bring it to Rosalie Jade. He would worry about getting the guitar and dress to her later. But once he came home from the Academy last night and was given time to himself, the event finally sunk in. He had watched Clemensia get bit by a poisonous snake that Gaul made and let bite her. She let one of her own students get hurt and possibly die by one of her own creations, and didn’t give a flying fuck. He watched, yet again, another person he knew get hurt when he could’ve saved them. This is the second time and Coriolnaus wouldn’t let it be a third time, not with Rosalie Jade. He needed to save her because she would save him in more ways than one.

So here he was, walking up to the zoo as he heard something lovely.

“Down in the valley, the valley so low

Late in the evening, hear the train blow

The train, love, hear the train blow

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.”

It was Rosalie Jade.

“Go build me a mansion, build it so high

So I can see my true love go by

See him go by, love, see him go by

So I can see my true love go by.”

She was singing again.

“Go write me a letter, send it by mail

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail

The Capital jail, love, the Capitol jail

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.”

Good girl.

“Roses are red, violets are blue

Birds in the heavens know I love you

Know I love you, oh know I love you

Birds in the heavens know I love you.”

“You have such a beautiful voice, Little Dove.” Coriolanus told Rosalie Jade as he walked up to the cage.

“Why thank you, Mr. Snow. You as well.” She giggled.

Coriolanus laughed, “Thank you, Miss. Baird. My grandma’am kept me up all night practicing to make sure that I hit all of my notes.”

“Well I think you did an awful good job.” She smiled at him.

Awful good?

Coriolanus just smiled back at her and to her backwards way of talking. “I brought something for you.” He finally said, reaching into his satchel to give her the food.

“Ooh, yummy.” She said, making grabby hands at him in a cute way.

“Here you go.” He said, laughing at her childish actions. He watched as she split it into halves. Thinking it was for him, Coriolanus got ready to put his hand out to take it, but instead, Jessup came up from behind her. He crouched down to her level, whispering something into her ear, and taking the other half of the sandwich. As Coriolanus watched in shock disgust as Jessup took his food, he noticed something on the boy’s neck. A bite mark.

He watched him walk away in confusion.

What bit him and when?

He looked back at Rosalie Jade, who was content eating her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, “What was that mark on his neck, Rosie Jay?” He asked her.

“Hm? Oh, Jessup? Yeah, he got bit by a rat on the first night here. They put rat poison around the cage, but the rats know to not go near it. He just came over to get some food and say thanks for letting him use the handkerchief.” She told him, finishing up her sandwich.

“Oh.” He just responded.

She let someone else use the handkerchief I gave her?

Rosalie Jade looked up at him, sensing his disappointment, “Sorry, it’s just that I didn't really need it and it would have helped Jessup more than me at the time.”

Didn’t need it?

“It’s okay, Rosalie Jade. I just thought the sharing ended at the food, my bad.” Coriolanus pettily replied. She just looked up at him, feeling guilty now that she had seen Coriolanus was upset with her actions. Coriolanus, while feeling bad that she felt guilty, felt powerful that she felt guilty because she had upset him. That she felt bad because she disappointed him and he felt amazing about that.

“So what song are you going to sing for your interview?” Coriolanus asked, changing the topic, not wanting her to feel too bad.

“Oh, I uh, have a good one picked out.” She said, looking down.

Shit.

“I’m sure whatever you sing is going to be amazing, just like you.” He said, racing his hand through the cage to lift her chin up to him.

“You really think so?” She said, her eyes tearing up.

“Of course I do, Little Dove.” He told her, smiling softly. She smiled back.

“Alright, let's go!” A Peacekeeper said. It was time for the mentors and their tributes to see the arena for the first and only time before the Games.

“I’ll see you there, Little Dove.”

He could have her feeling bad for a little longer. She gave away his gift to her, she needed to be punished somehow.

“Enjoy the show!”

As all the tributes and mentors walked in, the phrase, “Enjoy the show!” was heard. This was because the arena used to be a circus before the Dark Days, a circus where Coriolanus would occasionally go to before the Dark days.

Coriolanus and Rosalie Jade were near the end of the line, with Lysistrata Vickers and Jessup behind them. As they walked through the dark tunnel, Rosalie Jade grabbed Coriolanus’ hand, holding onto it for comfort. He held her hand back in a tight grip. And when they reached the final entrance to the arena, where there was light and cameras, she went to let go of his hand, but he held on tighter, not wanting to let her go.

She just looked up at him as the two of them went to their own area away from the others.

As Coriolanus was looking around the arena, trying to find places for Rosalie Jade to hide, he felt her wrap her arms around his waist, nuzzling her head into his chest, crying, “Don’t leave me die in here, Coryo. Please.”

He quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer to him, whispering sweet nothings into her ear in an attempt to calm her down. When he realized that wasn’t working, he reluctantly pulled her away from his chest, “Hey, hey. Look at me Rosalie Jade. You’re not going to die in here, ok? I promised you that I was going to get you home and I plan on keeping that promise. I’m not going to let you di-”

BOOM!

And just like that, the world seemed to stop.

Bomb time.

During the Dark Days, whenever bombs were going off, Tigris and Coriolnaus had named it Bomb Time. And that’s what this is. Somehow, someway, bombs had gone off in the arena. Coriolanus had gotten flung away from Rosalie Jade and had no idea where she went.

“Rosalie Jade!” He yelled, only getting screams as a response, but no her screams. He kept looking for her, trying to find her to get her out. She would not be the third.

CRASH!

“Ahh! Help!” Coriolanus yelled. He was currently getting crushed by something and that something was on fire. It was burning through his clothes, burning his skin.

“Ahhhh!” He groaned. He kept trying to move it off of him, but to no avail.

This is it. I am going to die.

Just then, he saw a flash of color.

Rosalie Jade!

She had come back to him, but there was someone trying to pull her back, away from him to safety. It was Marcus.

“He wouldn’t save you! Go, get out while you can!” He yelled to her.

Of fuck you.

But Rosalie Jade pushed him away and went to Coriolanus, trying to lift the piece of rubble off of him. He knew by herself, she wouldn’t be able to get it off, so he started to push again. And after a few good moments of pushing, they got him free. He went to reach for her, to get her out of here, but she was quickly taken by Peacekeepers.

“No! Rosalie Jade!” He yelled, but then quickly collapsed from the pain and exhaustion just as a Peacekeeper came to get him.

“Shh, look. He’s waking up.” Coriolanus heard someone say.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Sejanus and Tigris hovering around him.

Where am I?

“Hey, Coryo,” Tigris gently spoke while caressing his face, “I was so worried about you.”

Oh.

“You missed Bomb Time.” Coriolanus told her, slightly joking.

“Yeah.” She just told him, laughing lightly as a single tear rolled down her face.

“I’m ok, Tigris. I promise.” He told her, looking at Sejanus, wondering why he of all people was here.

Promise.

“R-rosalie Jade, is-is she-” He struggled to get his words out, in fear that something had happened to her, and Tigris noticed this, swiftly cutting him off with, “She’s fine, Coryo. I just dropped off the dress and guitar for her interview.”

“They are still going on with the Games? Wait, interview? How long have I been out for?” He asked, wincing as he sat up with the help of Tigris.

“You’ve been out for almost three days, Coryo. And I know, it’s ridiculous, I can’t believe that they are still continuing with the Games. Hell, Felix is laying on his deathbed right now.” Sejanus ranted.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Coroilanus asked.

“Yes, many. A handful of tributes died, as did some mentors. The Apollo twins, they, um, they died. Most everyone else just got injured. One tribute got away. Mark, I think was his-” Tigris choked out, only to be cut off by Sejanus saying, “Marcus. His name is Marcus.”

Your tribute. The one that tried to get Rosalie Jade away from me.

“Right, Marcus. Sorry.” Tigris said, apologetically to Sejanus. No one knew what was going to happen to Marcus when he was inevitably found, but when he was, they knew it would be bad.

“And now, for our last interview, please welcome Rosalie Jade Baird! Get up here you little songbird.” Coriolanus looked up at the T.V. hanging on the wall when he heard Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman's annoying voice. And that’s when he saw her, or rather, the dress.

It was meant to be a 12th birthday gift for Coriolanu’s unborn baby sister, for when Tigris found out her aunt was pregnant, she was so excited and was just learning how to sew. She had sewn dresses for each of the unborn baby’s birthdays up until 21 years. She didn’t think much about measurements back then, she just wanted to sew and show her love. But when his mother and baby sister died, the Snow’s ended up burning them for warmth or selling them for food. However, Tigris couldn’t part with the 12th one or the 1st. Both were a beautiful, white dress made out of silk and tool. The represented what the Snow name was meant to be, what it had been. Beautiful, elegant, rich, and pure.

“Hello Capital, Districts. I wrote this song for some people back where I’m from and I hope they hear it.” She said, as Coriolanus walked closer to the T.V. with the help of Tigris. She looked beautiful, like a true dove. But the second she started singing, Coriolanus finally figured it out.

“My father never talked a lot

He just took a walk around the block

'Til all his anger took a hold of him

And then he'd hit

My mother never cried a lot

She took the punches, but she never fought

'Til she said, "I'm leaving, and I'll take the kids"

So she did.”

Watching her up there on that stage, wearing his unborn baby sister’s dress, golden wavy locks shining in the lights, making her look like an angel, he finally figured out what she reminded him of on the first day in the zoo.

“I say they're just the ones who gave me life

But I truly am my parents' child.”

She was what his baby sister was supposed to be like. She was what Coriolanus was supposed to protect from the world. She was his little sister.

“Scattered 'cross my family line

I'm so good at telling lies

That came from my mother's side

Told a million to survive

Scattered 'cross my family line

God, I have my father's eyes

But my sister's when I cry

I can run, but I can't hide

From my family line.”

Everytime someone had told him, “Good luck with that songbird of yours” or “Your tribute,” they were right. Rosalie Jade was his tribute. His girl. His Little Dove. She was his.

“It's hard to put it into words

How the holidays will always hurt

I watch the fathers with their little girls

And wonder what I did to deserve this

How could you hurt a little kid?

I can't forget, I can't forgive you

'Cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me.”

He had let her down, according to her song at least. He let his baby sister feel hurt, get hurt. And he was so angry at this. Why would her own family hurt her, hurt someone, something beautiful and pure?

“Scattered 'cross my family line

I'm so good at telling lies

That came from my mother's side

Told a million to survive

Scattered 'cross my family line

God, I have my father's eyes

But my sister's when I cry

I can run, but I can't hide

From my family line

From my family line.”

He had let her down. He had let her get hurt in this horrible world, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. Ever.

“Oh, all that I did to try to undo it

All of my pain and all your excuses

I was a kid but I wasn't clueless

Someone who loves you wouldn't do this

All of my past, I tried to erase it

But now I see, would I even change it?

Might share a face and share a last name, but

We are not the same.”

He heard a sniffle from his right, and looked over his shoulder to see Tigris silently crying. Then he looked around the hospital and realized that it wasn’t just Tigris who was crying. No, all of the nursing staff was. The audience on the screen was crying and that’s when he saw her donations. He was so focused on her that he didn’t even realize that her donations were way past 1,000. The singing had worked. She had gotten the hearts of the Capital, of Panem.

“Scattered 'cross my family line

I'm so good at telling lies

That came from my mother's side

Told a million to survive

Scattered across my family line

God, I have my father's eyes

But my sister's when I cry

I can run, but I can't hide

From my family line

From my family line.”

“Well, ding, ding, ding! We have reached a record high donations for the evening. See what happens when you do stuff?” Lucky joked, walking back into frame, quickly wiping his tears. Rosalie Jade wearily smiled at him, wiping the stray tear that had fallen from her cerulean, doe eyes.

“Now I don’t love your odds, but may they be ever in your favor.” Lucky told her as he pulled her into a gentle hug that Rosalie Jade visibly relaxed into. She needed a good hug and the last time she was given one, she had watched her mentor be blown away from her.

Don’t touch her.

He let her go and flicked a coin into the air, stating, “I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, the Capitol’s weathercaster and amateur magician. This was the first ever Hunger Games: Tribute Interview.” He finished, catching the coin, and then the screen went black.

“Thank you for being here. Both of you.” Coriolanus told Tigris and Sejanus, which was answered with Tigris giving Coriolanus a light reassuring squeeze on his shoulder and Sejanus saying, “Of course, it’s what friends are for.”

Coriolanus just ignored the friend's part because he was thinking about how he needed to pay his little sister a quick visit, as well as the newly destroyed arena.

“Rosalie Jade!” Coriolanus called out, softly.

“Rosie Jay!” He called again, but for no one to come out. He went to call out again, only to see something move in the darkness in the cage.

Oh thank God.

“Coryo! Oh, you’re safe!” She whispered, quickly�� coming over to him and reaching her hands through to take his. He saw how her hands had some burns on them, but they seemed to have been treated with something.

“Yes, yes I am. Here I have something for you,” He told her, keeping one of his hands in hers and the other to pull out his mother’s compact, “Here, take this for the arena. It was my mother’s. I wanted you to have it so you can have something to remember me with. It always calms me down when I have something to look at that was someone’s who loved me.”

She smiled, but shook her head, “Thank you, Coryo. But I can't, it's too fine.”

“Please, take it. I will feel better knowing that you have this on you,” He told her, but quickly realized that she wouldn’t take it because she didn't want to take it from him forever, “Think of it on loan. When you get out of that arena after winning, you can give it back to me, ok?” He told her, trying to change her decision. He just wanted something that she could remember their mother by.

“Besides, you can use it to help yourself in the arena.” He told her, subtly shifting his eyes to the rat poison that was within reach to her and her slim arms.

She looked him in the eyes and nodded, getting the hint. He continued to look at her, not wanting to leave her just yet. Not again. He had already lost his sister once, and he wasn’t going to lose her again.

“Is this real?” He asked, eyes starting to water at the thought of losing her.

She nodded her head, “Yes, Coryo. This is real.” She might have meant it in a different way than Coriolnaus, but right now, he didn’t care.

“Listen to me. I went back into the arena and looked around. The bombs completely destroyed it, meaning you have more places to hide. There is a vent system underground that you can hide in, it’s near the back right hand side of the arena. Get there by yourself, alone. Promise me. Promise me that you will get to safety the second that bell rings.” He asked her, to which she hesitantly nodded.

He grabbed her head and kissed her forehead, whispering, “I promise that I am going to get you out of the arena alive, back to your family, safe.” Which family that was, well she didn't need to now.

She just hugged him back and they stayed like that until he had to leave.

“I'll see you soon, my Little Dove.” He told her, walking into the darkness of the night.

“Alright, everyone, smile. It’s why we have teeth!” Lucky yelled, energetically to all the mentors.

Coriolanus just sat in his chair, anxiously. He was watching as all the tributes were walking into the arena. He watched as Wovey took Rosalie Jade’s hand, comforting her. How they smiled at each other only to be ripped away from each other by Peacekeepers.

“Ok, we are going live in 10, 9, 8…” Lucky told everyone, but Coriolanus was too concentrated on Rosalie Jade, who was walking up to her spot.

“Hello. I am Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, your Capitol news weathercaster and amateur magician. And I am very pleased to tell you that I am hosting the Hunger Games for the very first time. Exciting, right! Now, cameras have been placed inside of the arena so we can get all of the action!” He said, happily talking to the camera while he flipped a coin into the air, catching it after her finished talking. He then pulled out an envelope, stating, “Here in this envelope, I have predicted the winner of this year's Hunger Games and I will reveal it after the winner is announced.”

“Oh, it's starting! Let's watch together, shall we?” He quickly said, allowing the camera to go off of him and transfer to the cameras in the arena.

Coriolanus had one and only one thought when he heard that bell ring.

May the 10th Annual Hunger Games begin.

RING!

Run.

Next Chapter

#dark!coriolanus snow #yandere coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #Coriolanus Snow x OC #Coriolanus x OC

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reidslovely · 2 years ago

Text

When My Time Comes

Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of:gun violence, murder, blood, throwing up, and panic attacks. Suicidal ideation, and a few swear words. Reader goes by the name 'Angel' throughout the story. Slightly supernatural/horror I'm not sure how to take it. Very different than anything I've written before please just hang in there lol. It's also unedited because I wrote it in a one day and wanted to get it out as fast as possible before the inspiration left me.

Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader/OC

Word Count: 5k

Genre: Angst with happy ending

I told y'all Mob!Peter was making a comeback..this is his rebirth. Thanks to Hozier's Work Song.

Please reblog and/or leave a comment instead of liking or hearting this post! Thank you.

There’s an uncomfortable frigid feeling in the room. It’s like that moment when giving a class presentation and everyone is looking dead at the person. Waiting for them to drop because they can tell the speaker doesn’t want to be here, and that they’re waiting for the worst to happen and the other shoe to drop.

“Angel-”

Felicia’s voice carried throughout the room. The legs she stood on grew wobbly, her vision narrowing. A mix of bitter bile and anger grew in her throat as she shot the platinum haired girl a heated look.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me-” She shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. “This is your fault!”

It wasn’t. But it was easier to blame her, the person delivering the blow than it is to blame others.

Harry’s hands grabbed the distraught girl from under her armpits, to keep her from falling and approaching Felicia any closer than she already was. Harry tucked her into his arm, hand flattening out against her back, trying to soothe the heart he knew was breaking. The smell of the iron on his shirt flooded her nostrils, and only provoked more tears. She fought against Harry, who only held tighter.

“I wanna see him. Let me see him. I-”

“Angel, that’s not a good i-”

“Let her, Harry. Let her.” Felicia’s words were soft yet firm. Her lip was tucked in between her teeth as she wiped at her face. Harry looked between the two women, and at Miles who was standing in front of the door. He was fighting his own losing battle, and denying her would put him in his own grave. Once he released the girl, she ran as fast as she could and wobbled up the stairs to the bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. Vision so blurry from anxiety, and tears that she couldn’t even make out May, who'd just left the room shutting the door behind her.

“Angel, you can’t go in there. You shouldn’t. Pete, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this. Just stay out here for a li-”

Usually she’d respect May’s wishes, and listen to her wise words. Angel knew deep in her heart of hearts that she was right. That this was an event that would stick with her for life and couldn’t be treated so loosely. But, her husband, Peter, was sitting on the other side of that door and you needed to see him.

Pushing May aside, nothing, absolutely nothing, could prepare her for what laid on the other side of that door.

“Pete.” Her words faltered seeing his entire torso bandaged, a deep red of blood already seeping through the clean white color of the bandages. Angel carried herself as far as she could before dropping to her knees, crawling across the floor to the bed.

“A..Angel.”

Peter’s eyes wouldn’t open, but his voice was somewhat there. Tired and strained, her hands grasped his, as she bowed her head against the memory foam of the death bed. He wasn’t dead. Not yet.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” There was a sense of dread crawling into the bed with him. It’s the same bed they’d shared for years, but it’s different now as he lays dying. Out of pure reflex her hand reaches out, resting on his torso. He’s too weak to even flinch, her hand soaking with his blood. They’d been trying for hours to stop the damage the attack did to his insides.

“It happened all too fast and there were..too many. His body isn’t healing as fast as it usually does.” Felicia’s explanation came back to her. So much for being superhuman. Angel’s head pressed against his temple, as tears trickled down her cheeks hitting his bare collarbone.

“Oh Angel..” Peter whispered, pressing his head back against hers. “Don’t cry over me.”

She shook her head. “‘M not crying Pete, cause you’ll be fine. May gave you more of your blood, and your body is gonna speed up its process. And..and you’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m dying, Angel.”

‘Shut up.”

“No listen okay.” He used what strength he had to open his eyes, looking at her through half lidded eyes. “I am going to die. I know it and you..”

He coughed, blood splattering out of his mouth. “You kn-kno-know it.” She wiped the blood off his mouth letting tears fall.

“I love you…so much. You have been..the best part of my life.” She opened her mouth to respond. He closed his eyes again. Bringing his hand to hold her side close to him. “Just..just lay here with me okay?”

His chest rattled with a shaky breath, she hiccuped choking on her sobs. Laying her head against his cold one. She'd always pictured dying in this bed with him. But she thought she’d be older, thought she’d at least have had some kids- some grandkids. Thought it would be both of them on a quiet, average night. One where she’d go to sleep and just never wake up.

Never did she think Peter would be lying here dying at only 31 one years old. Angel knew what Peter did for work was dangerous, deadly even. It killed her father, it killed his uncle. Both knew these actions had consequences. Yet, Peter wasn’t human like everyone else. He had altered DNA from being studied as a kid, from being bit by a spider at seventeen that gave him powers that he used to climb his way up the ladder of organized crime. Yet, those same powers and abilities were what had him lying here fighting to keep going.

“Peter..” She whispered against his cold skin. “Peter.” Nothing. She put her hand over his heart and felt nothing. No warmth, no movement, nothing. Her hands shook, looking around in panic for anything..anyone.

“Peter!”

The yell was louder this time. One that burns the lungs. She shakes him, and shakes him trying to get him back. Starting to attempt her own CPR screaming for him to come back, to not leave like this. Being so engrossed with her own grief and anger, she doesn't even process everyone rushing in. Harry and Felicia pull her off of him kicking and screaming, as May calmly pulls the sheet over his head, before kissing his forehead.

Angel hated her. She raised him and she’s not even fighting for his life right now.

Not her, not Harry, not Felicia. None of them.

“He’s gone.” Harry spoke sitting on the floor with her, holding her as she screamed through the sobs. His legs pinned hers down rocking up back and forth. The smell of the iron from the blood on Harry’s shirt and her body wafted through her nostrils. Between the smell of her dead husband's blood and the pure panic seeping through the body she couldn’t hold back any longer. Angel’s body hunched forward on reflex as vomit spewed out of her mouth and onto Harry and the floor.

The blonde man didn’t even flinch, rubbing her back as you slumped forward and cried. A part of her laid dead on that bed with her husband's cold body.

The days lingered, in a still limbo. None of it felt in order. Felicia fed her some cocktails of sedatives, to keep her sane as they both helped May plan the funeral. “He didn’t want a shiva.” Angel spoke from the couch, biting down around the cuticle of her nail.

“I know we aren’t giving him one, just a wake and funeral and a remembrance party.” Felicia spoke, her hand reaching out to hold the woman's leg. Her free hand pulled her fingers out of her mouth.

“A fucking party?” She spat. “Is that what his death means to you? Some fucking excuse to get shit faced, so you can live with yourself for walking him into that fucking warehouse.”

Felicia bit down on her cheek, and took a deep breath. She could almost feel Peter’s hand on her shoulder and his stern yet soft demand for an apology to Felicia.

“I’m sorry. I should-”

“It's fine.” Felicia says, pulling the widow into a hug, letting her head rest on her shoulder. Angel thanked Felicia for her patience, because at this point she had none left. May’s shaky hand covered her own mouth holding back a sob, Angel pulling her into the hug, the three of them taking a moment to cry.

Harry and Miles had dealt with the dirty part. Harry had come home with a bag of medical supplies the night Peter died. He and May injected him with more of his blood that Harry had altered at Oscorp, both hoping for some last resort. Angel sat on the chair in the corner watching them. She had volunteered to wash and dress him before the coroner took him away. The man, Mr. Weekes had dealt in Peter’s dealing before, and he was listed specifically as who Peter wanted to treat him post mortem.

“Your death wishes list in your will is super morbid.”

She spoke in a low monotone voice, washing the blood off his arms. It was weird to see him like this: cold and still. Not bantering back and forth with her. “I appreciate it though, I just wish you’d told me about all this sooner. You’re demanding even in death.”

She washed his face next, and stitched up some of the wounds on his chest before dressing him in some of his more comfortable casual clothes.

“If only you’d tell me what suit you wanted to be fucking burried in. Planned everything else out..”

Shuffling through his suits, she started fighting back the tears as she came across his wedding suit. Again, feeling his hand on her back, trying to talk her through it. He always knew this was happening before she did. Angel pressed the palm of her hands into her eyes as she started to cry. Heartbeat racing, it felt like it was crawling up her throat and getting stuck. It felt like choking on nothing, causing her to gasp for breath. She dropped herself down into the soft green chair in the back of the closet, crying and gasping for air as she progressed. She started walking herself through it the best one could. Putting a hand on her chest following the breathing techniques, she tried to alter her breathing as much as she could. Once she started coming down, her vision settled back into normal. She looked up at the racks of clothing and let out a shaky, yet normally paced breath. She had settled on the grayish green suit he’d worn only a couple days before. Slamming the closet door to the closet behind her, she shoved the suit into the bag wanting to be done with it all.

“I shouldn’t hate you..” She started, sitting on the bed with him. Putting his watch on him and staring at him. “And I don’t..I don’t think I do. I’m just so..fucking angry. At everyone, at myself, at you. I shouldn’t have let you go, I should have gone with you.”

Angel laid next to him, his body cold and their sheets still slightly stained in blood. Maybe it was gross and fucked up. However, next to him, was the only place she felt peace. There was a brief staring contest with the syringe filled with some liquid that laid on a night stand. One stab to the heart would make everything go away, she could be with him again. Maybe the cocktail of sedatives everyone kept feeding her would do it for her at some point.

“Mrs. Parker.” Mr. Weekes says walking in, rolling the gurney in with him. Harry and Miles in tow behind him. “I have to take him now. Is that okay?”

“Angel..” Harry’s voice sounded pitiful, she felt her heart squeeze as she sat up.

“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, scurrying out of the bed. Flattening out her clothes, watching Harry help Mr. Weekes transfer Peter to the gurney. Miles comforted her, his arms wrapping around her rubbing her back. Harry nodded his head towards the door, telling him to walk Angel out of the room. He followed directions sitting her in Peter’s office downstairs, both sat in their grief.

“Why does everyone call you Angel?” Miles asks, wanting to take her mind off Peter. Funny enough, Peter was the reason why she even had the nickname.

“When Peter and I started dating he brought me home and everyone was there with him at the time. They were ready to meet me if they didn’t know me already. Him, May, Gwen, Felicia, pretty much all of us…he walks me in and he goes "everyone this is Angel, Angel this is everyone.”

Shr laughs, and Miles smiles. “Everyone just kept calling me Angel till he realized about 30 minutes later that he’s called me Angel instead of my real name. So it was just a pet name that became a nickname. So everyone, including my own mother, calls me it now.” She watched Miles walk around Peter’s office taking in every piece of him.

“I’m really gonna miss him. He taught me so much, he helped me and my mom. I just..he was like a brother to me.”

“He thought a lot of you too. He cried on your 21st birthday, talking about how much you grew up and how proud he was of you.” She looked at Peter’s will open on the table, her and Harry had gone over it earlier. “You should head home Miles.”

“Are you gonna be okay? I can stay here.”

“Yeah, I have Felicia and May..and Harry.”

Miles nods, engulfing her in a hug. Angel smiled sadly, hugging him back, sliding an envelope from Peter’s desk into his pocket. “No questions. It’s what Pete wanted you to have. There's a note in there you should read it.”

Miles nodded and patted his pocket, taking the keys off the desk and headed out the office doors.

Grief was a funny thing, it’s a terrible gutting feeling one minute that had her laying in the bloodied bedsheets with your dead husband one minute, and sitting in the bathroom with her high school best friend laughing at memories another. Gwen had flown in from London the moment she heard, she helped get Angel out of bed and bathe her for Peter’s funeral seeing as she could barely bring herself out of the guest room.

“He really loved you.” Angel whispered, her head resting on her knees as Gwen sat by the tub with her. Gwen tilted her head to the side laughing, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder.

“He loved you more.” Gwen says. “I remember when we broke up and I told him if he didn’t ask you out I was going to do it for him. And I think that terrified him more.” They both laughed. “I knew he was going to marry you before he knew, before you knew even”

“Yeah?” Angel asked, smiling at her, tears rolling from her eyes.

“You two were made for each other. And I was lucky enough to love both of you.” Gwen whispered, taking her hand. “Let’s wash your hair, yeah?”

“Okay.” Angel nodded leaning back in the tub.

Standing by his coffin was awkward; she felt like a little girl at her daddy’s funeral again. Not knowing how to stand next to the body, not liking the way the pity filled stares felt, so she focused on his body. There was a rosy tint to Pete’s cheeks, and he almost looked alive. She rubbed his cheek looking at the gifts lining his coffin, stuff people wanted to lay to rest with him. “It’s only been five days, and I’m losing my mind.” Her voice whispered to him, her hand holding his.

“I don't know if I can do this without you.” She flattened out the white shirt under his tux and took a deep breath.

“Let's sit dear.”

May sniffles, holding her side reassuringly. Angel nodded, wrapping an arm around May, rubbing her shoulder. No one knew her pain like May Parker. She’d become her rock in the haze of grief. She had lost her husband and her nephew who was more her son than anything. She’d been staying at the house with Angel and everyone, she’d even climbed into bed with her most nights like a child seeking comfort from her mother. She was thankful for her and thankful Peter had brought May to her. They were the two most important women in his life and bonded like no other.

“Peter Benjamin Parker was the love of my life, and he was an amazing man.” Angel spoke into the mic standing before friends, family, and acquaintances. She looked down at him in the coffin, and smiled at him, already wiping away tears.

“I know to many of you he was frightening, and strong. He seemed unforgiving, cold, and inhumane on occasion but he was my best friend, and my soulmate. He was a complex human and that…is what brought his life to such a short stop. I’m no good at public speaking. I'm sorry, this was always his thing. He was so charming and knew how to talk to you all, and I stood behind him every step of the way. But in the last few days, I discovered he was actually the one standing behind me every step we took together, and he also stood behind many of you and helped you all in numerous ways. I think he left a part of him in all of us, and I hope we can all be half the person he was one day..I- I’m sorry. Harry..Har-.”

“I got you go, go.” Harry ushered Angel off the podium covering her crying frame from onlookers. She sniffled, wiping her eyes stepping off the podium into Gwen’s arms sitting back down between her and May. May kissed her head, assuring that it was all going to be okay. Her hands comforting and cradling her face as Angel tried to quietly bawl her eyes out. She stared at the casket in front of her during Harry’s speech, slowly turning everything around her out.

“Angel.” Eddie Brock smiled as she stood outside watching Peter be lowered into the ground. She smiled at him in return, letting him engulf her in a hug.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Peter was such a good guy. Kind of scary..but..good.”

Angel laughed sadly, squeezing his shoulders. “I know he meant a lot to you Ed.”

“He did, he really saved my ass more than once. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

She tilted her head, and tried her best to smile at him. “Hopefully stay out of trouble.”

Eddie shook his head back and forth, giving a smirk that said ‘We’ll see.’

They exchanged sad goodbyes and she watched him leave heading towards his car. She was thankful that Peter’s death was kept out of the headlines, it took some begging and bribing Betty Brant but it was worth it for such an intimate and private time.

She watched the grave diggers starting to fill in the dirt, and she contemplated staying the night on the bench. But May came, wrapping her arms around Angel, a jacket you immediately identified as Peter’s from smell alone.

“Why don’t you come home with me tonight?” May offered, pushing hair from the girls face.

“That’d be nice, yeah.” Angel whispered. “How have you not lost it yet? All I want to do is crawl in that hole with him.”

“I know you do. I was there once, it’s a terribly awful feeling Angel, I know.” May frowned, holding her arm with hers as they walked together to the car. “Peter, bless him. I love him, he was my son no matter what anyone said he was my boy. But because of that I saw every side of him and Peter had been ready to go since Ben died. And I find peace in thinking that they are together again, and that he is safe and protected..and- I’m sorry” May’s voice broke and she fanned her face. “And they are here in any way we want them to be.”

There was quiet for a moment before Angel let out a soft, yet grief riddled laugh.

“I need what you have.” You laughed sadly, both of you crying now.

May let a teary laugh burst from her chest. “We’ll go make some tea and talk about it.”

That's what they did. The two had a girls night with Gwen and spent it remembering Peter in their own way. About twenty minutes in She had wandered off into Peter’s old bedroom. Smiling as she stood in the doorway, and she knew grief was a funny thing because she could see the two of them about fifteen years younger dancing in his bedroom practicing for prom.

“Ouch that was my foot!” She yelled out. Peter dropped to his knees dramatically, grabbing her leg inspecting her foot playfully.

“Not broken.” He placed a kiss on the top of her foot before jumping to his feet. Watching her smile and scrunch her nose.

“I didn’t say it was.”

‘Well I had to make sure I didn’t hurt my girl.”

She shook her head in response, rolling her eyes. Hands rubbing his shoulders, placing his glasses on the top of his head. “Are you gonna do that at our wedding too?” She teased.

Peter pulled a face laughing, racking his head back and forth thinking. “Maybe! But since when are we getting married? What have you and Gwendy been planning, mhm?”

Angel looked over at his desk where she’d found her engagement ring tucked away only a couple years later.

“I couldn’t find the blue quilt but I found the gray one and everything is set up and ready when..”

They both froze looking at the green velvet box in her, now shaky, hand.

“Shit I knew I should’ve put it in the safe. My girlfriend is so nosey.” He laughed it off taking the green box from her hand. “You just couldn’t wait a couple weeks till your birthday mhm?” He laughs, kissing on her face. Angel could feel warmth wash over her face and body, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I was just looking for those pictures from our trip upstate you had processed.”

Peter smiled tugging up his gray sweatpants, dropping onto one knee.

“Angel, my sweet girl. I have loved you for years, for far longer than I remember. Ever since we were in middle school, and I got lucky enough several years ago to have you want me. Maybe we are a little young to get engaged, but I know I want to be with you forever. I’m not asking for a wedding anytime soon, I just want to know that eventually in-”

“Yes.” You cut him off excitedly, hands cupping over your mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”

Peter scrunched his nose, standing up as he slid the ring on your finger twirling you around.

“She said yes!” Peter yells throughout the house, the announcement bouncing off the walls and making a home in its fixtures.

May’s excited cheer could be heard all the way up the steps. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him as he spun you.

Walking towards the perfectly made bed, she mentally thanked May for never changing it. For keeping it the same all these years later. She took her shoes off, crawling into the bed closing her eyes waiting for sleep to wash over like a wave. For just a second she swore the other side of the bed dipped down, and in instinct made room for his tired frame to crash beside her.

“A distraught man was seen walking up around the streets of Harlem this morning, the man was described as looking dirty. Wearing a green suit, and was seemingly distraught and confused, mumbling to himself.” The anchorwoman spoke, reading off her cue cards shocked by the news herself. Angel scrolled on her phone wrapped in one of May’s quilts as she made breakfast.

“Witnesses say the man seemed distraught, and in a rush. Looking like he had climbed out of a hole, his suit askew and ran past anyone who offered help. Seemingly not wanting to be seen.”

She switched the channel before she cared to hear the other stories, not thinking she could handle the grief of another depressing story right now. Angel wrapped the blanket around herself, walking to the kitchen to talk to May. Her phone pinging, the front camera at the house notifying her that motion had been detected.

“I’ve gotta get to the hospital after I eat, are you gonna be okay getting home? I know it’s not that far of a wal- everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I actually should get a cap and head that way. I just got a weird notification I need to check out.”

“Okay yeah. Do you need me to go with you?” May asked.

“No, no. I, I don’t know what it is. Could be nothing or an error on my end.” Angel says, pulling herself out of the chair rushing towards the door. Quickly calling a cab she climbed into the back refreshing the ring app trying to get it to load. The dark screen freaking her out. She had called Harry, bouncing her leg in the back of the cab watching the houses fly by.

“I was just about to call you.” Harry’s panic was evident from his voice. “Someone dug up Peter’s grave. Kicked the headstone over and everything.”

“You don’t think it was Fisk’s guys do you?”

“Could be..could be anybody. I love Pete but he had a lot of enemies.”

“I got a notification that there's motion at the front door, but it’s not loading now. It's a network error.” She spoke as the cab pulled into the neighborhood, already unbuckling her seatbelt waiting for the sudden stop.

“Okay listen to me.” Harry says starting the car. “I’m thirty minutes away, there’s a gun hidden in a fake drawer in the table by your door. It’s loaded, and I know you know how to use it. Let’s just be prepared for the worst.”

“Yeah..” Angel nodded, rubbing her forehead wishing Peter was there to talk her through this. “Okay I’m heading in. I’ll let you know.”

Angel handed the driver a hundred that she had on her and hung up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of the pajama pants she’d been wearing at May’s. The front door was left ajar and slightly off its hinges. She looked down seeing a track of dirt leading from the front walk away all the way into the house.

Quietly she found the gun Harry was talking about, leaving the safety on till otherwise needed and slowly following the muddy footprints. The fridge was left ajar, food and drinks sitting on the counter. Whoever broke in was pretty hungry, having pulled out the pastrami and other gatherings for a sandwich. A soda poured into a glass and half gone. She checked Peter’s office, his file cabinets open and a couple files pulled out. As she went to open the files to see who it was research on, she heard the water upstairs turn on. Slowly and as quiet as possible she snuck up the steps, and through her bedroom. Her jewelry box was left open but nothing was taken out, everything in the closet was practically untouched except for a couple of Peter’s items thrown onto the floor. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door to the bathroom open, and nothing could prepare her for what stood on the other side of the door.

“Angel..”

The voice nearly caused her to drop to her knees. She knew grief was a funny thing, because Peter Parker was standing before. Dirty and clearly sore, his voice strained from not using it for a couple days. Her knees fell out from under her, Peter using his reflexes to catch the gun and her all in one go. Smearing mud and blood lightly on her as he caught her. He placed the gun on the counter away from them as he slid down onto the floor with her.

“Shh, shh I know. I know. It’s scary. It’s okay, Angel. Breathe okay. In and out.”

She couldn’t even find her voice to scream, she reached out hitting him trying to get him away from her. A ghost from her nightmare. The harder she hit though, the faster she realized he was real..this was all real.

“You’re dead.”

“I was..technically. Kind of yeah.”

“Not technically, legally.”

Peter laughed shakily holding her, tears starting to pour out of his own eyes. His lips pressed against her forehead letting out a gasp of air.

“Spiders..play dead when they sense danger. Meaning their bodies shut down completely out of their control, as a way to replenish and prepare to attack and prevent further damage.” She watched intently as he explained his mad man ramblings.

“I guess when I got bit that’s something my nervous system developed the ability to do. I read about it all those years ago after I got bit. It just never happened until I took so much damage. So, yes. I was..I did die. However, the amount of my own blood that Harry and May pumped into me. Helped me heal in that shut down state.” Peter laughs hearing himself. He sounded fucking crazy. Angel reached her hand out cradling his face, gasping at his warmth. His heat radiating off his body again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lunged forward holding him in a hug sobbing happily.

Harry’s feet pounded against the hardwood floor as he yelled for her.

“Oh fuck.”

“Hey Harry.” Peter laughed awkwardly. “Long story.”

Harry, in shock, stumbled out of the room immediately making phone calls. Letting out a scream of shock and awe.

“Angel..” Peter whispered. “I need to shower okay. You can stay with me though if you want.”

So she did, she washed his hair and body. Rubbing her fingers over the held wounds that once littered his chest now just scars in their place. So much for being superhuman.

“We’re never gonna have a normal life are we?”

Peter shook his head, kissing her head.

“No, no we won’t. But we’ll have each other, and no matter what happens. No grave will hold me down.” He laughs holding them together, making her look up at him. “I’m coming back here, back to you everytime.”

She shook her head holding him close listening to the beat of his heart, finally feeling that piece she lost crawl back home into her chest.

I know that was different...I hope you guys liked it. I really wanted to bring Mob!Peter back but I'm nothing if not dramatic..so :)

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @a-lumos-in-the-nox @moonyslove78 @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please check my pinned post!

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madamemystery90 · 9 months ago

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When the Night Runs Cold- Twilight Fanfiction. Witch OC x Jacob Black Imprint. Introduction

"With Darkness comes the shadows of nightmares"

So this obviously is my first post, but a few things to be aware of are trigger warnings, mentions of violence, and possessiveness.

As the night thickens with smog, Catherine stands with heels planted like roots into the ground. A buff of air is released into the darkness as she ignites a cigar, her scarlet-tinted lips staining the cigar as she rests it between her lips, inhaling, before releasing it around her. Standing on the cliffs of Forks, she watches with darkened eyes as her crow rests on branches around a particular human. There she watched through their eyes as Bella lay heartbroken in a forest of Forks; her beloved Vampire had just broken her mind and bond as she fell with a weak cry, curling up into a tight ball; Catherine scoffed with humour and disgust as she witnessed through her crow's eyes.

"How beautifully pathetic..." she smirked with sinful intent.

Would it be perfect for flying her crows around to start digging their perfect talons so deep into her beautiful, pale, and alive skin, tearing her limb from limb until that rich scent of hers filled forks, her blood running through the soil like many before her?

That sweet, thick, fresh blood of hers, Catherine ground her teeth with impatience. She needed that blood more than ever. She knew there was a pesky little redhead flying about her, though she knew she would be of great use to her; however, they both had different intentions.

Whilst Victoria wanted her dead, Catherine needed her alive, breathing and suffering as she tortured that poor girl lying so helpless in the wet and cold forest. Her dark magic flowed deep within her chest, aching and clawing at her heart, making her hiss angrily. The cigar was no longer working on her pesky curse; she had to thank her deceitful sisters for that. Trust was a very fragile thing for Catherine; her coven betrayed her with that; she didn't choose to have these gifts... she didn't choose blood magic to flow so deep within her veins, but boy, did it feel good when her pathetic humans were drained every last drop leaving them like a husk to join her army of undead. She would've succeeded if her coven hadn't fought her every step of the way; it was a shame she didn't get to kill all of them. However, this human may just be the cure for that.

She sighed as a crow came to rest upon her arm, and she hushed its crocking beak.

"Now, now, my beautiful, not yet, you will smell them soon", she spoke as she nibbled on her bottom lip, dropping the cigar down onto the soil beneath her heels and putting out the ash. The only thing that concerned her the most now that those disgusting vampires left these lands was to make way for something even more threatening to her.

Werewolves, or more to say, the Quileute tribe of LA Push.

She ground her teeth as her cloak flowed behind her with gloom. She didn't have an issue with this tribe; however, her sisters had made very good bonds with them, sharing ways to control their inner beast unannounced to her. She never tried to control her inner hunger for magic and dark wielding, and many wolves went crazed after how short-tempered they were. She decided to watch for now as one of the tribe members picked up the helpless human, making her crow chip.

She tilted her head with curiosity as the face of this particular wolf was shadowed. How peculiar it was that her crows would usually notice the faces of many...though again, she stiffened slightly as she caught the energy of something rather large behind her, stalking with territorial rage. Ah...she had forgotten, this is exactly what she misstepped though what fun is hiding in plain sight. She smirked as she turned around, her hood covering her face as a silver-haired wolf stalked towards her, growling with two more behind it.

"How magnificent..." she spoke with a deep tone, her voice laced with light humour; the crow flew from her arm as she smiled with sickened poison. With one step, she fell backwards off the cliff into the rippling waves below her. Paul and the others trod towards the cliff's edge, huffing with confusion. The smell of her scent made their noses flare and itch. She wasn't ordinary and surely wasn't human; her scent confused them and filled them with so much death that their chests tightened.

"Fill Sam in on everything, tighten security around our territory in Forks... we have another problem, " Paul said within their mind link. They were supposed to be looking for the red-headed vampire but instead found an unsuspecting invader upon their lands.

Neither of them knew just what chaos she was about to bring to Forks, all for one particular human.

Isabella swan.

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Hello everyone, I am Mystery! I hope this first introduction to my story was eventful as written; this piece takes place during the New Moon and Eclipse to transform the narrative of danger for Bella, help with Jacobs's toxicity towards Bella and also create a greater sense of danger with Victoria as I felt Victoria wasn't as dangerous in Eclipse as she was made out to be, though I have very exciting plans made for her "Insert evil laughter here"

I will be predominantly sticking towards the films for it to be an easier flow; however, I shall create more of a twilight universe in which there are still many weaknesses for our supervillain Catherine Blackwall.

Also, to help out with the strange imprinting situation with Renesme

Anyway! Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the next part, and I'll keep you informed.

Note: I can take requests, but they will be limited.

Thank you again! Mystery Signing Off.

Face Picture:

Catherine Mcquoid = Katie McGrath

Jacob Black = Taylor Lautner

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xxnashiraxx · 8 months ago

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With Stars to Fill My Dream (7) - From Now Our Merge is Eternal

I'm releasing chapter 7 early!!!! ❤

Please have my girl in her new hard af fit, about to be traumatized next chapter. Lets goooooooo.

I'm setting up Ofelia's and Astarion's relationship, just the bones, it's so hard to write these two idiots sometimes. Forgive any grammatical errors I really tried to proofread this a billion times first. :")

Thank you guys!

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 8,238

Opening below the cut!

Sparks of red and gold flash behind his eyes as Astarion sits against a tree, the breath that fills his lungs and pushes outward again makes him feel almost alive. Every scent feels more powerful- even his sight is sharper. He can see the individual feathers of a hawk circling above, looking for its next meal.

He’s chosen a view of the sunrise today, and whether it's his freshly sated appetite or something else, it looks more beautiful this morning than ever before. Granted he hadn't had the chance to see it before these last few days in as long as he can remember, but still… Ofelia’s blood has made him feel like himself again. Maybe more than he has since he’s been dead.

No flush colors his cheeks when he thinks of their union- he does regret the intimate nature of the bite, but even knowing its troublesome side effects, he’d have done it all again just the same, perhaps aside from not properly asking her first.

She’d been so willing, and that fact wasn’t lost on him. Why? He can’t fathom it. No matter how hard he pours over her every word and subtle expression, he doesn’t know why she’d said yes. Stupidity? Curiosity? Some strange notion of compassion? Pity?

He grits his teeth, though he can’t find it in himself to stay irritated. He can’t stop thinking about the taste, the warmth in his skin now, all of it. How can he secure this strange partnership between them? She isn’t like his usual marks. She’s intelligent but stupid. Kind, but petty. Soft, yet tough. She doesn’t seem to be receptive to his more flirtatious remarks, but perhaps he isn’t trying the right kind. All he’d had to do before was bat his lashes and flatter his prey, but with her it’s different. Her keen eyes search for something deeper- a connection.

The kind she looks for isn’t something he has. Mutual trust? Banish the thought. He’d sooner flee their odd little group of misfits than confess to Ofelia a genuine emotion of his. Or thought. She’d find some use for it, no doubt- keep it stowed away for her benefit someday. She’s just enough of a wildcard that if he yields a sliver of control to her, she may see the opening and go for his throat. He’s smarter than that.

Perhaps he’ll manufacture lies for her? Pretty ones? She’s young and impressionable- perhaps she’ll be swayed by them. He can feed her some truth, just enough to gain her trust, and perhaps secure future feedings and a warm bedroll. Astarion’s nothing if not a master of deception- the scores of victims trailing behind him speak for themselves. He’ll resort to the one thing he knows best- luring with his looks to keep her hooked so he can stay fed and safe while he figures out how to remove his old master from the equation.

After that’s through, he’ll be rid of her and the parasite.

He ignores the odd little twinge in the back of his mind- likely the worm. When he stands, his limbs stretch, and his muscles flex, the breeze coming off the river balmy and carrying the promise of another hot day. He’ll go find her and thank her, see if he can begin this dance he’s set out before himself.

And hide her marks from the rest of their companions…

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x f!tav #astarion x oc #With Stars to Fill My Dream #Ofelia Montez #Astarion x Ofelia #bg3 isekai #baldur's gate oc #bg3 oc #chapter title is Cirice by GHOST #bg3 screenshots #astarion and tav #Spotify

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scaryxkerry · 5 months ago

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A chance encounter.pt 1

Jeff the killer x reader

Content warning. Graphic depictions of violence,blood and injury.

A/N i wrote this at 2:00 am. Im splitting it into two parts because i can barely keep my eyes open rn and if i write anymore ill die. If you see some mistake point it out and ill fix it at some point probably.

You check the time on your phone: 4:30AM.

You have to be awake at this ungodly hour because you work at a gym. You needed to be there extra early to cater to the so-called "early bird customers" as your manager had called them. The people who worked nine-to-fivers and wanted to get a good workout in before going to work, or the gym bros who practically spent evrey waking moment pumping iron.

It worked well enough for you, you love the city at this hour. The transitional time between being completely barren and being full of the hustle and bustle of people going about their daily lives.

There are several other people about,some are early morning joggers trying to beat the heat, and others you presume are people who need to be at work early, just like you.

Jeff wipes the blood from his face,his own blood. The girl whom he'd been intent on making this mornings victim had been more tenacious then he expected, but that was just fine. Those who would not give their lives so easily always made for the most satisfying of kills.

He found those who went too easily to hardly even be worth killing. The worst were the ones who put up no fight at all,those who died long before they were even a twinkle in his eye. Absolutely no sport in it. None at all. He tries to avoid them when he can now.

But not this girl no,she would be well worth it.

Currently she had a gun pointed at him and boy did she look ready to use it. Jeff knew the glare of a person ready to kill better then any one else. Oh yes she'd fight him to her dying breath and that excited him deeply.

You are busy texting your friend when you hear a woman shouting for help from up ahead you pick up the pace, someone is in trouble.

Jeff inches his way closer to the girl with both hands up. He is careful to make no sudden movement. He knows if he did anything to startle her she could end up shooting him even if she didn't really mean too. Most models of pistol only took a few pounds of pressure to pull the trigger after all,more then sensitive enough for someones startle response to make the gun fire.

You hear a woman shout "im warning you! Get back i will shoot i swear to fucking god."

In a burst of motion Jeff lunges for her gun and forces the hand that holds it upward into the sky. She inadvertently squeezes the trigger and fires a couple shots into the air. She reacts quickly and grabs hold of the hand he holds his knife in.

You hear gunshots. You tap the little green phone icon on your screen and prepare to dial 911.

She isn't able to out muscle him, he yanks his arm lose. Jeff jams his blade into her belly and twists with a satisfying squelch. Her screams where sweeter then candy but he had to shut her up lest she draw to much attention to herself. He releases his grip on the knife lodged in her stomach and coverd her mouth with one of his hands to silence her.

She bites down and gets a mouthfull of his blood.

You hear a gut wrenching scream as you punch in the number, you hear the operator ask "911 what is the location of your emergency?"

The girl knees him in the crotch and he stumbles back. she fires two shots.but only one meets its mark,the bullet embeds itself somewhere in his abdomen.

"You bitch!" Jeff growls.

"Somewhere between Willow street and Bleasdale Avenue,i heard a woman screaming and gunshots!"

You say as you grip your phone tightly.

Jeff grabs the girl by her hair and yanks her head back to allow easy access to the throat. He slits her neck from ear to ear, blood spurts from the gash in rythm with her heart.

Soon hes met with the familiar feeling of a body going limp in his arms. Though even now she weakly claws at his face before stareing off at someone in the distance at first Jeff pays this no mind. Many people seem to see the ghosts of loved ones or deamons as they die. Hes a little bit surprised she did not cry out for her mother. Many of his victims cried out for ther mothers, though some cried out to God. Those few who put up little or no fight would rarely cry out at all.

It isn't until the girl reaches out a hand that he bothers to look behind him, and he sees that she isn't seeing ghosts. Shes seeing a very real person.

..."shit."

#jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x you

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naviamin · 1 year ago

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𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎 + 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎 + 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 ★ “SINISTER”

✿ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of gore/blood, vomiting, mentions of vomit, panic/anxiety attack, manipulative arlecchino, mentions of betrayal, upset lynette, no mentions of lyney and freminet, lore accurate arlecchino, implied mentions of pedophilia (not directed at lynette), slight implications of misogyny/weak woman.

✿ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: hihi! my first ACTUAL writing based post on here, hope you enjoy TvT. But before we begin, I wanna say something this is not a ship one shot AND this is not in the genshin impact verse! also ty to @theshinazugawaslut for helping me edit this 🤍 go check out their works and show them support! that’s all for now, i hope u all enjoy <3

Lynette is still. So still. She stands and watches her father—no, a monster— take the life of a man. It's a selfish act in and out of itself. To kill someone.

Lynette is aware that the man is not the greatest of men; he is a man who worked hand in hand with evil. The man is a coward. The lowest of the lowest. He is happiest when hurting people, innocents; especially young women. Woman like Lynette. Women of small stature, women with nimble fingers, women with thin legs—women that could fit perfectly in the palm of his hand; the size of a snack, something to eat. Something to rip apart with teeth so sharp that-

Girls like Lynette are entertainment to him. Pretty little things to suck the blood right out off when there was no water. Just so he could watch them cower, watch them shrivel up beneath his feet.

But...

Lynette never knew someone could go grey, never knew what it meant to become a corpse, never knew what grey meant until today.

She watches the man writhe and scream in pain that went beyond simple agony.

The torture just went on and on. Endless.

At some point, beyond this grey expanse of time, the man begged to be released.

Arlecchino seemingly got upset with this simple request, and so she snatched his eyeball right out of his eyesocket. She even made a show to crush it between her black fingers, all until the eye was split into two parts of mush.

Lynette watches as the man held the empty space that once held his eye, letting out a shriek so loud—it sounded inhumane, the sort of sound a dog would make; like a dog being ran over. Lynette swore she had heard a crash of some sort. The man is hurting and... and all Lynette could do was just stand there.

She couldn't focus, she didn’t know what to focus on. The crimson blood staining her father’s once pristine white shirt? The thick, foggy haze of scarlet, like misted blood spray? All the different shades of red she could count from just one man?

The sight is grim, gory, and absolutely wretched, and seeing her saviour, the woman she calls—called—her father standing above it, was just... despicable.

Though at the time, she would've just said stammered and told you she was scared.

And the sounds she is making... Eerie.

Eerie in the way that Lynette could not put a finger on it, just wrong.

They sounded wrong—the sadistic glint in cruel eyes as Arlecchino’s actions ooze from her monstrous noises.

Like an animal.

She growls as she rips the flesh of every last bit of her prey. Greedy, like a lone wolf; she enjoys every piece of meat that she rips of the bruised bone, malice hot against her teeth.

This was all so wrong—a woman, a woman?

No...this was different.

The sounds were so terrible—they were so wrong—like a clock going the wrong way, maybe a fork scratching across a glass plate.

Each sigh, each grunt, each god-awful noise that came out her lips was nothing but a sound of murder amongst blood-curdling screams.

Arlecchino is malevolence herself.

A great, natural evil.

A natural disaster—like a the fiery depths of a volcano or the deafening sound of a merciless tsunami.

She is a great sinister.

A true embodiment of the word villan.

To be the antagonist. To be the bad guy—anything disastrous, anything twisted, anything utterly sick and inhumane—Arlecchino simply is.

She is vile, so vile, and so sickly that she began to smell putrid... the acid in Lynette’s stomach starts to churn—thicken—like a witch brewing a nasty spell in her cauldron.

Her stomach begins to growl, almost scratching against her inner skin. How awful. It's an odd feeling that Lynette hasn’t had for quite a while.

She last had this feeling when... when... oh... She was gonna be sick.

Lynette felt herself go green, acidic, felt her skin grow sick from the sight.

She knew she is a colour that no human should ever be. She grew more ill as she hears the snap of a vein. It's disgusting. She had to look away then. She hears it again—a loud snap, then a bang—and when she looks at the horror in front of her, she couldn’t quite comprehend what the man had lost this time.

Was it a limb?

Or perhaps... oh.

Oh.

No... no... no... it couldn’t be... no... this wasn’t her father. This wasn’t her father. This wasn’t her father. This wasn’t her father.

(And at this moment everything made sense. This isn’t Lynette’s father).

All those emotions, all that fear, that rage forcefully ripped its way out of Lynette, ejecting out foul somethings and bile from her mouth.

Lynette fell to her knees, looking at the gooey puddle of her own vomit below her. Rotten.

Sweat clung to her forehead as she groans. Her throat felt as if it had been shredded apart. Left panting on the floor, she listens to sounds of screaming. The screaming now sounding a little distant; far, far away. Perhaps that was better. A cold distance. A nice, cold distance.

(A nice, cold distance. A distance like the shadows beneath you. Nice. Unreachable. Black. Even though it wouldn’t last long, Lynette enjoyed the moment, the pool of sick below her entwined in such a horrible memory.)

Then it started all over again. Lynette gasped for breath as she felt her sweat become solid against her forehead. The sounds of skin clashing, scratching becoming sickening.

The distance closed in. Gone.

What a sad existence... Lynette thinks. Her father, brutally torturing someone a few feet in front of her while she cowers and shakes in front of her own... self... her vomit. Doesn’t her father know how much Lynette hates to vomit? Has she forgot? No... but Arlecchino would never forget. She promised... she had promised! Why must Lynette hang her head over her own... why must life be unfair?

Why is life so unfair...? Is the world shaped—made—to make woman feel inferior? Why did that man come near Lynette; near other young, sweet, innocent girls. Why must this happen? Why...?

Lynette’s head is a even bigger mess than that of the man before her, though perhaps such a thought is cruel.

Her vision even worse than the eyeless man. Black, splotchy dots fill her vision. Focusing then not. An array of bright colours controll her sight; grey and then becoming a kaleidoscopic rainbow. Like those sweets Lynette used to eat as she layed upon... nevermind.

Lynette’s arms go weak. They snap. The floor comes to her first, crashing mercilessly into her face. Her sick bubbles against her cheek, in front of her lips as she breathes against it. And the smell.. oh. A nauseating stench that burnt her nostrils.

Oh, she really hates vomit. She really does. It’s so... smelly and has bits in it. Oh, she doesn’t wanna be sick again. And that man won’t stop screaming... why won’t he stop yelling..?!

Lyentte has to speak. To tell her father... Arlecchino... that sinister to stop. To make it stop. Like she did all those years ago. Maybe she’ll cradle her, and sing songs to her. Oh, those beautiful memories. They aren’t distant... maybe Lynette can still reach them, if she reaches far enough...

Lynette’s brusied lips tear apart as she tries to scream. Her lips won’t divide, won't open.

They... they’re stuck! Her teeth chatter with cold fear as she tries to speak. The only sound she manages to make is a small cry, that even Lynette herself almost couldn’t hear. A swarm of wasps collects at the back of her throat. Buzzing. Loudly. Lynette despises wasps. Her throat full of ants, roaches, bees. Biting and stinging. Rendering her useless. Rendering her useless.

With each choke, with each failed whisper the anxiety rides up her spine like electricity.

Each breath, each sigh felt like a shock straight to her brain. The vomit acting like the water to the electricity riding through her body. Though riding was a soft word, perhaps obliterating was better.

(Opposites attract, her ass; they don’t, she knows that now. Arlecchino hasn’t even noticed her. How foolish was Lynette to believe a woman with eyes made of tar, deep, red crosses engraved in her eyes to show her sins, lips that stretched into such a large smile—how did Lynette think a woman with features like that could ever be trusted?)

“What is this...?”

It is like Lynette’s brain spoke for her. Because she doesn’t quite know how her vocal cords suddenly came to life after surrendering a long time ago.

For the first time in a while, a silence resounds in the dark room. But it isn’t a nice one. This silence speaks of untold horrors, of terrible outcomes, and of Arlecchino. The silence stretches out uncomfortably long.

Lynette feels herself cringe, her arms tingling, going lax. She takes a long, deep breath, coughing when she feels some of her vomit splatter against her. She breathes again, she forces herself to.

She doesn’t like this silence. Even if it can be broken by her shaky breathing, it is better than standing between reality and Arlecchino.

Lynette stops breathing loudly when she hears the shuffle of clothes. A loud clack resounds in the room; ear-piercing.

Arlecchino’s footsteps sound thunderous as she begins to approach Lynette. Like, she grew extra legs. What was just the clacking of heels against a marble floor, felt like an avalanche of feet. A stampede of frightened animals, running away. Lynette is the the only one left, laying on the ground as the others run in fright. She is left to face the ultimate predator by herself.

Arlecchino’s voice is gentle when she speaks but to Lynette, it feels more like a shriek. “Lynette...?”

Lynette doesn’t know why, but she sighs. Sighs so loudly, it clears her vision. She sighs again, feeling this awful feeling leave her body.

An abrupt sob rips through her throat. Unexpected tears roll down her eyes, mingling with vomit-stained floors.

Her sobs turn loud, booming.

Lynette begins to scratch against the floor, against her vomit. She feels the filth sink in between her thin fingers, beneath her once clean nails. Her cries turn so loud that the whimpering of the abused man turns inaudible. Her throat tears with each scream, but she still cries. She cries to her hearts content. Her whole body, her whole soul cries and screams with her. She screams like a toddler, she screams like a baby. She bangs her fists against her floor, watching her sick fly everywhere. But she doesn’t care, because, for once, crying feels relaxing.

Her cries speak for her, telling the story of her irritation, her agony, her betrayal. Lynette has no idea if Arlecchino is even listening, but the silence in the room is only filled with her despair. (So, Arlecchino must be...)

Lynette writhes in her own sort of pain. And she does that for what feels like centuries, but only a couple seconds actually pass. She brings herself to her knees, away from her sick. A few minutes ago, she would have loved that. But, not anymore.

“Why must you—why did you...” Lynette rasps, she breathes hard as she hangs her head back. Her chest heaves painfully as she gasps greedily for air. “Why did you hurt that man under my name?”

Lynette doesn’t even recognise her own voice. She sounds... different? Like... someone she knows.

“Because...” Arlecchino finally responds. And Lynette hopes she doesn’t finish, because she knows what exactly Arlecchino will say.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Nononononono... don’t say it.

Please please please... no... no... don’t say what you’re going to say.

“You’re my daughter.”

Lynette can practically hear the evil grin that Arlecchino wears on her face. She can picture that unforgiving smile—lips stretched into a wide grin, too large for a human face. The blood prior from the mans torture running down her face, her skin... the skin that Lynette used to kiss and poke...

When did times change?

When was Arlecchino ever so malicious? Lynette doesn’t remember. All she remembers are the hugs, the kisses, the word of affirmation. Those kind words that dripped with the sweetest honey, the kind of words that felt like walking through a field of pretty flowers. Every day with Arlecchino felt like receiving a bouquet of stunning red roses. Since when did the moment of now spent with Arlecchino feel so... sad? Were they always this lonely?

Lynette recalls any memory of good, but at this moment, she can’t. She just can’t. All she could do is cry. And she did. She cried for God knows how long.

She cried until she felt Arlecchino’s cold hands hovering above her head. Arlecchino’s hands, despite dripping with thick blood and other unknown substances, were soft and gentle when pulling Lynette’s head down.

Lynette lazily looked at her father... or whatever... before her. She didn’t know what to say or do, so she blinked.

The expression on Arlecchino’s face was unreadable. No one knows what she will say, what she will do. So, Lynette sat still, let her head rest against Arlecchino’s hand as she waited for the surprise.

Arlecchino smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. It was fake. Maybe real. Who knows? But, it was probably fake. Knowing her.

Arlecchino took a deep sigh, and then her smile grew larger. She exhales roughly, and then bought her other hand to rest against the other side of Lynette’s face. Then she spoke. What it meant Lynette did not know, but she hopes it isn’t as bad as it sounds.

“You’re next.”

#𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #arlecchino #lynette #genshin impact #genshin arlecchino #genshin lynette #the fatui #genshin imagines #genshin oneshots #stories #oneshot #long one shot #dark fantasy #dark stories

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amaryllisenvy · 10 months ago

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The Ties That Bind

Part One Billy the Kid x OC

Hello, Dear reader.

I've been out of the fanfic game for some time, but tom blyth has me in a chokehold. His performance as billy the kid has become my muse. Hopefully this fanfic is as cathartic to you all as it is to me. I did not proofread this yet, so errors will be present.

WARNINGS: SA, blood, violence, guns, smut, and so much more. I will try to put warnings, but please read at your own discretion. MDNI!

Part 1: November 1st, 1876

Smoke billows in clouds around the candlelit room. It was grating. The smell of cigars made the girl in the darkest blue dress, the color of the deepest trenches in the seas, grimace. The stench of male sweat mixed with spirits sticking to the floor. It was loud. Much too loud for Amaryllis’ liking. And the man who sat beside her at the table was much too close for her liking.

“As I was saying,” The man wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into him. She felt his cracked lips graze her ear, could smell the stench of alcohol, and she tensed imperceptibly. “Me and you cut our losses and go somewhere more private an’ have some fun.”

Her sugary sweet smile was enough to make scholars believe she was genuine. “As handsome as that offer sounds, I do believe I have yet to lose anything. If you can’t tell by the smile on my pretty painted lips, I am having fun.”

She extracted herself from his grip but held onto his forearm with feigned womanly affection. His eyes darted down and he noticeably sat up straighter with more confidence. The sickening smirk on his face told her all she needed to know about this man.

“You must be a silly bitch. I wasn’t askin’.” He stood up and swayed drunkenly before he grabbed her small frame and forced her out of her seat. Facing away from him, she could see the other men at the table openly laughing at their buddy’s antics. The man’s grip on her was bruising and the wind was knocked out of her as he shoved her through the saloon door.

The crisp air felt relieving as she filled her lungs greedily with it, finally not feeling smoke fill them instead. Her eyes shot to the sky and she saw the moon peaking from behind the clouds. Were they moving, or was her head just spinning?

“Stables.” The man grunted and gave her an albeit lighter shove but still a shove nonetheless.

She rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth before turning toward the portly gentleman whose face was set in a snarl. She only needed a second to study him before determining that she would need to be more insistent.

“While I would love to indulge a fine man such as yourself, I am already taken, sir.” She pulled the fingertips of her gloves, revealing her wedding band. “I am afraid you will need to take your interests elsewhere. God’s plan was for me to be married and loyal to my husband, and that is what I shall be.”

“Enough with the talking. Your husband don’t need to know about nothin’.” He grabbed her by the elbow and began pulling her over to the stables.

“Sir, I’m afraid I must insist. You deserve a fine woman who is not already taken.”

“I ain’t looking for nothing but a piece of tail. Now get inside.” He gave her another cruel shove.

Straightening herself from nearly falling onto the floor. She faced away from him and heard him clamoring with the door to the stables. She rolled her eyes, and then her neck.

“Sir, I’m asking you one final time.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth and spread your legs.” He shoved her against a stall, the black filly inside whinnying in alarm.

Her body released all of the tension and went slack in his hold, giving up fighting.

He fumbled with the clasps of his breeches and she heard him pull his pants down. His rough hands lifted her dress and she heard the distinct rip of the expensive fabric. Motherfucker. Amaryllis pouted at the work she would need to put in to mend it. At least he made it easy for her.

In one movement, too quick for the drunken man to notice, Amaryllis grabbed the hilt of her dagger easily now that he had exposed her lower body. There were no gowns to get caught in.

With the force of the great steel beasts that ride the railroad, she jammed the dagger into the man's inner thigh. The yowl he let out sounded like an injured barn cat, not a man. She ripped from his thigh up into his groin. She felt her dagger slice through his skin easily. Her companion fell to the floor, clutching his leg that was spouting out blood. It was his back that was pressed to the wall of the stables now.

His screams of agony rang out through the silent town she watched him writhe before she bent to his eye level. She took her blade and wiped the blood off of it on his shirt before smiling at him.

“You won’t stop bleeding. I severed your femoral artery. You don’t come back from that unless you are really lucky.” Amaryllis groaned as she stood and slid her dagger into its sheath at her thigh. Her other hand rubbed her lower back at the soreness she felt there. She was way too young to have back problems.

She pouted at the man. “However, if we take your performance at the table tonight as a reference, I wouldn’t say you have much luck at all.”

Amaryllis straightened her skirts and reached for a nearby rag that she dipped into the horses' water bucket. She made quick work of rubbing the little blood she had gotten on herself off. She swayed her way back to the saloon to earn back the money she just lost because of that douchebag.

___

November 8th, 1876

Her ears rang from the firing of a gun. She hated guns, and always preferred knives. However, she understood their practical purposes.

Amaryllis remembered her father’s old saying keenly. “If you hear a gunshot, that means you are still alive. Dead men can’t hear the shots that kill them.”

She was alive.

Perhaps she wished she wasn’t when the agony set in. She looked at the boy next to her who held his gun with his mouth open in shock. He began shouting something. She stared into his eyes in the silence in her head that only followed an act so devastating that the world stopped.

Something warm bubbled in her mouth and dripped down her dress. Yllis looked down at herself just as the first drop of blood stained the pure white of her gown. She remembered how stark it looked. All of the darkest red staining what was once pure white. Just as the contrast between the two was beautiful, she recalled the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a boy with black hair.

His eyes were the only thing she remembered as she became lightheaded. She felt faint and sunk onto her knees. She watched as his mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear a word he said as the excruciating pain started again. When the corners of her vision faded, it was a relief when she fainted.

_____

The sky was a cloudy shade of gray and the wind that whipped through Amaryllis’ hair had a chilling bite to it. She suspected she had another thirty minutes before she would be soaked through in 8.89oC(48oF) weather. She rushed into the saloon with her shawl wrapped tight around her.

For once, maybe she could appreciate the stuffy bar for the warmth it brought to her bones. She was a fan of cold weather and she hated to be hot, but this might have been a little much. She quickly found the same seat that she had been occupying during her time in town.

She was up almost five times what she had put in. She studied the men across from her as they tried so hard to hide their expressions. She just always went with her gut and she was right most of the time.

“Want one?” The elderly lady across from her offered her a cigarette from her clutch.

Amaryllis gave her a genuine smile at the sweet gesture. “You’re so kind. I will have to pass. I’m afraid I have what doctors call a breathing sickness. Any smoke tends to make it worse.”

The old woman’s eyes widened and she stopped just before she lit her smoke.

Amaryllis laughed at her expression, “You’re alright! I would hardly be in a smoke-filled watering hole if it bothered me too much.”

The two women who were on opposite ends of the spectrum shared a moment. They simply smiled and acknowledged one another as a kind human being. So young and so old, both had the commonality that strangers have. With a final smile, another round began.

She bit her lip and looked at the men across from her. She studied their reactions to their hands, laughing internally at how obvious it seemed.

After quickly wiping the floor with the boys, she won another round. The next was just about to start, but she paused.

“Excuse me?” She whispered to the older woman. “I need to sit this round out and use the washroom. Can you point me in that direction?”

Just as she thought, the old lady instantly offered the answer. After checking with the dealer, she made sure she could safely leave her bag in her spot.

She had been drinking as much water as she could to keep her health up. She couldn’t afford to get ill. However, this meant needing to pee so often that it was a nuisance at times.

She washed her hands as best she could with the clean water she had. When she gazed at her reflection, her stomach twisted into a nervous knot.

Amaryllis made it a point to examine the anxieties she felt at any given time. Once she found the source, she was often better equipped to find a solution. That’s why this one confused her. There wasn’t any reason to be anxiety-ridden at the moment. She shook it off and soon made her way back to her seat.

Having already set aside savings for her trek home, she found herself wanting to revel in the rush of betting and the uncertainty of whether she would win or lose. Gambling is something she had gotten from her father. However, she was able to tightly keep herself on a lead. She only ever bet money that she could live without.

As she approached the now entirely filled table, she was relieved to find her things exactly as she left them. She didn’t carry her money in her clutch, so anything stolen wouldn’t be too dearly missed. Plus, the house had all of the money she brought with her on the table already.

As she went to pull out her chair, she was startled and looked wide-eyed at the boy who did it for her.

“Good evening, ma’am.” The young boy took off his hat and bowed slightly to her.

A little surprised, she smiled at him. “You’re quite the gentleman. Thank you, sir.”

“Come on! Deal.” The gruff voice of the older man who now sat in the elderly lady’s spot moments ago spat out.

Before sitting, Yllis gave him a cold glare. “Place your bets.”

Yllis quickly took in the men at the table. “Mary? I think I am done playing tonight. I do want to watch these fine gentlemen play, though.”

The dealer gave her a warm smile and slid her back her cash. The glare she received from the man made her uneasy as he hungrily leered at her winnings. She could see him gritting his teeth.

“Esta loco, ignóralo.” She smiled at the two boys and their conversation.

She knew only a few Spanish words from her time spent traveling across America with her makeshift family. When she left on her own two years ago, she didn’t think she would survive the world without them around her. But then she trained until she was sure of herself.

“Would you like to trade me seats?” Amaryllis looked between the two young men. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

Sandwiched between them, they shook their heads and declined with polite stranger smiles. Amaryllis watched the game intently.

Finding herself grinning when the younger boys won and the rude man lost, she watched as he got progressively more red and tense. To her disappointment, he calmed down after winning the next round.

Yllis loved to push people to the edge when they were being unreasonable. She loved the power of watching them fall apart so easily, particularly men. She furrowed her brows and placed a hand on her stomach at the roiling feeling she had. Her mouth started to water and she felt sick.

“Win. Win. Lose.”

Her ears started to ring and she felt time slow as she thought of what the hell could be making her feel this way. She looked up in her confusion to reach for her water, but she looked up far enough to watch the old man’s hand slam over Mary’s.

“I don’t lose.”

She knew that look on a man’s face. The old man wasn’t looking at her. Instead, she watched as his arm shifted nearer to his waist where she knew a gun would be. She looked to the boy to her left, the one with good manners and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. When she looked to the right, she knew.

Amaryllis knew what the feeling was. The man’s mouth was spewing spit as he shouted at the top of his lungs in his anger. She didn’t register the words he spoke, only the way he looked at the Mexican boy beside her. When she looked at the boy, she saw him laughing down at his deck, not even registering the racist gaze of the psychopath across from him.

The sound of her inhale was all she heard before she was standing. The boy finally looked up at her and furrowed his brows when he undoubtedly saw the color gone from her face.

Her father always called her reckless, but she underestimated her opposition for the first time in years. Amaryllis had all of the knowledge she had gathered on her short time on Earth with her mother’s books laid out in front of her. She searched for a way out, but she had already moved.

She underestimated her opposition because she didn’t think he would shoot. That was why she stood in front of the dark-skinned boy.

“Sir, I think you’ve had enough. You need to calm-.”

The shot reverberated through her ears as the last words she thought she would ever speak left her lips.

Bang.

#tom blyth #billy the kid #billy the kid x oc #billy the kid romance #Billy the kid fanfiction #Tom blyth fanfiction #Smut #romance #Fanfiction #fanfic

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smallyew · 1 month ago

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The Revelation of Missandei of Naath (pt 1)

The thing to remember about Missandei is that a translator’s words are never her own.

Also, this is so much fun for me, and I hope it’s fun for you too. Nonstop spoilers. For most everything. All of the shows, all of the books, including Fire and Blood and the World of Ice and Fire.

I say, again, SPOILERS

Ok. Sometime last year I was on my third re-read of A Dance with Dragons. Winds is, by now, many years overdue.. When the first book was released I was a 14-year-old girl, and now I’m a 44-year-old woman and I felt some type of way about that. I decided that rather than complain, I’d work it out by putting my MFA to use and spoiling as much of the next book(s) as I could. Missandei had always been a favorite, plus there was clearly something going on beneath the surface with her.

It all starts with one bizarre line in the middle of A Dance with Dragons.

“This one heard the Astapori scratching at the walls last night,” the little scribe said as she was washing Dany’s back. Irri and Jhiqui exchanged a look. “No one was scratching,” said Jhiqui. “Scratching … how could they scratch?” “With their hands,” said Missandei. “The bricks are old and crumbling. They are trying to claw their way into the city.” “This would take them many years,” said Irri. “The walls are very thick. This is known.” “It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.

Daenerys VI -ADWD

This is a dragon dream. Not a prophetic one, but like Arya’s wolf dreams. It is an overlapping of Missandei’s mind with Viserion’s, specifically, because then we have this from when Dany takes Quentyn to see her dragons:

The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks.

Daenerys VIII -ADWD

Missandei didn’t hear Viserion digging his lair. She dreamed it from his perspective, and being rationally minded, tried to put it in sensible terms. The key is in her description of the bricks as weak and crumbling, however. The city walls are thick, but in the base of the pyramid where the dragons are kept, the stone is crumbling and would feel weak to a dragon’s strength.

We see Daenerys have a similar dream of Drogon.

She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire.

Daenerys VII-ADWD

Drogon is hard at work, building his lair in the Dothraki Sea, but Daenerys doesn’t fully realize this.

Now, as to why Missandei could be a dragonrider when we know she isn’t Valyrian, recall that humans can be skinchangers, just as the Stark children are, and this is often associated with having the blood of the Children of the Forest. We know that the Children of the Forest have a peaceable culture, call themselves singers, dwell in caves, and are associated with weirwoods with carved faces.

The Naathi show many signs of being admixed with the Children, or more likely, the Ifequevron, their Essosi cousins.

The Ifequevron are a group of presumed extinct but possibly just migrated or hiding away. A small, gentle race, who left caves and carved trees, as discovered by Corlys Velaryon on his many voyages.

The Naathi themselves have a peaceful culture, which does not engage in violence, even in self-defense. They are renowned for their arts and are said to “make music, not war.” They worship a Lord of Harmony.

More than likely the Naathi have scattered among them the gifts of greenseering and skinchanging, just as they do in the North of Westeros.

Now, let’s consider Viserion, for a moment. He is loyal and loving, clinging to Dany even as he starts to grow too large.

Viserion flapped at her and tried to perch on her shoulder, as he had when he was smaller. "No," Dany said, trying to shrug him off gently. "You're too big for that now, sweetling." But the dragon coiled his white and gold tail around one arm and dug black claws into the fabric of her sleeve, clinging tightly.

Daenerys II-ASOS

This mirrors Dany’s relationship with Missandei. Missandei always seeks to get closer to Dany, almost to the point of obsequiousness. And for the most part, Daenerys returns her affection. Seen here.

When she returned to her rooms atop the pyramid, she found Missandei crying softly on her pallet, trying as best she could to muffle the sound of her sobs. "Come sleep with me," she told the little scribe. "Dawn will not come for hours yet."

Daenerys II -ADWD

Dragons have personalities, and their personalities will often match their rider.

Missandei, at some point, realizes the bond has been made, because she strategically asks Barristan about dragons susceptibility to the weapons of the Yunkish hosts. She cleverly cloaks her concern by mentioning Drogon, when she is asking for herself.

"This one understands." Missandei turned as if to go, then paused a moment and said, "It is said that the Yunkai'i have ringed the city all about with scorpions, to loose iron bolts into the sky should Drogon return."

Ser Barristan had heard that too. "It is no simple thing to slay a dragon in the sky. In Westeros, many tried to bring down Aegon and his sisters. None succeeded."

The Queensguard-ADWD

Why does she ask? She actually skinchanges Viserion, in Tyrion I of TWOW. Viserion’s behavior during the Battle of Fire is notably different than Rhaegal’s.

The green beast was circling above the bay, banking and turning as longships and galleys clashed and burned below him, but it was the white dragon the sellswords were gawking at. Three hundred yards away the Wicked Sister swung her arm, THUMP, and six fresh corpses went dancing through the sky. Up they rose, and up, and up. Then two burst into flame.

The dragon caught one burning body just as it began to fall, crunching it between his jaws as pale fires ran across his teeth. White wings cracked against the morning air, and the beast began to climb again. The second corpse caromed off an outstretched claw and plunged straight down, to land amongst some Yunkish horsemen. Some of them caught fire too. One horse reared up and threw his rider. The others ran, trying to outrace the flames and fanning them instead. Tyrion Lannister could almost taste the panic as it rippled out across the camps.

Tyrion I-TWOW

While Rhaegal circles, Viserion perches, watchful. Then he incinerates the plague-ridden bodies that are being flung over the walls. He’s not eating them; there’s an entire fighting pit full of fresh livestock. He burns them. Then he returns to his perch atop a pyramid. This entire time, Rhaegal is still circling.

In short, Viserion is behaving very intentionally, and in a very restrained manner (for a dragon!) Why doesn’t she just attack the enemy host? Missandei, from a culture of that will not engage in violence, even in self-defense, would control a dragon in this fashion; not actively attacking only removing a threat.

Finally, there’s the white cyvasse piece:

The white cyvasse dragon ended up at Tyrion's feet. He scooped it off the carpet and wiped it on his sleeve, but some of the Yunkish blood had collected in the fine grooves of the carving, so the pale wood seemed veined with red.

Tyrion I-TWOW

Pale wood, red-veined is a weirwood symbol. A nod to Missandei, the unknown skinchanger.

#missandei #a dance with dragons #the winds of winter #viserion #asoiaf theory #missandei dragonrider theory

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cicidarkarts · 8 months ago

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Joonam - Chapters 1-5

Summary: Idrees grapples with his past identity and the war he's witnessed. Fettered by fear and anxiety, he isolates himself and ruminates on all of his mistakes. But when he meets a tourist and falls in love with her, he's forced to confront everything that keeps him suffocated. cw: trauma, child abuse, violence against women, religion, ocd rituals, blood, violence, sex, abusive/toxic relationships: 18+

Chapter 1: Stock Duty

He had the cleanest hands of all the employees. Mostly because he obsessed over washing them with a gusto that would leave even the most ardent germophobes wincing. Idrees got a reminder of this whenever his boss sent him to restock shelves, where he had at least an hour to stare at his dried skin and gleaming fingernails. He kept them short so he wouldn't have to think about how they looked with dirt and blood caked under them. He refused offers of lotion from some of the women he worked with because, though it would alleviate the dryness, the sliminess of war-tainted mud made his skin crawl.

He lived in a big tourism area in India now. His workplace was just off the beaten path that they mostly saw locals. Sometimes, he saw a couple of the men he knew from his days in the Taliban; he always conveniently had to check the back whenever he noticed them. If the memories weren't enough to scare him off, their scowls toward him and shitty attitudes toward his female coworkers ensured his retreat. At least the back was quiet and the crappy lights were dim. He didn't have to stare at his hands that never seemed clean enough.

Cleaning duty was the easiest for him, because he had to wear threadbare gloves. The peace and quiet of the back shelves allowed the menial chores to take over the noise of his mind. Just wipe down the shelves and move the cans along, then go to the next shelf. Cans clinked together as he moved, sounds that ensured he could stay present, all while focusing fully on the steps of his task.

“Hey, Idrees,” said the shopkeep as she joined him. “Anush,” he greeted. “How are you doing after the rush?” He looked at her, focusing on that deep scar along her cheek, mustering up as much conviction as he could. “Fine.” “If you need to use my office again—” “I’m fine,” he said, a little snippier than he’d intended.

She went quiet. The perpetual scowl on her face hid a look of sympathy in her eyes Idrees had come to know unfortunately well. He gripped his mop handle and wiped the floors.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t trying to—” “It’s okay, you’re gonna be mad at me anyway.” He gave her a defeated look, watching as she pushed down her hijab to slick back her hair once again. She said, “‘Cuz I’m about to put you on stock duty.”

A tension inflated in his chest—pushing against his lungs and sitting on his stomach. He released the building sigh.

“Wish I didn’t have to,” she continued. “But the girls have their hands full after that rush. And there’s a pretty big shipment that just came in, so I need someone on stock duty.” “Yes, ma’am,” he capitulated.

Lead-legged and hands firmly by his sides, he trudged to the back and through its refrigerated chill. He needed to keep this job. It was just enough to afford the necessities and he couldn’t lose all of that now. Anush had been accommodating for many years and he owed her some amount of loyalty. She once let him bunker down in her office to sit in front of the fan, during a particularly busy shift no less. All the noise had made him think far too much…

As he ripped off his cleaning gloves, exposing his sweaty hands to frigid air, he thought too much once again; about how only the cool breeze and sounds of Anush’s office fan had stopped the racket from overtaking his mind. He grasped the faucet of the utility sink so hard that the skin beneath his nails changed color. He turned the faucet onto a warm setting and got to work scrubbing his hands.

Lathering up, he kept thinking about Anush’s office. She’d offered it to him several times, after once having witnessed him tear his nails across his palms as he cleansed them. The water had been steaming for so long that a thin layer of sweat had dotted his forehead. His stomach clenched when he remembered the look of horror on her stoic face upon seeing his raw, bleeding hands.

So he kept the sink low today, ensuring that Anush wouldn’t panic even if she saw him now. He didn’t want her wasting her sympathy on him anymore. She’d already done so much. Perhaps, though, that was because she didn't know the full story—just that he was forced to fight in a war. If she knew he'd once been a member of a totalitarian, misogynistic regime, he wondered if she'd treat him with less respect and sympathy.

His hand slammed against the faucet to turn it off; he needed to get it over with in as fast a motion as possible. If he didn’t, he feared he wouldn’t know when to stop. The cheap, rough paper towels felt like pumice on his dry skin.

He continued on to the warm air of the warehouse. The smell of fuel from the truck kept his mind off stock duty. Men called to each other, trying to coordinate stacking the dollies and sorting the boxes. A man in a thick, heavy turban dragged a few supplies in on a creaking three-legged dolly. He greeted Idrees with a smile and a wave.

“Anush got you working as stock boy again?” the man teased, scratching at his greyish beard. “Sadly.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and sat heavily upon a box, which bent and deformed underneath him. “You'll have the back of a seventy year old before you retire.” “So will you.” “Ah, but you're too smart for all of this, eh, Idrees? This was the best I could do.” “That's not true, Nikan. You're not stupid.” “Hey!” called Nikan’s supervisor. “Less talking, more unloading!” “Right,” Nikan said to Idrees. “I'm so smart I'm slacking on the job while Mayur the Dictator is my supervisor.”

Idrees continued about his work as Nikan went to fetch more stock. He strained to transfer the crates onto the stocking cart, then wheeled them out into the store. He could've stayed to chat with Nikan all afternoon if it meant avoiding restock duty. But he did his rounds anyway. It kept him afloat in this city, as far away from his past as he could go.

Though he was content for the most part, he knew it wouldn’t last long. Not with stock duty. It made his mind wander far too much again—about his past and his present. The city offered cars that didn't plume smoke every time they sputtered to life, pristine buildings without graffiti or crumbling foundations, and people living free lives not confined to extremist dogma and laws. It had taken a while getting used to women uncovered, speaking and laughing loudly with their friends, and reading for leisure on dinner dates with themselves. The more he saw their happiness, the more his stomach churned when he remembered the women under Taliban rule.

He never wanted to go back to seeing a woman beaten all because she dared speak in the presence of one of his own. He never wanted to feel like he had to keep his mouth shut or suffer the same fate of the woman being whipped, child in her protective arms, because a Talib caught her in public without a mahram. He never—

His heart was pounding. He focused on a packet of food and read bits of the label. Microwaveable—both in Hindi and bold English letters. “Authentic”. Right. What kind of person who wanted to microwave their dinner cared about authenticity anyway? A tourist, most likely. At least it got him out of his thoughts.

“Excuse me?” someone asked.

He looked over to see a white woman. Not that it was a shock. Her accent gave it away.

“Can you help?” she asked, struggling a bit and overly-enunciating everything. “I speak English,” he said. Her tense posture relaxed instantly. “Oh, thank god. I was seriously gonna make a fool of myself if I kept trying. My Hindi is not up to par.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she readjusted her wire frame glasses. He noticed immediately that the entirety of her being screamed homebody. Tourists that came in often had their hair done and makeup applied (to varying degrees of success), and many had sun-kissed skin. But her unruly hair looked like it only ever saw a brush. Her strawberry blonde roots poked through the black dye, and a blemish here and slightly pocked cheek there showed she didn't spend time primping herself.

“Um, I have a list here.” She lifted up her half-empty hand basket. “Most of the things I’ve found. Could you show me where a few other things are?” “Yes, what do you need?”

She read off the first item on her list which was, funnily enough, the authentic tourist packet in his hand. He gave it to her. She cocked a brow at him until she read the packet. When the realization dawned on her and she giggled, the sound released several days worth of tension from his shoulders. They’d been up against his neck for so long, he’d only just remembered what it felt like to unclench his spine. After she quieted down, his muscles crept back up.

She put the packet in her cart, as well as another style of curry. Her next item was a little more complicated. The spices could be difficult to tell apart without knowing how to read Hindi so he took her to the spice aisle and helped her pick out the proper bottles.

“You trying to make curry?” he asked, putting some turmeric and garam masala in her basket. “Yeah, I am. Figured I'd try something authentic while I'm here.” “And that's why you bought a microwaveable alternative.” “That's for laziness.”

His lips twitched as he picked out a couple of items not on her list but would make her curry better—fenugreek, coriander.

She grinned. “Thank you, I'll give them a try!”

Her brown eyes lit up alongside her smile. She looked and dressed so young it was almost a shock to see her without her mama or baba. He supposed never seeing sunlight could do that to a person.

“Last thing,” she said, reading over her list. “I think I'm just dumb or blind but I can't find your jams.” “They are a bit hidden.”

He took her into the next aisle where an entire floor to top shelf selection of jams awaited her. She fiddled with her glasses, face turning red.

“I thought you said it was hidden,” she said. “This is staring me right in the face. Look, this one is eye level and it says marmalade on it in English.”

She picked up a jar of orange marmalade just to glare at it. His lips twitched again, pulling back into a smile that felt so alien on his face. Another strange feeling crept up on him, too. Like a little bubble in his chest wanting so badly to break through. He cleared his throat and his lungs relaxed, banishing the oncoming laughter.

“Were you looking for a specific flavor?” he asked. “Well, I like grape and cherry the most but I want to go outside my comfort zone. Is there something locals prefer?” “Ah, yes, so you can make authentic toast.” “Exactly!” “Can't go wrong with strawberry or apricot.” “Apricot sounds dope.” He paused and gave her a look. “And that's… good?” “Oh! Um, yeah. Sorry. Your English is really good so I just— am gonna shut up.” She looked away and ran a hand down her hair. “Apricot, please.”

He put an inexpensive but good jar of apricot marmalade in her basket. When their eyes met again, a little tickle of butterflies in his stomach hit him. She was cute, and the fact that she nearly made him break employee character several times was nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to ask her out to dinner, but… He frowned when he thought of how her pretty smile could be marred and dirtied by his filthy, disgusting hands.

“Thank you for the help,” she said. “My pleasure.” “Maybe I'll see you next week!” This made his heavy face lighten. “I hope so.”

They waved their goodbyes and she headed off to one of the cashiers. The cashier, a most annoyingly perceptive woman called Kanta, glanced to Idrees, back to the American, then to him again. She smirked and gave him a wink and a thumbs-up while the American unloaded her basket.

The American noticed Kanta’s gesture and turned back to look at him. Idrees’ face grew hot; hotter as he whipped around the corner and heard the faint sound of them giggling. Was that her flirting? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a pity giggle.

He tried to continue his restocking duty as normal, which meant more thinking and overthinking. Particularly his interaction with that tourist. Despite her friendly attitude, Idrees knew that she was just being polite. He'd seen his fair share of attempted small talk. The weird part to him was how much he contributed. Typically—he pondered as he unloaded more of his cart—he would find nothing interesting to say back. Holding a conversation with that woman came out effortlessly, like he felt a strong need to keep up with her pace.

“Idrees!” called Anush from across the store. “Yeah?” he called back. “Got some baskets in the parking lot from the rush!” “On it.”

Anush had a way of doing that. She would put him on stock duty, then feel bad about putting him on stock duty and give him a different, menial job. Usually one that involved fresh air. Given the way his palms itched and crept, he welcomed the break.

Idrees headed to the sink and gave his hands another rough washing. His nails dug into his palms to relieve that horrible skittering across his flesh. The harder he pushed, the more he thought about that tourist. She smiled at him, thinking he was a kind and decent man. He couldn't bear the thought of having that smile warp into horror if she ever found out who he really was.

He slammed the faucet off once the steam spread a film of sweat across his upper lip. Then came those damn scratchy towels. Fresh air would indeed do him some good.

Outside in the hot Indian air, Idrees collected several of the store's black handcarts. Where all too many people left their cart out on the asphalt, that American tourist had put hers in the collection bin. He thought about her laugh again. How it made her pretty face light up. He could almost hear her voice.

“No, really, it's just not a good time for me.”

He perked up his position hunched over a discarded basket. Okay, he really did hear her voice.

“Ah, is just one night.” That sounded like a man.

Idrees whirled around to see the tourist at the bus stop near the store. An older man loomed over her, looking at least twice her size. She gave him a grin he recognized instantly. That “I really wish you weren't talking to me but I'm being polite” grin his coworkers had used on many creepy men. The tourist took a step away but the man kept close.

“I really don't think my boyfriend would like that much,” she said. “He doesn't have to know.” Idrees dropped the baskets and speed walked up to them. When he drew close enough, he demanded, “What's going on here?”

The American whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn't drop her grocery bags. Her pleading eyes met his, twinkling as though she just found her salvation.

“Babe, you made it!” she said, hurrying up to him with an arm outstretched.

She tossed it around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He took her other bag and returned the one-armed embrace.

“I was so worried you wouldn’t get off work on time,” she said. “Sorry,” he apologized, trying to sound strong and confident. “I had to stay a little late. You know my boss is a hard-ass. Who’s your friend?” She stayed close to him as she faced the older man. “He was just talking with me, I don't really know him.”

The old man looked between her and Idrees. There were a few grey streaks in his beard but he was large and intimidating. Idrees stood his ground, staring him down, familiar muscles tensing and aching from sedentary use. The rush of memories that hit him made his palms creep and he dug his nails into them.

“Well,” said the man, taking a step back, “you guys have a good one.” “You, too,” said Idrees.

The man scurried off. Idrees kept his arm around her shoulders and he leaned closer to speak privately.

“You okay?” “Yeah, thank you. That guy was so persistent, he was freaking me out. I told him I had a boyfriend and he just didn't care. Lucky you came along when you did.” “Need me to stay for a while?” She frowned. “I wouldn't want you to get in trouble at work.” He smiled to ease her sour face. “No, my boss is a very nice woman. She'll understand.”

They sat together on the bench. Idrees kept looking over to ensure the man wouldn’t return.

“So” he said, trying to keep the subject off her encounter, “you're on vacation?” “It's my cousin's wedding. Her fiancée wanted to go back to his home country so I'm here for a few weeks helping to get everything ready. Can't really blame her for wanting to move here. My aunt is a bitch.” “And your boyfriend, is he back home or—?” “Oh, I don't have a boyfriend. I just said that to get that guy off my back. Didn't even work. To be fair, sometimes it doesn't work back home, either.” “Yes, it doesn’t work for my coworkers, either.” “Maybe if these guys tried a different method, women wouldn’t find them as creepy. I mean, that dude wasn’t even worth a date of microwavable curry.”

That finally broke him enough to let out a little chuckle with her. Maybe it was from the odd relief in his muscles, knowing that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Or maybe this liberation came from being out in the open air with no worries of coworkers teasing him. He could almost hear Kanta: “Idrees, I’ve never heard you laugh before!”. His laughter, so foreign in his ears, gave his heart a little jump.

As their mirth faded, she gazed down the street. “And there's my bus. Thanks again for having my back.” “It was no problem.”

He watched her gather her bags. He'd already failed at making a move before. But her earlier embrace still held onto him, warm and relaxing. Seeing her in the bright sun, how it illuminated her face and made her smile glow, loosened up his tongue.

“I'd like to see you again,” he said.

She paused. Her eyes scanned him and he became horribly aware all of his flaws: patchy mustache that he still couldn't grow out, rather long in the face, hair always a messy mop, unibrow that refused to go away even after plucking and shaving, and that chip in his tooth that made him want to hide his smile from her…

He might as well have been naked. He wanted to hide away and put his words back in his mouth. But then she smiled and bit her lip, and all of that withered away under the sun. Her cheeks turned that wonderful, cute shade of pink and she twirled a lock of her hair.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked. He retrieved it from his vest pocket and she tore off a bit of her paper bag. She wrote something down on it then handed it to him.

“Here's the number to my hotel room. You should call me sometime.”

She stood up and hailed the bus. When she turned to grab her bags, he wanted to say goodbye, but realized he didn't know her name.

“I'm Idrees,” he blurted out, feeling kind of stupid after he realized it was on his nametag (then stupider still when he remembered she couldn't read Hindi). “I'm Cece. It was nice meeting you, Idrees.”

She collected her bags and boarded the bus. A few others went in behind, none of them being the old man. She took a window seat near him and waved goodbye, her face bright and smiling, washing away his insecurities and leaving his mind hazy with bliss. He waved back—too stunned to do anything else—and watched as the bus took her away.

Chapter 2: Noon Chai

He picked up the phone and held the receiver in his slick hand. The dial tone bleated at him. Part of him wanted to take it as a warning, telling him not to call, telling him not to drag her down into his mess. But she'd only be around for a couple of months. Anything that he dragged her into would be left in India after she was gone. At least, he hoped that would be the case as his quivering fingers input her hotel number.

He sat at his dining table, trying to keep his breathing steady as he waited through those shrill rings.

“Hello?”

It was her. His heart felt like it stopped working. His lungs stiffened like they were being crushed. He took a breath and everything worked once more. But now he'd waited too long to answer, hadn't he? His tongue flopped uselessly. He tried to force his words by first clearing his throat.

“Hey,” he said, heart jumping at how high pitched he sounded. So he opened up his throat and lowered his voice until he found his normal cadence. “Hey. It's Idrees.” “Oh, hey! My hero! Finished helping old ladies cross the street and rescuing kittens from trees just in time to check up on me.” He wanted so badly to match her energy, have a conversation light and playful, but his unpracticed voice was weak and made his stomach lurch. “I have a very busy schedule.”

Her responding giggle made his nerves relax yet again. That laugh. He would have to hear it more. It was like getting a relaxing massage, or eating those first few bites of a delicious meal, and the aftermath kept him floaty and light.

“I called because, uh,” he started, hoping and praying that he'd keep up with her. “I actually cleared my, er, good Samaritan schedule and was thinking, um…” The steam was running out and fast. His nerves out lasted his vocal chords and he trailed off. “You wanna go out sometime?” she asked. He shot up straight and bashed his knee into the table. He bit down the pain to avoid it coming through in his voice. “Yes. I'd really like that. Was hoping soon since you won't be here for too long.” “Yeah! Tomorrow?” Somehow, his knee didn't hurt at all. “That would be great. I get off at four. There's this really small tea shop I like to go to called Noon Chai. It's, um, authentic.” “Ooh, now you're talking. I'd love to go, Idrees.”

With the shock of getting her number gone, he took in how she pronounced his name. She didn’t have a roll to her R, the I was much gentler—her pronunciation was clumsy and cute. He wanted to hear it from her lips and accent again and again. And hopefully he would very soon. He gave her the location and they agreed to meet up at 4:30.

“Great,” he said, his nerves betraying him with an anxiety-laden chuckle. “I can't wait.” Oh, he was coming on too strong, wasn't he? “Sounds like fun! I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Idrees!” That smile in her voice as she said his name had his hands soaked with sweat. He pushed through his constricted throat. “Bye, Cece.”

She hung up and he tossed himself back against his chair. His landline fell to the floor as he gazed at the ceiling in disbelief that their conversation truly happened. Not even that throbbing pain in his knee would bring him down.

Idrees sat outside the tea shop on their crappy patio. Two chairs and what was basically a crate—“Al fresco” some tourist had called it. And when he found out what that meant, one of the employees, his friend Manu found it so hilarious that the nickname stuck.

But his memories and the warm breeze could only keep him occupied for so long. It was already almost 5:00 and they were supposed to meet at 3:30. Why hadn't she shown up yet? Had she forgotten? Even though they'd just spoken about it less than 24 hours ago…

His hands prickled. He couldn't blame her. Not just his unruly hair or unmanageable unibrow—his entire being radiated remnants of his past. He'd come to learn that women could sense that sort of thing. Cece was no different, surely. She felt his sins and decided it was best to never show back up in his life again.

Or worse, she was battered and broken on the ground, somehow, someway. His palms crept and his hands quivered. Some man hurt her; some man saw her—vulnerable and weak—and did horrible things, and he wasn’t there to stop it. He thought back to that creep at the bus stop. If he hadn’t been there—

His hand shot into his pocket and snatched his bottle of sanitizer. His palms tingled like bugs crawled through his flesh. He doused them in the sanitizer and scrubbed, getting all over his dry palms and between the stiff webs of his fingers. The strong odor of alcohol wafted about him, familiar, safe, furthering the ease of his mind. His skin calmed. He glanced through the window to the clock again. 5:00.

Idrees sighed. No, she had to be okay. He'd just set his sights too high, that was all. If he'd just kept his head down and his mouth shut, he wouldn't have had to face her rejection. But he’d forced her hand, and now… He shifted forward in his seat, preparing to stand—

“Idrees!” called Cece.

His gaze shot up. She jogged toward him from the street, waving and smiling. And bouncing. If only time slowed down like on television. Yet he was still able to take in so many of her features in those short moments. Her thick locks flying behind her, her eyes shining bright beyond her glasses, and a poorly fastened shawl that slipped down her shoulder.

“I'm so sorry I'm late!” she said, reaching him and trying to fix her shawl. “The bus broke down and they said they were sending a new one and ten minutes passed and— Anyway, I walked here, so sorry if I look like a mess.” “It's fine. I'm just glad you're okay.”

She beamed and absently readjusted her scarf. Her unruly hair was a bit wild from her run but she fixed it after a couple of passes with her fingers. Thank goodness she hadn't stood him up or—he tried not to even think about it—gotten hurt. The date could've easily been him admiring her here in the street as she giggled and talked and ran her hands through her hair, but he figured that'd be a pretty lame date for her. So he motioned toward the cafe and followed her inside.

The small building wasn't the most remarkable, as the stone floors were a bit dusty and the monotone bronze furniture a little cramped, but it was as local and authentic as she could get. The smile never left her face so he hoped she was enjoying it and not just being nice.

“Hey, Idrees!” The cafe owner, Kalidasa, called to him in Hindi.

Idrees greeted him back as he pulled out a chair for Cece to take. He sat across from her. There were menus on the wooden table in a little cubby and he took it out to read the options to her. Just a few minutes later, Manu approached their table.

“Hey, Idrees,” Manu greeted in Hindi. “Getting the usual today?” “Yes, and my friend will be ordering, too.”

He motioned toward Cece. Manu gave him a funny look and glanced over as if this was a joke, only to do a double take when he saw her. He smirked at Idrees, then gave a little bow to Cece.

“Ah, sorry, my English… not very good,” said Manu. “I didn't realize Idrees has… friends.” “Yes, yes,” said Idrees in English, too. “I get it.”

Cece gave Idrees a most sympathetic sort of smile—the same kind of smile he’d gotten far too often at work. He avoided her eye and stuck his nose instead into the menu, despite knowing exactly what he was going to get. When Cece tried to give her order in supremely botched Hindi, Manu struggled to keep it together. Her face was red halfway through.

“I'm sorry,” she said in English. “I'm trying my best, I had to learn Hindi in less than a month.” “No, no,” said Manu. “Is not bad. Better than some tourists. You should hear some of the crazy—”

Kalidasa yelled at Manu to get back to work so Manu ensured their order was right and left to wait on another customer.

“Wow,” said Cece. “They all know you here.” “I come here now and again.” “It's been five years!” Manu called in English. Kalidasa snapped at him again. “Five years, huh?” asked Cece. “The tea here must be delicious.” “Well, when you don't have time to make your own tea, you end up coming to holes-in-the-wall. But I figured it's as authentic as it gets.” “Yeah, this is really cool! Going to a place that you know well is way more interesting than going to some shitty tourist trap.”

Their tea came out first and Manu teased Idrees in Hindi about his “unending smile”. Cece giggled behind her hand. Idrees gave him a dirty look and lightly kicked his shin, wanting to remind Manu that Cece did know some Hindi. But Manu already had an awkward expression and was scratching at his nose. He clearly got the uncomfortable message before heading back out to work. Occasionally

“Not very smiley?” she asked. He stirred a sugar packet into his Assam tea. “What makes you say that?” “Well, your coworker for one. She told me you rarely smile for anyone.” His face grew hot and his heart leapt. “Did she now…” “Oops, did I get her in trouble?”

Though he knew it was a simple joke, there was still a part of his brain that couldn't stand the notion of it. He tried to laugh it off, but he guessed his chuckle sounded forced or uncomfortable given the way her grin fell. They thankfully had no chance to discuss it as Manu returned with their food.

Cece looked too adorable with her overflowing excitement. He hadn't found much joy in the food and tea here lately, but his apathy slowly dissipated in the wake of her enthusiasm. That zest for trying new things would rub off on him, he feared. The way her eyes sparkled as she devoured her raj kachori—a far cry from his classic and rather boring dal chawal—wasn’t helping.

“This is so good!” she gushed, a cheek still stuffed. “So much better than takeout where I’m from. I’m so jealous; India seems way cooler than America.” “I wouldn’t know since I don’t know anything about America.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He hardly thought warring troops taught him anything substantial about American life. “Do you like living in India?” she asked between crunching bites of food. “Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “It's fine. Peaceful enough where I live. Is it peaceful where you live?” “Oh, it's gorgeous. Forest all around, off the main road, so I'm surrounded by nature. It's the only place I can stand living.”

It was so strange to him seeing someone revel in solitude. He couldn't think of anyone else who would willingly isolate themselves. Whenever he trapped himself alone in his apartment, his mind wandered far too much. Having someone beside him, to distract or even console him, sounded like too much of a blessing to throw away. Though even he had to admit the constant chattering and bike engines humming grated in his ears on some of his worst days.

“Besides,” she continued, “it’s best for me to live alone. No one wants to hear my terrible singing.” “I do!” called Manu as he passed. “Are you any good?” Idrees asked. Because if you're not—” “Hey, woah, woah, I'll have you know that I'm incredible. Here, listen to this, you nonbeliever.”

She proceeded to sing the worst rendition of a kid's song he'd heard, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Luckily, just the first few lines. Even though it sounded terrible and grated in his ears—and a customer that walked in during it walked right back out—and it made Manu slow clap in the silence that followed—there was something endearing about it. Idrees couldn't imagine singing so poorly and off-key on purpose without some mastery over his voice that he didn't possess. Still, he joined in Manu's mocking slow clap.

She bowed her head. “Thank you, thank you, you're a wonderful audience.” “You're scarin’ my customer off!” called Kalidasa in Hindi. “Sorry,” she apologized, holding down a giggle with her cheeks turning red.

But the customer peeked his head back in.

“That was… great,” said Idrees. “Thanks! Been honing my skills for a long time.” “What, like five minutes?” She laughed, and it gave his stomach butterflies to be the funny one for a change. “No, try twenty-some years. I've always loved to sing. Bet that made my mom real happy, given she named me Cecelia after the patron saint of music or some shit. Wanted me to sing in our church choir. She's lucky I love a captive audience.”

Maybe it was the way she cussed a lot, or that she was dressed in all-black despite the scorching weather, but Idrees couldn't imagine Cece at a church. The very thought of it made his palms creep and tingle.

“So you're religious?” He must've been on fire today because she laughed again. “No way, and it drives my mom insane. Nah, I've always been ambivalent to that sort of thing. That said, I can sing a mean Noel.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of her straw. “It's a curse.”

There was a lull in the conversation as she drank. He didn't really know what ambivalent meant, but her not being religious sounded about right. She didn't seem the type to care. Weight that had crept up on his chest disappeared then, letting him breathe a bit easier, but that tingling was still there. He tried to will it away, tried to ignore it, but then…

“What about you?” she asked. “Figure we already went there. Are you religious?” “I…” His palms crept and the tingling traveled up his arms. He couldn't ignore it. It would overtake him if he tried. His hand dove into his pocket and he grabbed the hand sanitizer. He squeezed about half a palmful out. “I don't know.”

Her playful face fell to a frown and her eyes wandered as she took another sip off her straw. He couldn't blame her. Who would want to watch his shame? Who would want to observe that his only salvation, the only thing that kept his body and mind calm, was the sanitizer—its fumes, its feeling. But before he had a chance to put it away, Cece came back to him with a gentle smile.

“I completely get it. It's touchy, right? We can talk about something else. Something more interesting, like…” She assumed a cute thinking pose—finger under her chin, eyes gazing toward the ceiling, slightly squinted as though in deep thought. Only to then bust out, “What's your favorite animal?” “Oh. Umm…” Such a simple question caught him off guard. He'd never really thought about it. The longer he hesitated, the more his mind shriveled up, barren of all thoughts except how silly this must've looked. “Dogs, I guess.” “Dogs? Really?” “Hey, what's wrong with dogs?” “Nothing!” she said, giggling. “I love dogs but that's such a basic answer! Cats and dogs; so boring!” He side-eyed her, trying hard not to smile (and probably failing). “Okay, if you're so unique, then what's your favorite animal?” “Oh, that's easy. Hyenas!” “You know what, somehow that makes a lot of sense.” “And what's that supposed to mean?” “Hyenas are weird. You're weird.” He shrugged as though the logic was so obvious. “Of course you'd like them.” She leaned across the table with a playful smirk upon her now even cuter pink lips. “Oh, so you think you know me?” “I think I could make some educated guesses.” “What kind of music do I like?” Fuck, another hard question. “Uhhh… What's that one, where they all sing in those nasally voices…” “Emo!?” “Yes, that!”

She cackled so hard that she briefly was a hyena.

“I can't believe you!” she said, hand over her chest as though highly offended. “First of all, the answer is ‘all of it’, and second of all, I've never been emo in my entire life! Teenage me preferred metal.” “The screamy stuff?” “Yes, the screamy stuff.” “How can you sing to screamy stuff?” “Observe.” She took a deep breath. “No!” He put his hand up to shush her. “I believe you, please don't demonstrate!”

He'd never laughed like this in… Ever! His inexperienced ribs were sore, inexperienced lungs short of breath, and his inexperienced cheeks hurt. He hadn't realized how loud they had gotten until Manu—his brow upturned and his lips pursed into a smirk—cleared his throat at them as he passed. That's when Idrees noticed the two other customers had been looking at them: two lone men he'd seen frequent the shop before. One smiled, amused at least, but the other scowled as he held his book closer to his nose.

Cece and Idrees shushed each other, lowering their jubilance to soft giggles instead. Their conversation continued from there, much less loud but no less enjoyable. Idrees was sure his face would be hurting tomorrow but his entire body felt so light, like he was practically floating off his seat. It wasn't until there was a lull in the conversation and Cece glanced around the room did she suddenly say,

“Shit, what time is it?”

Idrees noticed then, too, that the sun no longer streamed through the windows. He checked the clock above the kitchen.

“It's after eight already,” he said. “I'm sorry, Cece, I didn't mean to keep you out so late.” “It's no big deal, just that I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to go to a wedding rehearsal. So I need to get to sleep soon or I'm going to be cranky.” “Not a morning person?” he asked, motioning for Manu to come over with the check. “Not a people person, really.” “You've been nice to me, what are you saying? Am I not people?” She smiled. “You're one of the only tolerable people I've met.”

Manu set the check down and Idrees really didn't want to see the numbers. They hadn't ordered much but still, his budget wasn't very big, she’d ordered something a bit more expensive, and double the usual bill made his bank account ache.

Cece pulled out her wallet. “I’ll pay for my half.” “No, I was the one to ask you out, so…” “I can pay for my own portion, Idrees, really. I was planning on it anyway.” “I would rather pay.” She eyed him up, face soured. “Are you sure?” “I’m very sure.” “Okay… I really don't mind splitting the bill, though.”

He could've let her help. He should've let her help (especially given that incredible eye roll she gave him). But the man always paid for dates. The man always provided. So, without looking too closely at the bill, Idrees let Manu swipe his card. He was going to be sorry later when he saw the dwindling numbers of his savings.

As they exited the restaurant, Idrees noticed how dark the sky had become. Knowing Cece was going to be alone on the bus, alone walking back to her hotel, made his stomach uneasy with acid.

“You want me to drive you?” he asked. “No, I'm going to take the bus.

The bus? His hand went in his pocket. Did he give off a weird feeling? He grasped his hand sanitizer. No, maybe she was just cautious… He squirted out a palmful of it, the bottle nearly empty from today. Maybe she thought he was a creep or something. He rubbed the sanitizer in and focused on the scent and the way it burned his dry skin.

“I don't mean to be pushy,” he said as the bus stop came into view. “Not at all,” she said. “It was generous of you to offer. Maybe next time I'll take it.”

His stomach fluttered. He'd never heard words as reassuring as “next time”.

“Want me to stay with you until the bus comes?” he asked when they reached the stop. “That would be great, actually. It's pretty dark out.”

There weren't others around, and businesses along the road had their lights on, but he didn't want to risk it. Even if nothing happened, his unrelenting thoughts would consume him. He didn't want their date to be over anyway. If she could spend several more hours talking to him, he would let her.

“You seem like you've got good friends,” she said. “Manu, Kanta. Even your boss, you said she was nice.” “Oh. I guess I do. I never really thought about it. I've only spent time with Manu. We go to the Temple together sometimes.” Her eyes lit up like he said something incredible. “That sounds so cool. I've never been inside a Temple before.” His invitation slipped out before he could hold it back. “Maybe that could be one of our dates, then.”

Once he said it, he got a jolt of embarrassment that made his heart jump. Presuming they would have not only one more next time, but multiple next times, had him looking ahead to avoid her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe it could! I was thinking I really wanted to go to the popular bazaar first, though. That one in the middle of the city.”

He tried to suppress his grin so he didn't look like an absolute simpleton. She already had plans for another date. His voice was completely gone. Luckily, he wasn't made to talk again as the headlights of the bus came up the road. Cece hailed it before turning to him.

“Thanks for such a great night. I had a lot of fun.” “Me, too. I don't want to overstep, but could you call me when you get back? I want to make sure you're okay.” “Yeah, I still have your number from last night. I'll give you a call.”

She opened her arms up and stepped a bit closer. He swallowed the lump that formed at the back of his throat. She just wanted a hug. Right? She didn’t want him to do anything more. Even though a desire to kiss her invitingly moonlit lips burned hot in his core…

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she leaned against him. He embraced her soft body. Time stood still in that moment. The bus never drew closer, the moon never moved from its position high above them; all that he noticed was her rhythmic breathing and the gentle smell of her hair up close. He wanted to hold onto her warmth for the rest of the night. That tingling on his palms had gone, banished by her presence and the promise they would see one another again.

It was this reassurance that allowed him to release her. They said their goodbyes as she boarded the bus. He watched it drive down the road, taking all the light away with it. It felt like the darkness crept around him like little paranoid tendrils that whispered in his ear. How he didn’t deserve someone to care for him. How he was going to be all alone. How, one day, his shitty life would tear Cece down.

Chapter 3: The Bazaar

Once home, he finally assuaged his prickling and uncomfortable skin. He stood over his kitchen sink and lathered up his flesh, up to his elbow to cut the feeling off before it got worse. The steamy water, just hot enough to gnaw away at the first layer of skin, let tension slip off his shoulders.

He took time to reflect on his first date in… he didn't want to remember how long. Should he have kissed her at the end? Now she was going to think he was stupid or uninterested. He briefly imagined their goodnight phone conversation involving him shouting “I'm both intelligent and really into you!”, just to set the record straight. But embarrassment made him recoil at the thought. No, he would show his interest by trying to set up another date. Simple.

When the phone rang, he rushed across the room to snatch the receiver, then tried to sound calm.

“Hello?” he answered. “Idrees? It's me. I made it back okay.”

The sink still spewed water behind him, the ill-gotten suds disappearing down the drain, flushed away never to be thought about again, so long as he could hear her voice and know she was safe. His arms itched from the drying soap still sitting upon them but that felt much better than the roach-skittering of his nerves.

“I'm glad to hear that,” he said. “I hope I wasn't too pushy…” “Not at all, I thought it was so sweet. I don't know if I've ever gone on a first date where he wanted to make sure I got home okay. It was very thoughtful.” He gripped the receiver tight, his mind floating along her serene voice. “It just seemed right.” “I really need to get to bed early, though.” “Yes, your rehearsal is eight tomorrow morning.” “Damn, man, did you have to listen so closely? Don't remind me!”

He shared another laugh with her, like she'd gifted it to him wrapped in a beautiful box. He held onto that present as they said goodnight, and carried it with him through his evening routine. He opened the box one more time as he lay in bed, thinking about her, and how she made him feel… Normal. He held his extra pillow in one arm, keeping it against his chest and trying to pretend it was Cece laying beside him.

Manu was very good at keeping secrets. None of Idrees’ co-workers seemed to know a thing about Cece. Or, if they did, they were charitably quiet about it. As he went about his duties cleaning the store, he kept his mind light with thoughts of Cece and how their conversation that evening might go. He looked to the clock to count down the time until he got off work. His stomach flipped when he saw he was halfway through his day and he'd not scrubbed his hands at all.

“You seem peppy,” said Kanta as she passed by with a large box in her arms. “I am,” he agreed. She stopped and faced him, her brow cocked, half-lidded eyes looking him up and down. “Mm, you got a girlfriend, didn't you?” “Well, I dunno about that…” “Oh, please, it's all over your face! Ooh, don't tell me it's that cute American from the other day! Idrees, you sly bastard.” He fidgeted, eyes falling to the shelf beside him. He wanted to deny it, but he knew he must've looked guilty—his face was so hot that he was sweating a bit, and his lips were pulled up into that unfamiliar smile. “Well… Yeah. We went out last night.” “Aw, that's so romantic,” she teased. “Way to go.”

Mercifully, Kanta left without another word. Now the whole shop would know but… He supposed that wouldn't be so bad.

He’d never been so giddy to get off work—there was a bounce to his step all the way home, rather than dragging himself back with the weight of the world crushing him down. Despite the rumbling in his stomach, his first instinct when he got home and put his keys and wallet on the side table was to grab his landline. He dialed Cece’s number without missing a beat and held the phone up to his ear while he searched his fridge for something quick.

“Hello?” she answered after a couple rings. “Hi, Cece, it's me. Just wanted to see how the rehearsal went today.” “Hey, Idrees! Went all right. Donna can be a bit of a Bridezilla. Er, meaning she's a little overbearing. Her sister wore some flashy eye shadow today and Donna flipped out saying she better not wear that kind of makeup on her wedding day. Then she got on my ass about wearing no makeup. Like, what the hell do you even want, Donna?” “I'm not really seeing the part where it went all right.” “Free food.” “There it is.”

She laughed again, a sound he'd been dying to hear all day. He joined her, letting that familiar unfamiliar smile bust out from ear to ear. A little bit of leftover rice went down the hatch. He didn't care that it was cold and clumpy as long as he got to chat with Cece.

It seemed only natural that they conversation veered into their next date—that bazaar she’d mentioned. It was such an overcrowded, overstimulating experience that he never wanted to go there. But with Cece? He would risk it just to be with her.

The next morning, Idrees pulled up to the bazaar parking lot about ten minutes early. He waited for her near the bus stop. The first bus that showed didn't have her on it, but he reminded himself that he was still early. Even that reassurance didn't stop his intrusive thoughts from proclaiming she'd gotten hurt somewhere, which in turn made his palms creep, which then made him slather sanitizer on his hands. Someone walking past gave him a wide berth. Between the smell and him possibly looking insane pacing near the bus stop, he figured anyone in their right mind would give him more than ample personal space.

The second bus that showed did have Cece, however. She beamed and waved to him, still struggling with that golden shawl she wore but didn’t seem to know how to use from their first date. When she got close enough, she held her arms out for a hug. He tossed his arms around her and pulled her warm, soft body into his chest. He’d been waiting for this for so long. The willpower it took to let her go and not hold her all day…

“I missed you yesterday,” she said, giving him another round of butterflies. Those big genuine eyes and pink cheeks assured him she meant it. “I tried to tell my family about you but I think most of them think you're a figment of my imagination or something.” “How can you be sure I'm not?” “Don’t give me an existential crisis today, dude.” She held onto his hand as they headed toward the bazaar. “You ever been here?” “Once. Kinda. It was a bit much so I left after a few minutes.” “Well, we can be brave together.”

And brave the bazaar they did. It was large, full of people (and several bands of macaques), with beige buildings, and stone under their feet. The colors of the stands that stood out. Though most of them had the same white canopies, their wares of clothes and food and spices were an array of colors that had Idrees firmly holding Cece’s hand.

Was holding her the only reason his palms didn’t itch? Or maybe her sharing in his anxiety made him feel less outcast than he would’ve if he’d tried to come alone. Still, Idrees kept himself present and sane just by holding Cece's hand. She had him gripped pretty tight at first, but as they kept walking and looking through the various stands, her fingers loosened. It was bittersweet to have her release him, leaving his hand so cold without her… But her confidence was infectious.

Somehow, Cece found more things of worth upon the ground than she seemed to at the stands. It seemed like every time he turned around, Cece was scouring the ground for something else. At first, he thought maybe she'd found loose change, until he saw that she had a rock in her hand instead. Why she then stashed it in her pocket, he had no idea.

They explored an art stand where the owner had painted many dogs and cats in various human activities and Arabesque attire, yet all the colors and sights didn't keep Cece as invested as a feather she'd found nearby.

“Look, Idrees!” she said, proudly showing off the blueish-grey hued feather. “Ooh, it's such a pretty color. I wonder if a swamphen dropped this!” “I would have no idea,” he said.

She reached into the front of her shirt and pulled a plastic bag out of her bra. As she bagged it and stuffed it back into her shirt, he couldn't help but finally break and laugh.

“What?” she asked. “You just— You're very you. It's kind of impressive.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “You literally have two rocks in your pocket and a feather in your bra.” She pouted at him as though highly offended. “So?” “Nothing,” he said, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “I just think it's cute.”

Her sour face turned into an adorable smile alongside radiant pink cheeks. It was impossible not to be blown away by her expression and tone. There was something amazing about that. Maybe because he hadn't laughed and smiled in such a long time, every crack stuck out to him. She had a way about her—strange, endearing, vibrant. If they spent the whole afternoon picking up pebbles and feathers and who-knows-what else, it would be the best date he'd ever had.

The bustle of the bazaar didn't pierce his ears and assault his eyes this time, and he found himself perusing stands under the shade of their canopies. Sometimes Cece would be right behind him when he looked at someone's wares, only to then be at a totally different stand when he turned back around. How she moved so fast in what felt like a second or two, without even tripping over the brazen monkeys that liked to dart out onto the footpath, he didn't understand. Yet her enthusiasm was nothing short of energizing and exciting.

One such time happened while she was looking at spices, breathing them in, crinkling her nose in the cutest way. He may have gotten too close, as the spices tickled his nose and threatened a sneeze. He turned away to rub his tingling nose on his sleeve, then turned back to find she'd yet again wandered to the next stand over. This one was a shawl shop. As he headed her way, he noticed the darzi eyeing her.

“You'd look so lovely in this!” the darzi said, holding up a blue shawl that would bring out her dark brown eyes. “You think so?” asked Cece. “Oh yes, but then any of my shawls would look good on such a pretty young lady.”

Cece took the shawl and held it up to her face to examine it. When Idrees walked up beside her, she beamed at him and showed him the shawl.

“What do you think?” she asked. “It would look great on you,” he agreed, tossing a glance to the owner. The darzi's eyes lost their gleam.

From there, he was a bit more hands-off. This let Cece find her own way and search through the shawls herself. She ended up picking a different buta-filled green, jewel-toned that fit well with her black clothes and dyed hair. The darzi smiled brightly at her as she walked away, but that smile faltered into uneasiness when Idrees passed by.

Oddly enough, Idrees wasn't jealous or upset like he imagined he might have been. Maybe because Cece seemed oblivious. Yet, with him, she picked up on his interest without issue. He looked down at her as they walked, watching her pull her previous shawl off and struggle with putting the new one on properly.

“Here,” he said, “let me help.”

He stood behind her and tied the shawl around her small shoulders. Her long hair got caught under the fabric. Before he could talk himself out of it, he scooped her hair in his hand, feeling the silky locks run across his palm as he freed them, incredible and soft, tickling his skin and giving him a small rush down his spine. His fingers gingerly detangled her hair and the scent of her shampoo dispersed—a slight herbal, flowery scent, and an even slighter smell of fruit. He let her hair fall and watched it bounce and sway and gleam in the light through its multiple wavy layers.

She turned to face him and grinned. “Thank you! People usually wear these up to protect from the sun, right?”

She flipped the loose bit of shawl over her head and his heart dropped. He saw her covered, oppressed, underfoot, gazing up at him with big, terrified eyes—

“Idrees?”

His mind bolted back to reality. The whiplash stole his voice and he skittered along his tingling palms. He tried to take in her confusion and true features. Not like the women of his home. Not like the little girls he almost killed. No. Not like that…

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I-I… Yes, I'm okay.”

His voice came out weak. It only seemed to concern her more, her brow creasing, her eyes examining him. She pulled the shawl down, letting it rest along her shoulders and back once more, and flicked her hair into place. He rubbed his palms on his sides, trying to get the creeping itch to leave him alone. The last thing he wanted was to have Cece worry over him again.

So he tried to smile and play it off as the overwhelming nature of the bazaar getting to him. She offered to sit together near the outskirts, still very much in the crowd but more off to the side. The bench wasn't comfortable—metal dug into his ass—but he was with Cece and his hand stopped creeping toward the sanitizer in his pocket.

“It is kind of a lot,” Cece agreed. “Right. But you're having fun?” “Yeah!” She grinned. “I'm having a great time. Are you?” “Yes, a very great time. Did you want to get some food? I've been hearing your stomach growl for the past five minutes.” “I guess we probably should eat.”

The food trucks weren't far off the main area, and a ton of locals and tourists alike were already lined up. They tried to pick out a truck to visit after Cece rejected the idea of curry because she was “sick of eating curry”.

Once they ordered food, they squeezed in beside some strangers at one of the picnic tables. Not that Idrees minded her needing to almost sit in his lap just to fit. She was squished between him and the older lady beside them. Cece tried to have a conversation with the woman, but she only spoke Hindi and Cece struggled to keep up.

“She says you have good taste,” Idrees helped, gently tugging at her shawl.

That really sent her over the moon. She blushed even more than when the flirty darzi complimented her.

Cece took one bite of that street samosa and her eyes lit up like twinkling stars. She stared at the crispy pastry as if it granted all of her wishes, enthralled, enraptured, and completely cutely dramatic. It only took a moment of observation before she devoured her food. Idrees watched as she stuffed so much in her mouth that her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.

Though he wanted to keep talking to her, he couldn't fathom interrupting what was possibly the cutest thing he'd ever seen. Potato smeared across her lips and when she went to wipe it off, it traveled along her cheek. She didn't break stride. Her fingers flew with a desperation unmatched, like she was trying to beat her personal samosa eating record.

When most of her container was empty, she took a moment to sip their lassi. Idrees leaned closer to her, napkin in hand, and wiped the bit of potato off her face. The way her eye flinched closed and that tiny indignant grunt made his heart flutter. So cute. She was so cute.

“You got samosa on your face,” he said.

She responded with a grunt without removing her straw. So he mocked that grunt in turn. She giggled and nudged his shoulder, a touch that radiated warmth all through his arm and along his body. He would do anything to feel her touch. Even something as simple as a joking shove had his heart light and fluttery.

The day ended with his feet so sore and his cheeks even worse as they headed toward the parking lot. His heart jumped a little when her fingertips caressed his hand again; this time, though, he laced their fingers together. Her hand was much less clammy than his… Her confidence rubbed off on him.

“Want me to drive you to your hotel?” he asked.

He wanted to bite down on his tongue when he saw the way her eyes turned to worry. They scanned the ground at her feet and she chewed on her bottom lip.

He continued, “If you don't want to—” “It's not that. I mean…” “I shouldn't have offered, that was pushy.” “No, it's not,” she said, gripping his hand tight. A smile spread along her lips—not quite hugging her eyes like it had been all afternoon. “I'd really like it if you took me to my hotel. Those busses are torture.” “Are you sure?” he asked, avoiding her gaze. “I don't want to make you.” She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “Oh, honey, you can't make me do anything.”

He couldn't laugh like she did. She'd given pause to his offer, worse than she had after their first date, like he had suggested something obscene. But she kept walking toward the parking lot, tugging him along. He glanced back at the bus stop and the huge group of people waiting for it, before keeping stride with her.

There was his next dilemma: the state of his car. It was a relatively newer model, tan, undecorated but unscratched like the day he bought it. Though a little more expensive than the older used cars, he couldn't pass up the allure of air conditioning. While the outside was unassuming but it was the inside he worried about. And the door locks were a little funny.

“Sorry, hold on…”

He went to his side and unlocked it with his remote. He opened his door, as it was the only one of the four-seater that unlocked with the remote. The other doors clicked open when he pressed the unlock button on his door.

“There we go,” he said. “Hit a pothole last year. Not sure how it messed up the locks, but… yeah.”

They slid into the car and Idrees held his breath while waiting for her response. Which seemed silly now. The car wasn't nearly as full as his mind had remembered. A few to-go cups from the tea shop on the floor, and one in the cup holder. Several strewn about napkins gleamed white against the backdrop of browns and tans. Two clamshell containers from take out still sat on his backseat like passengers that overstayed their welcome.

“Need my gps?” she asked as she used the buttons on the side of her chair to adjust it. “Maybe,” he said, worry melting off of him the longer she didn’t pay the mess any mind. “What's your hotel?”

He recognized the name of it and it wasn't very far from his usual routes.

“That's only, what?” he asked. “Ten minutes from my work?” “Yeah, I saw your store on my maps and just had to try it. Lucky I did.”

Lucky? Idrees bit his lip to avoid grinning like an idiot. She thought she was lucky to have gone to his store? And then to have met him? No, that was insane—he was the lucky one. With everything she did, he felt luckier and luckier.

During the trip, Cece took the baggie out of her bra again and admired the contents. She muttered something about reaffirming the identity of the swamphen feather as though saying it both to him and to herself. Before she put it away, her head popped up and her gaze shot to a small caravan of cows passing by.

“Aww! Oh, I love cows, we rarely get to see them where I live! You're so lucky to live in a place with so many cows.” He shrugged. “I guess so.” “Look at their little tails, so cute,” she gushed, hands pressed up against the car window as she peered out. “I know they're supposed to be sacred here but what's the story behind that?” “I, uh… I dunno.” “You don't?” She turned back to him. “Ohh, are you Buddhist or something? I know that's a popular religion among Indians, too, isn't it?”

A layer of cold sweat tingled his flesh. That's right, Cece would of course assume he's Indian and not realize the truth. Not that he wanted her to know. If any of those truths left his mouth, she would disappear from his life and take her light with her, leaving him in darkness once again. Lucky… Certainly not her.

To think that she would pursue him in blissful ignorance, holding onto him and his lies as they embraced and held hands and… kissed. That was sick. It was so sick that the words nearly clawed out of him anyway, all in a desperate plea to have her know every marred inch of his past, and maybe… maybe she could still like him. Maybe she’d still think she was lucky.

“So religion is a no-go,” she said after a stretch of silence. “Got it. I’ll stop trying to guess.” She pulled a fake zipper around her lips. He cleared his throat. “It's okay. Just touchy.” “Yeah, I get you. Either way, India seems really cool so far. At least in the city. Must be nice to have grown up in a place like India.” “Yeah. India has been nice.”

She truly couldn't grasp the scope of what he said but her wonder and excitement made such awkward, nerve-wracking moments worth it. The rocks on the ground were vibrant. The sky such a deep blue. Clouds like classical paintings. And even the cows had such cute faces and little tails.

She spent the car ride pointing out things he'd never noticed—the architecture of dusty buildings, and the way the trees were still in bloom (”and it’s autumn where I live!”). She grinned brighter and warmer than the sun she gushed over. Its beams rushed ethereally through the sparse trees and their tiny green canopies. And although she'd been hesitant to get in his car, and his mind wanted so badly to return to its familiar guilt and beat him down for forcing her to come along, it was all cast aside for the joy within him at the perfect end to his perfect day.

At her hotel parking lot, he pulled into a space as close to the front doors as he could.

“Thanks for the ride, Idrees,” she said, unbuckling herself.

Though… she didn't leave straight away. She watched him as though waiting for something. A… a kiss? He didn't want to assume such a thing. His skin crawled when he thought of going in for a kiss only for her to feel threatened, coerced, and vulnerable. Several scenarios hit him at once—“What are you doing!?” she could shout while pushing him away. Or maybe she would freeze up, her face frowning and fearful eyes wide as she let him take her. Or maybe he would grab her and rip her into him, kicking and screaming— His stomach lurched. No. He could never let those things happen.

He faced his steering wheel and ran his fingers along it, strumming tunelessly. “I had a great time, Cece. A really great time.” “So did I. Thanks for coming with me. Can't imagine I would've had so much fun on my own.” “Yeah,” he said, still unable to meet her eyes. “Going with you was a lot of fun. And we'll see each other again soon, right? I mean, if you want—”

Her lips brushed against his cheek. His brain stopped working mid-sentence. Though it had lasted a fraction of a second, Idrees felt that kiss warm and tender, and it sat there even after, leaving him in reverie as the memory tickled his flesh. The courage to meet her eyes returned to him, and those pink cheeks were immaculate to behold.

She didn't press it further and instead opened the car door. And perhaps next time he would be ready. Until then, they said their goodbyes, and he watched her beautiful form enter the hotel.

Chapter 4: This Whole Tourist Thing

Idrees headed for work the next day, taking in all of the things he never noticed before. Lush, green trees, a deep blue sky, warm beautiful sunlight, and strong, weathered, hardy pieces of architecture rather than crumbling useless messes.

He needed more. More of Cece. More of the euphoria he felt after every date. He wasn’t sure how to set up another date to top the last one. It had to be special. Something special and grand and romantic. Something completely out of his element. Maybe one of his coworkers could give him some guidance: should he bring flowers or treats or both or none or—

No way he could go to Anush with that. Kanta, maybe. He was pretty sure Kanta knew quite well what women liked—if he had enough balls to ask. She could get him as close to perfection as possible, and just imagining Cece's blissful face gave him courage. He internally rehearsed the questions he wanted to ask as he strode along the sidewalk at a brisk pace. He hardly noticed that horny old man flirting with a very uncomfortable tourist, but he didn't have to get out of his thoughts. When the old man saw him, he darted into the alleyways of the neighborhood. The rush of pride as the tourist thanked him, combined with his already joyous mood, had him ready to take on anything.

His good mood was to the point that even Anush's shop looked nice, although their sign now said Mom' Mark instead of Mom's Market after some of the letters fell off. Anush ended up having to pay for her car and parking lot damages, leaving no room in the budget to replace the letters.

He took a moment to look out across the rest of the parking lot, just relieved that everyone else had parked so far away and Anush never went to her car for anything. His steps slowed when he spotted a car he recognized. Black, boxy, with trash overtaking the backseat. That… wasn't what he wanted to see today.

He hurried inside and scanned his surroundings. Anush's office door was shut—she was probably in there. Kanta stood at the checkout counter bagging an elderly man's groceries, her eyes focused. Maybe a little too focused. Idrees headed over there and stood next to the counter.

“Have a nice morning,” said Kanta as the old man smiled and gathered his bags.

They waited in silence for the old man to leave. The look Kanta gave him told him everything he needed to know.

“I'll stay right here,” he said. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That guy gives me the creeps. Something's wrong with him, and it isn't just his sexist bullshit.” “I think so, too.” “I just can't wait until he leaves, he's—”

Kanta stopped short as the owner of the boxy black car rounded the corner out of the chutney aisle. Her hand squeezed Idrees’ tight. The man was Nasir—once was a Talib before being displaced a few years after Idrees deserted his post. Normally, Idrees hid away from him, letting him wreak havoc on his female coworkers. But he was done being a coward.

Despite Nasir's grey beard and layered face, he was a large, imposing man, like an elephant seal ready to throw his weight around. Nasir plodded his way to the checkout counter, a horrible sneer across his cracked lips. Idrees kept a straight face as he stood by in case this went sour.

“Good morning, sir,” Kanta gave her usual greeting.

Nasir didn't speak. Just unceremoniously dumped his groceries onto the counter. Kanta tried to keep up with her typical pleasantries, but Nasir only grunted and occasionally shot a glower Idrees’ way.

“Find everything okay?” Kanta asked. Nasir stared directly into Idrees’ eyes. “Decided to come out today? Instead of being a coward.” Idrees’ heart raced but he tried to keep his expression resolute and unperturbed. “Just doing my job.” He dropped the money he owed onto the counter. “Working under females. How low can one sink?” “Is that all you need?” Idrees asked, copying the cashier pleasantries verbatim (without the ‘sir’). Nasir huffed out of his nose, like a raging bull about to trample him, the shop, and Kanta. “You and this little girl have a lot of nerve treating me like some criminal you're trying to cast out. Why bother defending her? She looks hardly worth a night in bed.” “I think you should leave,” Idrees spat, staring cold into Nasir's dark eyes. “Here's your change, sir,” said Kanta, sliding the coins across the counter beside his filled paper bags. He swiped the money and sent it clanging to the floor. “Keep your dirty change.”

He snagged the bags and marched out. Idrees bent down to collect the money that had fallen, trying to steady himself. Each tempered word he’d spoken had caused bile to ride up his throat. He went over the steps to collect the change in an effort to keep himself clung to the present. Pick this up, add it to the pile in his hand. 26. Pick up another and clink it into his palm. 28. Kanta knelt beside him and helped collect the change.

“Thanks, Idrees. He's usually even worse than that, if you can believe it.” Oh, he could. “I'm happy to do it. I'm just sorry I haven't done it sooner.” Kanta shrugged. “Don't be. I know Anush keeps you busy. Lucky that guy only comes in like once a month for some specialty items. Damn amazing chutney, I swear we should stop selling it.”

Much as Anush loved to overhype her chutneys, Idrees knew that Nasir would never ‘lower himself’ to a business women owned and operated. No, his semi-regular patronage was due to a desire to harass and intimidate Idrees for being an apostate.

Idrees would put the event behind him. He looked forward instead to calling Cece that evening and hopefully setting up another date soon, preferably without mentioning Nasir. After all, how else was he to describe his fear and anxiety? Because Nasir was big? So was that old man he’d chased away from Cece the first day they met. She'd know that was a flimsy lie, at best. At worst: she'd interrogate out of him answers that he didn't want to give.

“When you're done clocking in, you gotta tell me how things have been going with that tourist,” Kanta said, collecting the change from him. “You care about that?” She cupped her cheek and her expression dropped dramatically. “Oh no, I care about a person I've known for almost five years, isn’t that just weird?” “Okay, okay, you made your point.”

So he did just that. By Anush's office door was the punch-in sheets and he punched his arrival. His brain replayed practice questions and answers in his head. Keep it simple: her name is Cece and she is great. We've had two dates together and I've totally never considered what our lives would be like if we got married tomorrow. It's been two dates and zero kisses which surprisingly added up to infinite euphoria.

“So? What's she like?”

His hands were on the checkout counter. He had hardly registered getting there already, but okay. Just stay together.

“Cece is…” Amazing. The best thing that's ever happened to me. Gorgeous. Comforting. I die laughing with her. I think I love her. “Great. She's really great.”

His heart thrashed as though he'd said all of those things out loud anyway. The warm wind from the open doors blew against a layer of sweat that built up on his face.

“Aww, you’re all flustered! That's so sweet, Idrees. She's really pretty and seems nice, too. You guys going anywhere soon?” He ran a hand through his hair. “No, nothing planned yet. But I'm calling her tonight and want to set something up for the weekend. Both days, hopefully. I don't want to waste a day off just sitting around the house, but it depends on if she needs to do anything with her cousin.” “Man, her cousin? She can wait! Cece can see her cousin any time.” “Well, her cousin is getting married, and moved to India, so I don't think that's true.” “Ohh, I see.” “But, uhh…” He tried to stay on track. “I wanted to ask where you’d recommend Cece and I go for our next date.” Her eyes sparkled like he’d asked her to help him plan a proposal. “Oh my god! This is the day! I’ve dreamt of this day.” “You’ve what?”

“You two gossiping on company time?” Anush asked. “Sorry, Anush,” said Kanta. “That's my fault. I asked him about his new girlfriend and all.”

There was the slightest twitch on Anush's features that Idrees had seen before when dealing with annoying customers who needed ‘to speak to the manager’: sharp and sour like biting into a lemon. All well-contained behind her professional facade. But Idrees saw it. Kanta did, too, he was sure. The air hung thick as he stood upright and stiff.

“Hm,” grunted Anush. “Well, don't keep gossiping when a customer walks in. And Kanta, I'm glad to see you're all right after that awful man came by. I hope he keels over from old age soon.” “Me, too,” synced Kanta and Idrees.

Despite them sharing a laugh, Anush kept a straight face. A sort of sorrowful look his way made his laughter slow and cease. She went back to her office.

“Man,” said Kanta softly, “she's really upset about this whole tourist thing, isn't she?” “Yes, I've noticed that, too.” “It’s you laughing. It’s really uncanny.” “Thanks.”

Despite the awkwardness, Kanta gave him some great ideas for future dates. All luckily before a sudden influx of customers kept them busy for the better part of three hours. That was normal for Fridays, though—people would storm the store like it was a hostile takeover to get their groceries before enjoying the weekend.

Through all the bustle and noise, Idrees kept his mind on what his next dates might be like. He was jostled and spoken to and someone even accidentally ran into him with their annoying new (and oddly silent) handcarts, but none of it made his skin crawl, none of it had his mind screaming for quiet. It was too entangled in thoughts of Cece like a shield that kept his peace.

After all was said and done, he ended up trodding on a tiny pebble someone had tracked in. So he took it upon himself to clean. He swept the floors into small heaps down each aisle. When he found himself inspecting them for any ‘cool rocks’, he let a little amused breath out of his nose. She must be rubbing off on him.

“Idrees?” Anush called from down the aisle. “Priya, can I talk to you?” “Coming.”

Was she going to talk to him about that rush? He hoped it wouldn't be more overly sympathetic sentiments. Not because he didn't appreciate it when he needed it, but… he didn't feel he needed it. Hoping this impromptu meeting was for something else, he set aside his broom and dusted his hands on his apron as he followed Anush to her office.

She sat behind her desk and he shut the door behind him. He took a seat under the dim overhead light. The tiny room was darkened from the blinds. A fan in the corner blew cool air over her desk; its white noise the only sound. Normally, this respite away from chattering voices, clanging groceries, crinkling bags, and clinking money would be a blessing. But not today.

Maybe it was Anush’s silence as she put on her reading glasses and looked through her papers. It felt like time had slowed, when all he wanted was for it to speed up so he could get on the phone for the evening. He tried to occupy himself while he waited, glancing at the papers with which Anush fiddled. They were files he didn't keep track of. They could've been bills or employee reviews and he wouldn't have been able to tell. So what she brought him in for, he had no idea.

“Anush?” he asked, urging her to speak. “You seem like you're doing okay after that rush,” she said. “Yes, I'm fine.” And this time, there wasn't a pit in his stomach or a twinge of guilt at his voice sounding too snippy. His words came out effortlessly and calm as the gentle beating of his heart. “I've also noticed that we've not needed to replace the paper towels three times this week.” She looked down her glasses at him. “You are still washing your hands, right?” “Of course.” Though they were admittedly a little dusty now.

Anush's eyes fell toward her desk. She went quiet as if searching for something to say. He sat upright, taking up such little space on his chair, just… Waiting.

“It's her, isn't it?” she asked. “I… I'm sorry? I don't know what you—” “That tourist.” Her eyes met his again. “You've been doing really well since you met her.”

He squirmed, trying to decipher what her eyes were saying to him. Inside of them, did he see anger? Sorrow? All he found was that same closed-off person he'd known for years, her walls built so high that he couldn't see her true emotions over the top.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “Cece has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. She's an amazing person.” “I see… Where do I stand, Idrees?” His heart skipped a beat. “Excuse—?” “You said Cece is one of the best things that's ever happened to you. I just want to know… Where I stand.” “Anush, without you I wouldn't be where I am today. I might've been homeless for the rest of my life. You giving me this job means the world to me, you know.” “But you don't love me?” “No.”

Anush clamped her eyes shut and her lips quivered. There was that twinge of guilt. He'd been direct and maybe a little snippy, and that twinge signed off when he saw Anush's pain. She quickly hid it and returned to her typical stern face.

“I see. I'm happy for you, Idrees. All I wanted for you since the day we met was for you to feel content.”

Idrees thought back to that day. He'd been lugging his backpack around with its dwindling supplies, sweating to death under the Indian summer sun. He’d trudged down this very street in search of shade when he spotted the sign that said Mom's Market. The awning overhang was a godsend and he made a beeline for sweet, cool shade.

He sat outside for a moment, getting his strength back and hoping no one would kick him out—not back into the oven that was the sun. His ratty thobe stuck to him, yellowed and torn and stained in dirt. He tried to air it out, so caught up in his discomfort that he barely remembered seeing a man walk into the store through his blurry, exhausted eyes. Another customer exited the store to drive one of the few cars away. It was a slow day, he had come to learn. All except for…

“Where is she?” demanded a man. “I'm not sure who you're talking about, sir,” said a woman. “Don't play dumb, you slut! Where is she!?”

Idrees’ alarm bells tolled deafeningly loud. He shot to his feet and his light head caused him to stumble. Mustering up some saliva in his dry mouth, he rounded the corner through the open doors. At the counter was a young girl, maybe 17-years-old, staring wide-eyed at the bulky man in front of her. A short woman in a mute-colored hijab with a deep scar across her cheek darted into the main room. The man pointed his dirt-encrusted finger at her, the woman Idrees had come to learn was Anush.

“There you are!” the man screamed. “Thought you could just run away from me?” “Get out of here, Viraj!” she shouted desperately. “Leave or I'll call the cops!” “The cops!?” He spat as though the idea was stupid to him. “Fine, call the cops! But they'll take several minutes to get here, won't they?”

He lunged at Anush and snatched her by the arm. Anush and the cashier screamed, heralding flashes of battered, crying women to assault Idrees’ mind. He would never just stand by and let that happen ever again.

Idrees snagged the guy's shoulder and forced Viraj to face him. Viraj's green eyes observed him, obscured by large black pupils and his heavily furrowed brow, teeth clenched behind a thick scraggly beard.

“Don't you put your hands on her!” Idrees yelled in Viraj's face. “And who the hell are you?” Viraj demanded, tearing away from him. “You her little boyfriend or something!? I’ll kill the both of you!”

Idrees’ heart stayed calm. He watched Viraj rear back a fist. His body took over for him; muscle memory kicked in. He determined where the punch would land and thrust his arm up to block it. He retaliated with a swift punch to Viraj’s jaw. Viraj stumbled back with unfocused eyes. Idrees seized the opportunity to slam his fist into Viraj’s chin in a vicious uppercut. He followed through with his opposite hand and bashed Viraj’s exposed gut.

Viraj collapsed in a heap upon the ground. He groaned in pain as Idrees shook his aching hands out. Time returned to normal, opening his ears to the cashier describing the scene to the police. Viraj quivered to his feet, stumbling and falling, gripping his stomach. He staggered out the door, making his very slow getaway.

Anush grabbed hold of Idrees’ arm. “Thank you, young man! Thank you!”

Hot adrenaline flooded his veins and his bleary, starving, dehydrated mind dizzied. The store spun around him. He collapsed to his knees and gripped his pounding head.

“Daksha!” called Anush. “Get him some water!” “Yes, ma’am!”

The cashier rushed off to the back as Anush tried to keep him steady. As soon as that cold bottle of water hit his palm, he tore the cap off and downed half of it in just a gulp or two. It froze his desiccated throat on the way down. He splashed some into his palm and wiped it on his sweating, overheated face. The shock of it made him breathe heavier—or maybe that was his finally racing heart.

Idrees was the reason Anush was finally able to seek legal action against her abusive ex. She gave him a job and helped get him on his feet. And it was no secret that Anush had pursued a… more than professional relationship with him. But Anush had a frigid air about her that chilled every date and interaction. She was kind, but closed off, more interested in coddling Idrees than talking about herself and her interests. After several dates, Idrees knew next to nothing about her and constantly clammed up. She was, after all, his boss.

His relationship never felt different from that. Even when a couple of those dates ended up in the bedroom, he felt no warmth or connection, just awkward self-gratification. Only on one occasion did he actually get off. The first time, he was too nervous and lasted so long she had him stop because he was hurting her. The second time, his orgasm came with a hefty dose of guilt and creeping palms that haunted him for several days.

After that, he rejected her offer for another date, and another, and another, until she broke down in tears and demanded an explanation. One he could hardly articulate. He didn't want to feel like she only liked him for certain aspects of himself—his youth, his body, his ‘sympathetic circumstances’ as she once said, his melancholy, his veteran status. He felt she only wanted him because he was broken.

Still, Anush was the reason Idrees was able to afford food and an apartment. It had been so for nearly five years. It was no wonder then that, even though Idrees had no doubt in his mind that he didn't love her, he still didn't want to see her upset or in pain. If it hadn't been for her, he could've died as another homeless man baking in the Indian sun.

Idrees breathed in the cool air from the office fan, waiting for Anush to continue, if she had more to say. Anush rubbed her face, fingertips digging into her temples. She gazed up at Idrees with stern, unwavering eyes. Until she smiled. But not a professional, muted smile like he was used to seeing. No, this was different. And he wanted to believe it was genuine.

“I'm just happy that you're happy, priya,” she said. “You deserve it, you know. You're a wonderful man.”

His heart sank. There it was again. He’d heard these things from his coworkers before. You're a good man. A wonderful man. I’m glad you’re here. I trust you.

He wanted to disappear—crawl back into his hovel and not let anyone in. Maybe then they would stop seeing him for what he isn't.

Chapter 5: Rafi

Idrees hurried through his morning routine. He wasn't late or anything, just too excited to slow down. Whirring thoughts, trying to perfect scenarios in his head, topics of conversation, and rushes of glee at the idea of holding Cece's hand or embracing her had kept him awake for an unfortunate chunk of the night. Yet that didn't stop him from bounding out of bed and speed brushing his teeth. It almost stopped him from eating, though, as his knotted stomach worried over things that could go wrong. What if he said something stupid? What if he tried to hug her when she didn't want it? What if he tripped over his own two feet?

Still, he threw together a microwaveable packet of rice and added some shredded chicken on top for an okay breakfast. Maybe the coffee was a bit much, though, as his heart raced in anticipation for the time he said he would leave. Cece wanted to sleep in (“Donna's been working me like a dog,” she'd said), and naturally that made Idrees’ thoughts spiral. She clearly didn't like him. She was only going on a pity date. Why would she want to spend all day with him when he had nothing to offer anyway?

He couldn’t banish these thoughts. They weren't worth dissecting and ruining his wonderful weekend plans, so he took some advice from Manu. Close your eyes. Breathe. Relax. Let the thoughts come and don't give them any credence. A bunch of hoo-ha, if you ask Idrees. Yet it was hoo-ha that worked. His heart slowed down, even when thoughts jolted it to life.

She hates you. Okay. She doesn't want to be around you. Okay. She kissed your cheek and it felt amazing. True. She’s smiling and happy every time you call. It feels so good. But if she finds out who you truly are…

He shook it off with a roll of his shoulders. For now, he didn't want to think about that.

Once the clock read quarter to noon, he ensured his clothes looked okay—a silky blue kurta and matching pants—ran his fingers through his hair, freshened his breath so it didn't smell like stale coffee, and gathered his things to head out. He also grabbed a piece of leftover chicken. Before leaving, he paused at his side table next to the door. Yes, he needed his wallet and all, but…

He stared at the hand sanitizer. Should he take that? He hadn't felt the need to obsessively wash his hands at work. Getting caught in the middle of a panic attack with his pants proverbially around his ankles made a horrified shudder dart up his back. He pocketed it and headed outside.

The warm air rushed past him as he strode toward the parking lot. He passed by a few of his neighbors loitering around in the shade of the old complex. Some of them were talking rather loud with each other, and some sat quietly on crumbling stoops with earbuds in or magazines in hand. On one stoop, he spotted the local dog, lazing about looking plump from donations.

“Habibi,” he called. “Here, Ali.”

Ali bounded to his feet and trotted over, sniffing at the air. He shook off, expelling dust from his tan fur. His curled tail wagged when Idrees held out the chicken.

“Easy, Ali. Easy.”

Ali snatched the chicken and luckily not Idrees’ fingers that time. Idrees pat the dog between his ears and watched as he trotted back toward that stoop with his head held high in triumph.

Wiping his hand on his pants, Idrees continued toward the parking lot. There, he noticed that horny old man lingering around someone's car. He keyed in to what was said, intent and ensuring he wasn't harassing someone else. It seemed to be his son, though, arguing over money. So Idrees minded his own and got into his car. As long as that man stayed as far away from Cece as possible, Idrees wouldn't have to beat the shit out of him.

Once at the hotel parking lot, Idrees gave himself an internal pep talk. Don't mention Nasir. Don't worry so much. And wallah, try not to say anything stupid. He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped out of the car.

He had to park a ways away as cars packed the lot but, even from halfway down, he noticed Cece standing in the shade of the large beige awning. She spotted him and her face lit up like the full moon. He was glued to the spot watching her head his way, only able to step forward a few times before the glowing euphoria stopped his mind from working. She wore that gorgeous blue shawl from the bazaar, and she had it wrapped properly around herself. He'd shown her how to do that. He'd been helpful to her and he could've floated off into the clouds if his feet weren’t stuck to the asphalt.

Even better was her leaping into his arms to the point he stumbled back a bit, giving her a surprised little, “oh!” in turn. She giggled and nuzzled into his shoulder.

“Sorry we're meeting up so late,” she said. “It's no big deal. Did you sleep well?” “Yeah, I slept pretty good. What about you?” He didn't sleep at all. “I slept pretty good, too.” “I am so excited to see that old Temple, Idrees. There's supposed to be a beautiful waterfall there, right?” “Let's go find out.”

She got in the passenger’s seat and used her shawl to air herself off and let some of the air conditioning blow on her. Within just a minute of driving, she broke their silence.

“You don't listen to the radio?” “Not really. I've never been a big music person.” “What?” she asked as if he'd just admitted to being a serial killer. “I've heard about people like you but I didn't think you actually existed!” “Funny, your family doesn't, either.” “Does your car have Bluetooth?” “Blue— what?”

She fiddled with the radio a bit, pressing buttons that he, in the three years he'd had this car, had no idea existed. But he never cared for fiddling with the radio much, and mostly got this car because air conditioning was such a luxury.

Whatever she wanted to find, she must've found, as she pumped her fist and whispered, “yes!”. If she got any more adorable…

“Now the hard part is deciding what song I want,” she said. “So I finally get to hear your actual singing?” Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in delight. “Oh my god, you’re so right! Oh man, now that’s putting a lot of pressure on me. Hoo boy… What song, what song…?”

She searched on her phone and he couldn’t deny: he was more than a little intrigued. A woman like her—what sort of music would she enjoy? Would the lyrics be profound? Would it be trashy pop about sex and drugs? Bold and unique? Or banal and uninspired? When she gave the quietest little “ah ha” and put her music on the radio, his entire body tensed in anticipation.

The song came on, plucky and upbeat, and—unexpectedly—with banjos. Was it country? It didn't sound like country, not quite. When the singer spun her lyrics, he tuned in to Cece's rendition as much as he could.

“You can't bind me in the state you've kept me for so long,” they harmonized.

Another woman sang the end of the stanzas as well. The overlapping instrumentals were eclectic and different from anything he’d heard, and Cece's singing, while perhaps not nearly as perfected as the lead's, added such charm.

“All my love you tried to take but you can't have it all,” she sang.

The way the lead vocalist played with her voice, and thus made Cece follow along, was pleasing to his ears. Cece had clearly heard this song many times as she didn't miss a beat or mess up a note. Her hands absently tapped the dash or her legs alongside the drumbeat or changed to follow the strumming banjo. And her voice—he almost couldn't hear the lead over top of Cece with how well she harmonized.

“I won't bargain, I won't break. My mind's made up though my head still aches, and all my love you tried to take but you can't have it all…”

He shifted in his seat. It almost seemed directed at him. He had been so greedily asking for her time, constantly wanting more of her, and the other day… When he'd asked to drive her to her hotel, she’d hesitated. Was he asking too much? Demanding too much? Trying to take from her more than she could give? She wasn't an overflowing cup. Though he longed to keep taking and receiving her affection, the song she chose had his mind thinking overtime. Was he simply consuming the dregs from her? Muddled and lukewarm. Or perhaps the band's poetic lyrics had him waxing catastrophic.

He listened, enjoying Cece's practiced voice. The song seemed to be wrapping up, and Cece bounced between the main vocals and the back-up. The instruments quieted, leaving room for rhythmic clapping that reminded him almost of a heartbeat, which Cece matched with precision.

“You won't find me where you left me, no I'm long gone.”

Once the song was over, she breathed a quick sigh.

“God, I love that band.” she said. “Might be too early to tell, since this was their first album, but The Crane Wives might be my favorite band of all time. At least one of them, for sure. What did you think?”

She looked at him with her eyes bright and large, as if hopeful he would validate her love of the band.

“It was certainly unique,” he said. “Felt like a song that you would enjoy.” “Aw, thank you,” she said. “Why that song?” To satiate his own curiosity—rather, his own rattled nerves. “I'm just obsessed with his album right now. Every song is amazing, but I thought that one exemplified this band the most. And it means a lot to me, so I wanted to share it.”

He took a steadying, hopefully subtle, breath. So it wasn't directed at him. He wondered who, then, made her pour all her might and heart into every line.

“It was really good,” he said. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

She played even more of that album to much the same passion and energy. They had about half an hour to listen, and got through most of the album in that time. There was no shortage of banjos and ethereal wordless vocals. No shortage of deep lyrics that touched him in ways he never thought music could. With lines like:

Water rushes in. I will welcome it. I am not afraid to give you everything. And the devil won't know all the love I just couldn't let go And my poor heart is an open wound. It’s ancient history that’s bleeding out of me.

Who could have her singing like that? Who could’ve made such lyrics speak to her? They spoke to him, too, in their own right. But he could never tell her that. Then she may pry him open and find the answers within his shell.

If there was one thing that guaranteed a Cece Distraction, it was reaching their tourist destination. The parking lot was packed full, but up on the mountains and turrets sat the mossy paths and faint rock walls of the old Temple. Cece had her face up against the passenger window as he parked, and hardly waited for him to fully turn the car off before hopping out.

The old Temple was crawling with people and greedy macaques. Plenty of people stayed by the food stands lining the entrance, either recovering from their walk or mentally preparing themselves. The strong scent of Indian spices had the macaques queued up for any unattended food, watching from picnic benches and mossy stone walls.

She grabbed hold of his hand and tugged him down the pathway, bypassing all of the food stands as though blinders kept her honed in. They left the dirty, litter–encrusted stones behind for beautiful dirt paths. The noise faded to people's gentle chattering and the sounds of wild birds chirping nearby. They traded the spiced foods for earthy soil and lush green leaves from the trees lining the path.

At first, it was easy to keep pace with her, his arm wrapped snuggly around her waist. But soon she found a “cool rock” on the ground, and that awakened a primal hoarding instinct within her. She managed to look completely unruffled despite zigzagging up the trail. Meanwhile, sweat dribbled down the back of his neck and he had to try to keep his breathing steady. All those years of stacking cans and sweeping floors really didn't do anything for his physique, but Cece, though a little overweight, didn't seem to have any issues at all.

“How are you running back and forth like that?” he asked. “I'm just used to it, I guess,” she said, coming back from her side-of-the-road venture empty handed. “I've hiked a lot.” “Really?” “Oh, what? You think cuz I'm twenty pounds overweight I can't also have hiked a lot? Though, I was a little skinnier back then, to be fair. You ever hiked?”

Sand dunes, crumbling staircases attached to derelict buildings, running with his heavy uniform and backpack— He very quickly shook those images off. She didn't need her entire sunny afternoon ruined because of his darkness.

“No,” he said. “Just never happened, you know? Grew up poor, had a lot of other things to do instead.” “That's fair. White people just love to hike, is what it is.” He chuckled, letting her joke instead of his nerves settle on him. “Was it a family affair, then?” She avoided his eyes. “Uh… Kinda, I guess.”

That was… odd. She offered a smile, showing off her pretty white teeth, but it only put him more on edge. Forced, and not natural like the ones he'd seen before.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Nothing. I just don't think it's an appropriate date topic.” “Hiking?” he questioned. “Or family? I mean, we went further with religion the other day.” “No, no, not that stuff,” she said, now fidgeting with a lock of hair. “You're confusing me, Cece.” “Well, all of my hiking stories involve my ex. Well, not really my ex.” Okay, now he was more confused. “I thought you said you don't have a boyfriend.” “I don't. He died. He was my fiancé, and we traveled around America together as a last hoorah before cancer took his life. That's what it is—I just figured you didn't want to hear me blabbing about my late fiancé.”

The way she spoke about it, she might as well have just punched him to get the same amount of shock in less time. He couldn't find the words on his flapping lips so he sealed them shut instead.

“See?” she said. “Now things are gonna be weird.” “No, I— I just didn't realize that happened. Sorry for bringing it up.” “You didn't.” “I brought up the family thing and then wouldn't stop asking you about it. I shouldn't have—” She caressed his back. “Look, don't even worry about it. I just didn't want to upset you. I mean: talking about past relationships on a date? Weird.” “It's not weird.” It kinda was. “I don't want to upset you.” “I'm not upset. I went through grief counseling and had a lot of therapy. It's what Rafi wanted me to do. Oh, that was his name: Rafi. He asked me to seek help if I was struggling after he died. And I'm glad I did because now I can look back on our time together without feeling guilty or upset—it was one of the best things I did for him.” “Wow,” he replied, rubbing the shock out of his temple. “That's… Aaila, I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry, Cece.” “I’m okay. Really.” “You said you traveled around America?” “Yeah, I have a ton of pictures from it, too. A few I carry around with me. Wanna see?” A little tingle on his palm made covertly scratch it under the veil of his sleeve. “Sure.”

She smiled again, a little less exuberant. There was a different sort of sparkle in her eyes. Like nostalgia and longing. She reached into her bra and pulled out her wallet. An insert unfurled with several pictures on it. She showed him the top picture, of her beaming with a man beside her. The man's arms wrapped around her waist, and he was mid-kiss on her forehead. Light stubble pressed against her face, bringing light to her smile. They stood in front of a huge tree, the ends of which he couldn't see, as the dappled light covered them.

“This was Rafi and me in the redwood forests of California. Those trees were enormous, I swear this picture doesn’t do it justice. And this one here is us at a waterfall in Washington State. After we took this picture, we jumped into the water and made a mad dash for the car to get out of our freezing cold clothes. Mistakes were made.”

The second picture had them both giving peace signs to the camera, Rafi's arm still clutching her waist. Their bright smiles overshadowed the rushing blue waters behind them. They dressed a bit warmer than their tanks and slacks in the California picture, with light scarves and gloves instead.

She pointed to the last on that side. “We went to the beaches in Miami and Rafi had his ice cream stolen by a seagull.”

She laughed at her memory. The picture caught the seagull swooping out of frame with the ice cream in its beak, and Rafi's shocked face as he ducked under the fleeing thief. Cece's face was hardly visible behind the seagull, but what he could see was dying of laughter. He wanted to laugh, too, if it hadn't been so depressing.

“I'm sorry,” she said, voice falling as she put her wallet away. “I don't want to ruin our date by talking about my fiancé or anything…”

He kept up with her as they continued their hike, trying to ignore the grip on his heart. Seeing her happy with another man, one who had held her at night, who had kissed her enticing lips, and had probably done… More intimate things— No. That man was dead. And clearly meant a lot to her. Yet, seeing her gaze lovingly at the pictures of her fiancé, dead or not, made his guts squirm.

He would sacrifice his own comfort for Cece's sake. To be that jealous man, ready to whip his wife the moment she stepped out of line, sent his skin skittering. He scratched at his palm.

“No, it's fine,” he said, trying to sound strong and sure. “I want to hear more about Rafi and your travels.” “Are you sure? Third date and you wanna talk about my dead fiancé?”

He was a little taken aback by the blunt way she spoke, yet it only served to strengthen his resolve. If she could do this, so could he.

“Yes, please. I want to see the other pictures.”

She grinned so wide, so utterly cute—how could he resist any chance to see her face light up? She tugged her wallet out to show the back of the insert, and he had to lead her to the side to avoid running into another couple. They apologized to the couple, who smiled and waved.

Cece returned to the top picture. “This was Rafi and me at the Grand Canyon. He was terrified of heights but he posed this picture for us anyway.”

Rafi must've gotten the same sort of strength from Cece as Idrees; he stood tall and proud, both arms holding onto her as she leaned into his chest. Cece's hand peeked around the back of his head to fiddle with a poorly done undercut beneath his mop-top hair. She was smirking and hiding a peace sign under Rafi’s arm.

“Don't mind his cut,” she said. “He hated it so much, it was hilarious. I thought it was so dorky and cute and I took every chance to touch it. He got sick of me but that was too bad because we were stuck together.”

She stuck out her tongue at the picture. This was enough to coax a little laugh out of Idrees. Oh, to be stuck with Cece on a road trip, having her hands in his hair, her waist within his arms. Even if he had a shitty haircut, Idrees couldn't imagine anything that would bring him more joy. No wonder Rafi looked on top of the world in every photo, except that seagull one.

“Ooh,” she said at the middle photo, “we went to Louisiana in this one and took a ferry ride. Raf saw an alligator and just had to get a picture. It was taken by him so it's a really awkward angle. We look like we have two chins.”

Two double chins, and an insanely close shot of a huge alligator behind their moldy wooden boat. Cece had a wide-eyed face filled full of primal terror (to be fair, Idrees would be making the same face). Rafi looked bursting with glee, his bright white teeth showing through a grin sizable enough to rival the alligator.

“Raf loved reptiles. He really wanted to be a herpetologist and have all sorts of snakes and lizards. It was his idea to go to Louisiana to see gators. And Florida, too, but mostly we just got attacked by the gulls.”

She laughed again, somehow so casual and calm as she spoke about it all. He longed for that kind of resilience, though any confidence he thought he possessed slipped through the creeping flesh of his fingers.

“It's okay,” she said, “you can laugh.” He gazed at her, dumbfounded. “I'm giving you some good stuff here, you can laugh about it. Raf would've wanted me recounting his life to be pleasant. He found humor in pretty much everything. Just look at this last picture.”

He did, though he couldn't see what was so funny about that one, either. It was of Rafi, down on one knee, proposing to Cece. Orange and pink painted the background and an enormous lake behind them reflected droplets of the sunset. The glow highlighted Rafi's smile and Cece's surprise. Idrees wasn't exactly sure, but the ring box itself appeared empty. He didn't want to force a laugh, especially when he wasn't in on the joke.

“This is a recreation of how he would've proposed to me if he—and I quote—‘didn’t just blurt it out over tacos’. Even though we both knew he would die before we could get married. He said, ‘Having me be your dead fiancé sounds so much more tragic than just your dead boyfriend’.” She laughed again. “I thought it was so sweet, but he said he'd always dreamed of doing it better. So while we were at Lake Superior, we did a mock proposal. I'm utterly terrified of rings getting stuck on my fingers so he couldn't really get me one, but this gesture—it was too cheesy not to laugh! If you look hard enough, you'll see that Raf almost broke character here.”

Idrees put his arm around Cece's waist and held her close. “I’m sorry, Cece. Rafi seemed like a really great man. It must’ve been really hard for you to lose him.” “It was. And sometimes, it still is. But I wouldn’t trade our adventures for anything in the world.” “You both seem so happy in those pictures. And I’m impressed with how you can talk about all of this.” “Years of therapy and grief counseling. I'm basically an expert. Wanna know the proper breathing techniques for the most efficient cry of your life? I'm your gal.”

That chipped away at his wall a bit, chuckling at the dark humor she seemed to enjoy so much. Those sessions must've worked. Most of her time spent recounting Rafi was spent in smiles and laughter, jokes and fondness. Just as she said Rafi would've wanted.

They reached their main destination: the mossy, rocky, layered waterfall of the old Temple. Bright green foliage lined the rocky face. There was rushing water, chanting and music, and chattering people. They found a spot to get closer among the crowd. Idrees held onto a banister that prevented people from falling in, but close enough that droplets of the water sometimes hit his face. He gripped the railing tight.

Idrees looked out over the water, trying to take in everything she'd said. Rafi meant a great deal to her, there was no doubt. He felt stupid for being so jealous, wondering if she would hold him like she held Rafi, too—-if she ever could love him like she loved Rafi. Or if he even deserved such a thing in the first place.

Those pictures in her wallet brought her so much joy that he could never bring, but… There, with that gorgeous waterfall, with Cece’s bright, exuberant face beside him admiring those same falls, he thought maybe… He could try.

“Do you think we could do that?” he asked. She gave him an inquisitive look with an upturned brow. “Hm?” “Take pictures, I mean.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted saying them. He imagined himself standing beside her in a picture. Her: angelic, breathtaking, her thick wavy locks all around her outlining her gorgeous curves, compared to… him: awkward, doofy unibrow, crappy mustache that taunted him by never growing out, all scrawny with no sense of fashion. His pictures could never compare to the dynamic and ecstatic poses of Cece and Rafi, holding onto one another with a love Idrees could only dream up. A love he certainly hadn't earned or deserved from Cece.

Yet she grinned at him, her cheeks flushed as though he'd suggested something quite intimate. “That would be great. Then we'd have pictures to keep and look back on. I love that idea!”

Cece asked one of the other women nearby to help them take pictures. The woman took her phone and waited for them to get into position. He stood close to Cece, arms around her waist, eyes avoiding the camera. Cece's beaming smile overshadowed him. The rushing waters and banister behind him kept him in place, standing beside her like a shadow devoid of warmth and light.

Then her lips met his cheek. The second time, her fingers held his chin, drowning him in a gush of warmth. He kept leaning toward her as she pulled away, stopping only when she retrieved her phone. So badly did he want to lament that she was no longer kissing him that he felt the words rising up in his throat like saboteurs. He swallowed them back down to die out in his gut.

“Thank you so much!” Cece called in her strained Hindi to the woman, who went back to chatting with her friends.

She brought the phone closer to Idrees and swiped through the pictures. There he was, just as in the background as he'd felt. Cece's presence and beauty were unmatched, especially by him. The more he looked at them side by side, the more he observed just how out of his league she was. Why would she want to be with him, someone unremarkable and broken, when her radiance could've attracted anyone she wanted?

Then the last picture made him suck his lips into his teeth. Her kiss pressed into his cheek in that picture, and Idrees was brought to the forefront, alongside his stupidly surprised smile. One that revealed his broken tooth.

“This one is so cute!” Cece gushed. “You looked so gloomy in the other ones, but you've got such a handsome smile, Idrees.” “Me?” he squeaked. She dramatically looked around, a hand over top her brow as if to block out the light. Then she nodded at him, resolute and serious. “Yep, definitely, on account a’ there are no other Idreeses here.”

He couldn't see it but he tried not to focus on any perceived flaws. His racing heart only heard those words over and over: “you’ve got such a handsome smile”.

“You're beautiful,” he said. His heart flipped. “I-in this picture. I mean, yes, all the time, but I was referring to—”

He cleared his throat and avoided her eye. His cheeks were on fire. Cece's face showed him what that must've looked like if his skin was lighter, given her cheeks were so red they could've been hot to the touch. They were perked up like cute little apples on the ends of her bright smile.

“You're so sweet, Idrees.”

Those four words crashed down on him. All he saw were flashes of his old life: gunpowder and smoke, innocent people crying, screaming, begging for mercy, women and children pleading for any ounce of humanity or shred of decency he had. He gave them pain and suffering. He tried to blink the visions away.

Cece's big, brown eyes begged for some kind of reaction aside from a fallen jaw that made his mouth so dry. He couldn't offer her anything. If he smiled or tried to make light of it, then he would be lying right to her face. Yet… he already was. She knew nothing of his past and he continued letting her believe all of these things about him that weren't true. Sweet? No. This front was a mask hiding a monster beyond the facade.

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pure-garbage · 9 months ago

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Friends, Mentors And Angry Mobs! Memory Of The Grey Clover

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Sexual Themes

Lana's hunt for her missing friend had never been an organized effort, but the chaos into which her day descended after the citizens of Water 7 recognized her was outrageous.

"Don't these people ever let up?!" she huffed to herself, darting down another dark alley as the mob pursued her, just a corner away from catching up to her. "We didn't even do anything wrong, damn it!"

'Well, that I know of, anyway,' she admitted internally. 'This is bad! No way I can go back to the hotel now! These people are out for blood and I can't lead them back to the others! I'm wanted, Luffy's wanted, and Zoro's wanted... the others don't have bounties or posters, so there's a good chance they're not being chased like this! I have to lose this mob and then-'

"Hey, Lana!"

"Huh?!"

Luffy's voice interrupted her thoughts. Her head spun as she whipped around trying to find where it was coming from.

"Luffy, she's being chased too! They're about to reach the corner, do something quick!" Nami yelled. The sound of her voice was faint and Lana almost didn't hear her over the clamoring of the crowd just a street away.

"Got it! Gum-gum..."

Her friend's voices had come from above. Lana looked up, dread curling in her gut as her captain's hand stretched down from the rooftop, quick as a whip.

"Oh crap!"

Rubbery fingers seized her arm and in the next split-second, she was flying. She didn't even have time to scream as she rocketed through the air, bungeed up a good fifteen feet higher than the rooftop where Luffy, Nami, Zoro and Chopper crouched in hiding.

'I can see everything from up here... wow, that mob sure is angry...' she thought, the observation bordering on nonchalant due to her shock at her sudden ascension.

The crowd surged around the corner into the alley where Lana had just been standing. If any of them had thought to look up, they would have seen Lana reach the pinnacle of her arc through the air, suspended for a fraction of a second as her momentum slowed and took a second to reverse. To the lockbreaker, the instant stretched out into an eternity. She only had one indication that she hadn't spent hours floating mid-air, which was that she didn't have time enough to catch a breath and cry out before falling to the roof. Luffy released Lana and let her plummet unhindered. She landed face-down, haunted by the sensation that she'd left her stomach back up in the sky over Water 7.

"Luffy! You couldn't have been gentle?!" Nami raged while Lana rolled over with a pained groan. "Us girls are delicate! You have to handle us with more care!"

"Ow! If you're so delicate how come you hit so hard?!" Luffy demanded, rubbing his shoulder with a pout as Nami continued to seethe.

"She doesn't break easily. She's fine. Right, Lana?" Zoro put in.

"Fine might be a bit of an overstatement, but I'll live," Lana grumbled. "I guess I should thank you for saving me from the mob. But Chopper, where's Sanji? I thought he was with you."

'Please don't tell me Chopper lost another crewmate!' Lana thought with alarm. 'I know he's young, but if my friends keep disappearing on his watch...'

"I was just about to fill Luffy, Zoro and Nami in on what happened," Chopper informed her. "You couldn't have run by at a better time."

"What can I say, that's just my incredible luck for you," Lana said with dry ire as she settled down at Zoro's side. "So? Now that we're all together, what'd we miss?"

"Sanji and I... we found Robin."

Late The Same Night

The straw hats faced down the mysterious forces working to frame them in Iceburg's bedroom. Lana only had eyes for Robin, barely recognizable in a cloak so oversized it seemed like the garment had swallowed the archaeologist whole.

Despite what Robin had said, Lana refused to believe her friend had turned against their crew. When she met Robin's eyes, all she could think of was the time they'd spent traveling together as friends. The late nights they'd shared with Nami while they did each others' hair and nails, chatting about whatever wacky events had transpired that week. Board games that Robin usually decimated her at, even though the older woman always had one eye on a book. Theories and teasing, bright, happy, carefree moments stolen on the high seas. Advice that Lana couldn't have gotten from any of her other crewmates, solutions to practical womanly problems that Nami was too young to offer her any helpful council on.

"I couldn't help but notice things heating up between you and your swordsman," Robin told her one night, weeks ago.

Lana blushed, a hand creeping up sheepishly to cover the marks at the base of her neck. They were just setting sail after waiting at port for two days for the log pose to set. She and Zoro had spent the entirety of that time hidden away in a little world of their own. Though the entire crew must have known what they were doing with the days they stole, Robin was the first and only one to comment on it.

"Just a little," Lana mumbled.

"Come on, I can tell you had a lot of fun," Robin teased. "You don't want to talk about it at all?"

"Well..."

"It's fine if you don't," Robin chuckled. "But... I have something for you. A gift, of sorts. Consider it a... coming of age present."

Robin handed her a small, latched wooden box with a floral design engraved into the top.

"Coming of age present?" Lana repeated, smiling a little despite herself.

"Well, this gift is very practical. Look inside. Go ahead."

"Tea leaves?" Lana puzzled.

"It's a bitter draught, but I have a feeling you'll find it useful going forward," Robin smiled. "Sex is fun, after all, but... there are consequences to consider if you're not careful."

"Conse- Oh... oh!" Lana realized, eyes widening with alarm. Pregnancy wasn't a possibility she'd even considered, but with a start, she realized it was something that should have been on her mind. Panic filled her, alternate life paths flashing before her eyes like wildfire as she wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake.

"If that's what the two of you want, then by all means, but just in case," Robin went on. "This is a grey clover infusion. A fair warning, you'll feel sick the first few times you drink it, but if you make it routine, you'll build a tolerance. "

"Grey clover... Poison?"

"The dosage is very low. Brewed correctly, it won't seriously hurt you."

"So this is for..."

"That's right. It's especially important the morning after. I used to drink it weekly just to keep my tolerance high enough to avoid getting sick, but I was also engaged in something so... irregular. That's a story for another time."

"Robin, I... thank you," Lana managed. Her stomach started churning with dread while she considered the consequences of her newly sexual relationship with Zoro. It settled now, nervousness dissipating as she clutched the box like it carried her entire future softly tucked into its velvet interior.

"Don't mention it," Robin smiled, warmth radiating from her in a comforting aura that soothed Lana's brief, sudden panic. "Want to come to the kitchen with me? I'll show you how to brew it."

"Okay."

Lana blinked and the memory fled, but its impact remained. She didn't know who these people are or what they wanted, but she refused to believe Robin was with them of her own free will. Something else was going on here. Something sinister they had yet to uncover.

_____________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

#one piece #fanfic #oc #roronoa zoro #sandbox adventures #pure garbage #nami #luffy #nico robin #sanji #tony tony chopper #zoro

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poorwhayfairingstranger · 1 year ago

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Oh my God haiku bot commented on my post.

Ok, give me a minute to read through what I already posted.

When I was a little kid. My pastor was going on about the kind of people that first listened to Jesus's teachings. How Jesus's followers were prostitutes and homeless people and the lowest of society. Jesus Cared about the people that no one else did and earned undying Loyalty Because of it. He talked about The first Christian's after Jesus's death. Most sleeping outcasted and ridiculed by more common religions. At the time about how Christianity was something to be hidden and only in later years became big and old consuming. About how the original message behind the religion was genuinely caring about and loving the people around you. That really stuck with me.

I'm not religious anymore. But that core idea has stuck with me through a lot of my life. And I wanted to kind of dude represent that a little bit in my Original characters. That being said, baby me had no idea how governments actually work. I still don't really know how they work. I just know that thousands of people were released from underground cities where they were imprisoned And left with no clear direction in the world that hated them. Of course, they were gonna turn to crime. Of course, they were going to be angry at the people who put them there or the people trying to take the place of the ones who put them there who were now trying to put them back. Some of them took it too far but the vast majority of them I believe were innocent. I think all the enemy armies after Their respective big bad swear repeated deserved peace just like the rest of Ninjago.

So all of the snakes and the skeletons and the Android armies all gathered in the one place that wouldn't turn them away or judge them. A small minority actually were planning revenglish, and when they attacked the ninja into the ninja found out about most of their previous enemies. All being gathered in one spot freaked the hell out.

Come back to years ago when a little girl playing in the Lake with her family stepped on a knife and almost bled to death In the water before they could get her to hospital.

For those of you who don't know if you get stabbed, you shouldn't remove the thing stabbing you until you get proper medical attention. Because taking out the thing stabbing, you will make the bleeding go faster. The Lord of the land knew this fact. But his young son older than his daughter, who was the first to get her out of the water, did not know tyes and pulled the knife before he could be stopped. Hence why she almost died on the way to the hospital.

When everyone finished freaking out and the little girl was unconscious but stable, The Royal guard began investigating the weapon. They had to clean off centuries of mud and grime to find an ancient ritual dagger Inscribed With the words of a prophecy.

This blade holds a power terrific and terrible. Monstrous and monumentous. Not a power of creation but all that came after. Should this blade spill innocent blood its power will be released.

Blood can represent a lot of different things.

Blood can represent harm , Violence ,and anger ,and injury ,and death.

Blood can represent healing, a wound scabd over, a heart beating For the first time, The scar that proves you survived.

Blood can represent loyalty, The family that created you, The covenant that you chose , The promises and oaths that Bind you.

And when she wakes up in that hospital room, she is scared. She is young and scared and filled with a power that has been locked away for hundreds of years without a master to regulate it. She reacts with fear and panic at her own powers and the element. Thinking that its master is under attack reflectively tries to Protect her. The spiky red shield coming out of her arm and pointing directly at the doctor who's just trying to help her does not Diescalate the situation.

I'M GONNA FUCKING PUKE I JUST REMEMBERED ONE OF MY OC'S WAS LITERALLY "THE MASTER OF MOON" AND GOT HER POWERS FROM THE MOON AND HER POWERS WERE LIKE RED AND ALL THAT SHIT... DRAGONS RISING I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!! STOP PLAGARIZING ME LEGO!!! LEAVE YUUMI ALONE !!!

#haiku bot #poorwhayfairingstranger #The blood knight part one #The blood night #Ruth the blood knight.

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starwalker42 · 2 years ago

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febuwhump day 28: "you're safe now"

sequel to days 7 & 19 | tw: aftermath of torture, overdose, graphic injury | general audiences

It takes 24 hours to get a full list of possible suspects: anyone in the nearby area who matches Mulder’s rough description, who’s been in prison recently for violence against women or girls. The list is only 13 names long, but that’s still more than the local police can track down and interview in one day, and they’re running out of time.

Scully hasn’t had a vision since the one during the briefing, and she tries not to think about what that means.

It’s 8pm. The police force aren’t willing to send out officers until the morning, even though they have a list of addresses, even though Mulder might be dying, or dead – don’t think about that – and she’s rereading the names again, unable to do much else, when she realises she recognises one of them. It takes her ten minutes of scouring through the casefile before she finds it: one of the first witness interviews, for the first abducted man, before he was found dead, before the FBI got involved.

The man – Marshall Dunn, aged 35, released from prison 5 months ago after serving 2 years for aggravated assault - wasn’t a suspect, hadn’t even been called down to the station. But he’d worked in the same auto repair shop as the first victim. That’s a link.

It’s a hunch. A Mulder-sized one. But it sure beats waiting for another ten hours.

xXx

Less than an hour later, and Skinner’s pulled some strings to get her backup. Ten minutes later, they’re on the road, a ragtag convoy of her sedan and two FBI SUVs, and that’s when she gets another vision.

Mulder isn’t in it.

Instead she watches as the man washes his hands in the sink – his hands, stained red with blood – and pointedly looks up, into the mirror. She looks right into the eyes of Marshall Dunn, and feels her blood run cold as he speaks.

“Come find me. My work’s all done now, anyway.”

The vision fades away, and she pulls off the road, heart pounding so hard that for a moment she worries she’s going to pass out. It takes a minute to even her breathing, and when she raises her head she sees Skinner leaning out the back of one of the SUVs, looking over at her with concern painted across his face. She nods to him, once. Jaw clenched, she forces back tears.

Okay, you bastard. I’m on my way.

xXx

Marshall Dunn is upstairs, in the back bedroom, with an empty bottle of vodka and a pill container that once held prescription methadone. He’s still breathing, shallowly – by the time Scully gets to him, he’s already been put in the recovery position and an ambulance is on its way.

Even though she’s the doctor, and probably has some legal obligation to stay and help, she leaves the room without a word. The house isn’t very big, and it doesn’t take her long to sweep through the few rooms. There’s a bathroom – the bathroom, she recognises the mirror, and the sink is still stained with blood – a kitchen, a front room, but there’s nothing, no sign of Mulder’s presence. She checks the garage last, but even that reveals nothing – there’s no blood, no sign of a struggle, no weapon. It’s not the same room she saw in the visions.

The thought she’s not dared to think creeps into her mind: What if Mulder was never in the house at all?

Then she hears it; a human grunt of pain.

Her heart stops for a moment, relief and shock stopping all higher brain function, before she runs over the corner of the room. There, half-hidden under a tarp, is a trapdoor. It’s locked with a brand new heavy-duty padlock, the implications of which aren’t lost on her.

“Mulder?”

His voice – pained, shaky, but definitely Mulder – replies. “Scully.”

“I’m going to get you out of there.”

No time to find a key. She’ll have to shoot the lock off. It’ll destroy evidence – really, she should wait until someone can photograph it – but right now she doesn’t want to waste any more time. She fumbles with her gun, heart pounding in an echo of the two-beat in her head: Mul-der, Mul-der, Mul-der.

“Mulder, keep talking to me.”

There’s a sound from the other side of the door, one she can’t make out.

“Mulder?”

“Cold,” he whispers.

“I’m coming down there.” She forces her hands steady and takes aim at the lock. “Cover your head.”

The sound of the gun echoes through the garage, and she distantly hears shouts of surprise from upstairs. She should have warned them. Never mind. The trapdoor, now without the padlock, is easy enough to lift. She shines her flashlight into the hole and sees nothing but the floor.

“Mulder?”

No reply. She holsters her gun and drops down.

There’s a crunch as she hits the ground at an angle, her foot twisting awkwardly under her weight, but she grits her teeth through the pain. Raising her flashlight again, she realises that this is it, the place in the visions – the same cold dirt floor, the same breezeblock walls. She turns, orientating herself, and there’s Mulder, hunched in one of the corners, trembling. God.

She limps over to him and crouches by his side, assessing the situation. His shirt is in tatters, torn and cut away from his body, and his chest is covered in bruises and wounds. There are three long, deep cuts across his chest, one of which she recognises as the one she watched him receive. Scully knows they’re infected, too; one in particular is inflamed and still weeping fluid.

Mulder’s hands are pressed into the left side of his stomach, shaking worse than the rest of him; she wraps her fingers around one wrist, and eases it away from his body. Underneath is a mess of blood and torn fabric – he’s tried to stop the bleeding, probably too far gone to realise it wouldn’t help – but she can tell it’s bad. A penetrating abdominal wound, probably with a dirty blade.

Lying her coat on the ground, she eases him down until he’s on his back. He whimpers, eyes opening, and she leans over into his line of sight.

“Hey, it’s me. You’re going to be okay.”

There are tears in his eyes. She’s not sure if they’re from pain or fear or both; either way, she swipes them away with her thumb, trying to soothe.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Under her hands, she feels his pulse start to calm as his body stops shaking. There’s movement above; she hears Skinner’s voice, shouting for someone to bring the paramedics, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Mulder’s. There’s an emotion in his gaze that she can’t quite label, but it brings a lump to her throat that she swallows down.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs again, as his eyes start to close. “You’re safe now.”

@today-in-fic

#xf fanfic #txf fic #msr #my writing #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday28 #torture tw #overdose tw

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sinfulspencer · 3 years ago

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The Black Dahlia (pt.2)

Prompt: Spencer and Daisy, now named Dahlia, meet again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: murder, death, blood, violence, the Black Dahlia case

Words: 8.9k

A.N.: Reminder: Reader is a serial killer. There’s nothing romantic in what she’s doing, so please, do not romanticize her character or defend her from her actions. She needs to be held accountable for her manipulative and murderous behaviour, end of the story. Keep in mind that this is a fanfiction: I do not condone the actions of the characters, nor I support them – and I certainly do not encourage such actions. Stay safe! x

You can find the fic masterlist here. Check my masterlist here. JOIN MY TAGLIST! Share your thoughts/requests here.

The days have passed with no particular events and the team is still stuck in Arlington, trying to find a way to solve the case without causing too much of a fuss. They are all affected by how nothing seems to be giving them a lead - nothing in these women’s lives is weird or off.

They were all loved, no enemies, no fights, no problems at work.

Nothing seemed to have sparked an interesting starting point.

Unfortunately it was difficult to keep the case away from the media, because someone leaked something - and the whole city turned against each other, creating havoc from one side of the town to the other.

Neighbours accused neighbours.

Young teenagers didn’t want to go to school.

Fights, fake accusations, calls to the local PD.

“Penelope, you’re on speaker.”

Spencer puts his phone at the center of the table, putting his hands on the edge of the table.

“Okay, I found something really, really awful about these teachers. I’m not sure it’s something, but it could potentially be a lead.” - Penelope mumbles, typing something on her computer - “Twenty years ago there was a case, or a situation, of a serial rapist in this town. And guess what?”

Emily raises her brows, crossing her arms to her chest. “These women have either been victims or witnesses?”

David leans back against his chair. “How did we miss that?”

“We didn’t! I had to grab a bigger shovel and dig into the city’s past in order to unseal those files! The case was dismissed because all women were minors when that happened and their parents retracted the accusations.” - Penelope exclaims, agitation in her voice - “They were convinced their daughters were lying. There wasn't enough proof to charge the man, so he was released a day after and the case was shut down. No one ever saw those three women ever again because their parents sent them to a correctional facility here in Arlington for their problematic behaviour.”

Spencer sits down on the chair with his hands grabbing the edge of the table. He doesn’t like where this is going and he doesn’t like the fact that you’ve hinted him to kill the man before he could get to you. Why would this man get to you again? Why would he touch you?

What were you talking about?

If this has something to do with an old case, it means he has something to do with you and your past. Spencer doesn’t know how you found out about this case, but you’re on the run - maybe you stumbled here in Arlington, maybe you saw the murderer, maybe you know something.

Spencer hopes to find another flower in his bedroom later.

“Okay, so these women were victims of a serial rapist.” - JJ chimes into the conversation, looking at Luke - “Do we think it’s the same man seeking revenge? Were Beatrice, Elizabeth and Zoe the only victims?”

Silence fills the room for a few seconds, then it gets interrupted by Penelope’s disgusted voice.

“No, unfortunately they weren’t. Three more girls came forward against the same mea and their story matched the stories of our three victims. I’m going to send you all their names and their addresses, if you want to talk with them.” - Penelope says, humming - “They disappeared as well and came back to Arlington a year later from the same correctional facility.”

Spencer is quiet, barely looking at the file.

He’s lost in his thoughts, trying not to let the anger show through his eyes. He knows he’s being observed by half of his team and he can’t let his emotions get the best of him. Spencer has to protect you from them and from the man you’re so desperately begging him to catch, but what happened?

Did he touch you? Were you one of the victims as well?

What led you to send Spencer a flower and beg him to capture this man?

Spencer crosses his legs under the table, moving his eyes to the phone. “Penelope, who was the primary suspect? Can we have a name?”

“I’m trying to find it, but it seems… Oh.”

Oh?

Spencer exchanges a glance with Luke, as they speak in unison. “Oh?”

“Robert Y/L/N.”

The whole team goes silent as soon as the surname leaves Penelope’s lips. Spencer is the most affected for obvious reasons, but JJ and Luke are too. They keep looking at their colleague, then at each other. They’re trying to keep him calm, especially Luke who puts both his hands on Spencer’s shoulders - this is not a great situation.

This is dangerous.

“Any connection with Y/N Y/L/N?”

Penelope hums through the speaker. “Yes, he’s her uncle. He used to live here in Arlington until those accusations were made. He had to move away when they were dropped and… Oh wow.”

Do you have something to do with it?

Do you know anything about the case?

Luke wonders if you’re here right now, if you’re doing this to punish the man accused of raping too many women in such a little town. Is this your way to bring justice to the families? By killing the women and making it look like it’s your uncle’s fault?

Or is it really your uncle’s doing?

It wouldn’t make sense that you’d start killing women. You’ve never even thought about doing that because you have a specific target in your mind, but maybe this is another way to taunt the team.

To taunt Spencer.

Is it, though?

Are you able to kill a woman without feeling sorry for her? Are you able to kill a woman by severing her body in half, cutting her all over and dropping her body somewhere in a park?

You’re a psychopath, but you have a set of very strong beliefs you’re not going to let go. However, as JJ said, the team has to keep in mind all the possibilities of you switching the victimology to get them off your back - you could be using old cases from your family tree to cover up your tracks, but why would you be so careless?

Why would you use your uncle’s crimes to cover your tracks?

Why would you let the FBI investigate something like this?

Unless you have nothing to do with these crimes and you’re actually innocent, for once in your life.

“When Robert moved to Georgetown, he was quiet for years. He even got married and had a child with a woman named Cecily. They were happy, nothing much happened, until.. another string of accusations were made against him.” - Penelope speaks through gritted teeth. These cases are not easy to read about - “This time he targeted four women in their early 20’s. He killed one of them and was sent to prison for eight years.”

Luke looks at Spencer for a brief second, noticing how he’s grasping his trousers with one hand and using the other to draw circles on the surface of the table. His colleague is trying his best to maintain a calm demeanour, but his body language is betraying him.

Does he know something?

“Let me guess, he was released a year ago and moved back here.”

“Reid, you… scare me sometimes.” - Penelope chirps, hoping to bring some light with her joke - “Yes, Robert was released a year ago. Initially he went back to Georgetown for Cecily, but she got married again and filed a restraining order against him.”

That’s the stressor.

“Then, Robert came back to Arlington. He was quiet again, and then… He disappeared. No telephone traceable, no home address, no job. Nothing. It’s like he vanished, but we all know he’s not vanished.” - Penelope mumbles, typing something else on her computer - “I’m going to send you everything I’ve found on Robert and his photos.”

“Thank you Penelope, you did a great job.”

Spencer hangs up the call and stands up from the chair, immediately heading out of the room. He feels sick, as if there’s something at the pit of his stomach that begs to get out of his body - hearing the sound of your name coming from Penelope’s lips and how your uncle was accused of such crimes, drives Spencer mad.

Did you know about what he did? Were you one of his victims?

Spencer needs to breathe some fresh air or he’s going to go batshit crazy on Robert when he finds the bastard. If he has laid a finger on you, if he even thought about touching you, Spencer is not going to let him leave - he’s going to find a way to make him react during a takedown and he’ll take him down himself.

Whatever it may cost him.

You asked Spencer to find the man before he could get to you. He's not going to disappoint you.

Luke leaves his jacket on his chair and steps out of the conference room to look for his colleague, worried that this situation might have triggered him into thinking about you - and spiralling. It wouldn’t be the first time a case hits a little too close to home, it’s normal to feel like you’re being targeted - and even if Luke doesn’t know that this is not the case, it’s better than him thinking it is.

Finding Spencer in the back of the local PD, with a glass of water in his hands, Luke waves at him.

The other man doesn’t look at him.

“Hey. You okay?”

Spencer shrugs, chugging the glass of water and throwing it in the trashcan. “I’m fine.”

“I can imagine…”

“No, you can’t.” - Spencer cuts him off, shaking his head and pacing back and forth in front of his colleague - “I didn’t come here to Arlington to let her taunt me. I don’t even know if this is a taunt or not! If she wants to find me, why can’t she just talk to me?”

Luke takes a step back, raising his brows. “Do you think this is a sign from her?”

The young doctor inhales deeply, realising that he has made another mistake. He knows damn well that you’re not sending him a message, unless you count the note still folded in Spencer’s pocket.

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think she’s behind these murders?”

Spencer shakes his head without hesitation. “No, she wouldn’t change her victimology so abruptly.”

Luke tilts his head, crossing his arms to his chest. “Not even if those women accused her uncle without proof?”

“Come on, Luke. I’m sure those women all had proof, but the parents dropped the charges because they didn’t want their neighbours to talk shit about the family. We know how these situations go, we’ve dealt with them before and this is exactly what’s happening.” - Spencer spits out, his anger easily detectable by the way he’s moving - “We need to find more proof against Robert and put him behind bars before he grabs another woman.”

Spencer runs back inside the local PD, leaving Luke alone with his thoughts.

Even if he knows that Spencer is angry because Penelope mentioned your name, he has no clue why he’s so passionate about the case - not that there’s anything wrong, it means that Spencer cares about the victims and wants to bring closure to the family, but it feels like there’s something else going on.

There must be something.

Otherwise his behaviour cannot be explained.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number again, walking back inside the conference room. “Can you compile a list of all the women that have accused Robert of his crimes? Every single one of them.”

“Do you want to know if Y/N is one of them?”

“It’s likely she was.”

“Oh, Spencer... yeah, She was.” – Penelope whispers, noticing his voice dropping lower – “I’ll send you everything I can as soon as possible. I promise.”

“Thank you, Garcia.”

It doesn’t take long for Penelope to send the whole team the list of all the twenty women involved with Robert, from the first accusations in Arlington to the last one in Georgetown that ended in murder. Spencer is visibly angry when he stops reading the list, focusing only on one name at the top of the paper, and the whole team knows why.

They don’t say anything, focusing on all the other victims.

“There were seven women here in Arlington that accused Robert of inappropriate behaviour, four of them were killed in the last few months.” – Emily announces to the team, pointing to the glass board behind her – “We need to contact the last three women and put them in protective custody, they’re probably his next target.”

Spencer barely looks up at the board, reading your name over and over.

Is this why you wanted to kill your father? Because he sent you to your uncle’s when he got locked up in prison? You wanted to murder him because he sent you to your abuser? Is this why you’re here in Arlington now, sending Spencer flowers?

The Black Dahlia laying on his nightstand is a clear message, a message he didn't get its meaning at first, but it's obvious now.

You were telling him that there’s a man recreating that murder over and over, targeting those women who accused him and sent him to prison – and for that reason, he lost Cecily. He’s avenging his loss by forcing those families to lose their daughters, because he thinks it’s their fault he didn’t get the life he thought he deserved with his ex wife.

Well, it’s not their fault if Robert is a fucking monster and Cecily wants to protect herself, but psychopaths have a logic of their own.

Spencer folds the paper on the table and puts his right hand in his pocket, brushing his fingers against the note you left in his bedroom a week before. He can’t believe he has missed all of this – if he had told the team what you were trying to do, maybe he could’ve speeded up the process of the investigation. Maybe he would’ve caught him sooner and maybe... Maybe you would’ve graced Spencer with your appearance.

He sounds so fucking crazy right now, he knows it, but he misses you.

He’s desperate to find Robert because once he does, and accomplishes his task, you will come back to him.

That’s all Spencer wants.

You, his Daisy.

JJ closes the door of the conference room, looking at Luke who sits alone at the table, holding his phone. The rest of the team got out to try and talk to Samantha Nolen and Olivia jackson. Luckily, the two women have answered their phone which means they are safe, but JJ or Luke didn't get so lucky with the third woman, Victoria Duncan.

Since she also hasn't posted anything new on her social media accounts, which is unusual for her, they try to contact her family and friends in a desperate attempt to track her.

“She doesn’t answer.”

Luke shakes his head, dialling Victoria’s mother’s number. “Has Garcia tried to contact her friends?”

“She’s calling her best friend, I’m trying her cousin right now.” – JJ says, bringing the phone up to her ear - “I think Robert got to her before us.”

The two agents keep on calling her friends, asking them if they know if Victoria is at work or somewhere else but nobody seems to know anything. They either haven’t seen Victoria in days or they haven’t spoken to her for even a longer time, which alarms JJ and Luke – they need to consider her as a missing person.

They don’t want to find her body, they want to find her alive and well, but maybe Robert got to her before they could do anything.

Spencer and David are having a conversation with Samantha on the other side of Arlington.

The young woman has all of her windows and her doors locked, terrified that whoever was looking for the other three women, who lost their lives and were involved in the charges against Robert, might be searching for her as well. She has been inside her house ever since the second woman was murdered, because they remembered each other pretty well.

Samantha was the first woman who ended up inside that mental health facility not too far from Arlington, paid by her parents in order to keep her quiet. David conducted the whole conversation because he saw how agitated Spencer was and he didn’t want his colleague to make a mistake, to upset Samantha even more than how she is already.

It’s normal to be affected by these crimes, especially if they’ve involved you in the past.

“How can you be sure Robert is the one behind the murders?” David asks

Samantha shrugs, looking away from the man in front of her. “Because he threatened us before leaving this town. When we were sent away, me and all the other women, we were forced to have a conversation with him. Our parents thought we could fix things with him, because they didn’t want our family to get a bad reputation.”

Spencer uncrosses his legs, leaning forward with his body. “Why do you think he got to Beatrice, Zoe and Elisabeth first? And not you or Olivia?”

“I have no idea.” – the young woman whimpers, covering her face with her hands – “I was the first one he hurt, then there was Olivia and Victoria. All the others came after.”

David glances at Spencer, tilting his head. “He’s grabbing them from the last one to the first. He’s going backwards."

The young doctor tightens his hands in fists, breathing through his nose. All the proofs are pointing to your uncle and Spencer wonders if you’ve already found him, or at least understood his pattern.

From what the team is gathering from these conversations with Robert’s first victims, is that he’s killing all of his old victims backwards. Elizabeth first, Zoe second and Beatrice third. Which means Victoria is the next, the woman who’s already missing, then Olivia, Samantha... and you.

Spencer is not going to allow him to get to that point.

He’ll stop Robert, no matter what it takes. He can’t let him get to you or he’ll never forgive himself. Spencer has disappointed you already by ratting you out to the FBI and pretending to be caring for you; he was supposed to let you kill your father, but you didn’t. He survived. And now... not only do you want to kill your father, probably, but you want to make sure that your Uncle gets locked up before he gets to you.

Spencer knows that you won’t stop until you find him, but he also wants to prove to you how loyal he is.

Even if it kills him.

“We really appreciated your help, Samantha.” – David says, standing up from the couch – “You and Olivia will be protected until we find Robert.”

Spencer glances at his colleague, then he takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something, Samantha? Before we leave?”

The young woman nods eagerly. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Has Robert ever spoken about someone named Y/N?”

David immediately turns his head to look at Spencer, surprised that he would even think about mentioning you in such a difficult situation. David knows how Spencer is becoming obsessed with you now that you’re out of prison and he understands why Spencer is so nervous, why he’s trying his best to find you, but he can’t bring you up every single time he has the chance to.

It’s a question that can easily make Samantha retract everything.

However, the woman seems to be eager to answer.

“I don’t remember much, but she was with him when he... When he caught me.”

Spencer’s heart drops in his chest. He wasn’t expecting this answer.

“Was she there when...”

David leaves the sentence hanging, not sure if he should use the word in front of Samantha. Not every victim can handle the sound of it so he has to be careful. He doesn’t want to scare her or trigger a panic attack – it can easily happen.

“Yes. I... I don’t remember much, Agent Rossi.” – Samantha says, furrowing her brows and turning to look at Spencer – “She was young, Doctor Reid. She probably was 7 or 8 years old, she was so small.”

You were so young.

A child.

David never felt bad for you because of the actions you’ve done in your present, but he can’t help but think about how you could’ve been different. How a normal family, a mental health counsellor, a psychologist or a psychiatrist, could’ve helped you become... better.

“Did he force her to touch you?”

“No, no. He kept yelling at her to stay back, to stop crying and observe.” – Samantha sniffles, brushing the back of her hand under her right eye – “He told her that one day she was going to end up like me.”

Spencer stands up from the couch in the blink of an eye and, waving at Samantha, storms out of her apartment. He can’t fucking believe what he just heard her saying, how Robert threatened to rape you once you grew older – but did that happen? Did that really happen or did you get away before he could do it?

Even if you did, the fear those words might have struck in you pushed you to become the way you are today.

Spencer wants to find Robert and rip his throat apart. He wants him to suffer, he wants to kill him with his bare hands and leave his body to the weather, to the animals. Robert doesn’t deserve to be brought to justice, he deserves to get killed – in the worst way possible.

In the most painful, atrocious, torturous way that exists.

“I was a child when you did what you did.”

He grits his teeth. “I never touched you.”

“You didn’t. But you told him to touch me, to raise me as his. You told him to love me as one of his children when all the damage was already done.”

Spencer keeps replaying the words you yelled at your father before killing him. You had tears in your eyes, your chest was rising up and down rapidly. You were so angry, so terrified in that moment that Spencer would’ve loved to hug you from behind and comfort you.

You looked so small in that moment, pretending to be a fearless creature when in reality you just wanted a normal family. A family that loved you, that helped you grow up, that showed you how love and courage can turn you into an incredible person.

But no, your family turned you into a monster.

A monster that, despite the murders, has only hurt people who deserved it.

Spencer hated seeing you like that, with the anger blossoming in your heart and your fingers tightening against the edge of the table. And at first, he didn’t even think about your words. He was so focused on your body language that he actually forgot what you were saying.

“Spencer? What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing, I just want to find this son of a bitch before he hurts Victoria. We don’t know how long she has been taken for and I’m worried she might not have much time.” - Spencer spits out, placing a hand over his gun attached to his hip holster - “What if he gets to Da… Y/N? What if he finds her?”

David goes silent, noticing the third mistake Spencer has made.

“I’m sure Y/N can protect herself. She’s not stupid and she’s not worried about using a knife.” - David answers him, crossing his arms to his chest - “Did you know he used to do this?"

Spencer shakes his head, heading to the car not too far from Samantha’s house. “No. We didn’t talk much when I was with Y/N, but she hinted at something when she was talking to her father.”

The older agent hums, jumping into the car. “I remember when you said that.”

“She said: ‘But you told him to touch me, to raise me as his. You told him to love me as one of his children when all the damage was already done.’”

David turns the engine of the car on. “If we don’t find him in time and he doesn’t get to Olivia and Samantha, he’ll definitely look for Y/N.”

“That can’t happen.”

Rossi stays silent, noting in his brain Spencer’s odd behaviour.

The day after Spencer’s conversation with Samantha, Victoria’s body is found at Fort Barnard’s Park. Dismembered, like all the others, and in the same exact position – which means Robert struck again, regardless of his knowledge about the FBI working actively on the case.

Spencer couldn’t sleep the night before.

He laid the Black Dahlia on his pillow and spent the whole night looking at it, as if he was hypnotized. He dreamed about you being there on the bed with him, of him being able to wrap his arms around your neck and kiss you, of him whispering to you that you were going to be safe because he wouldn’t have left you.

Now, with a fourth body on his back, Spencer knows that he has to be quick.

It’s been seven days since he has arrived in Arlington, seven days since you’ve sent him that message through your flower – and Spencer is worried you might get impatient. You don’t really like waiting, however you didn’t do anything to Robert – which is why Spencer was confused at first.

Even though he understood that Robert was his test, to prove his loyalty to you, Spencer couldn’t understand why you didn’t want to kill him yourself. Whether he touched you or not, Spencer expected you to get your revenge on him as well – just like you did with your father, but you didn’t.

Why?

Just to let Spencer prove his devotion for you?

Just to let Spencer prove his desperation to have you or see you?

“Spencer can’t know about this.”

He stops in his tracks as the sound of JJ’s voice captures his attention.

“He has to know, Emily.”

“No, he doesn’t. Spencer needs to stay focused on this case.” – Emily says, her voice stern and not discussable - “I’m not going to jeopardize this investigation just because someone claimed to have seen Y/N around. She’s not the main focus of this investigation.”

Spencer knows very well you’re in this town. You’ve been in Arlington probably even before the team arrived, triggered by the presence of your Uncle and your thirst for revenge over him. You’ve been quiet, too quiet, but apparently now someone saw you.

Spencer knows he shouldn’t be happy, because if that sighting is true, then you’re in danger. What if Emily decides to hunt you down in private? What if she asks another team to hunt you down while they focus on Robert? What if she wants to catch two birds with one stone?

Taking a step forward, Spencer opens the door of the room his team is settled in. JJ looks at him for a brief moment, then she sits back on her chair and keeps working on her file whereas Tara and Emily head out to talk to the head of the police department. They need to speak with whoever has seen you around, they need to make sure that you’re not going to interfere with the investigation.

When Spencer and David came back from their afternoon with Olivia, they told everything to Emily and the rest of the team.

You’re there to get your revenge over your Uncle’s behaviour towards you. If he can’t get to Olivia and Samantha because they’re being protected by local enforcement, he will have to start looking for you – and knowing you are in town, somewhere they don’t know, he can get to you easily if he knows that you’ve escaped prison.

You probably bragged about him and killing his brother, which could’ve been another trigger or at least a stressor when he found out.

Penelope didn’t find much on your father’s family, just that he and his brother were separated as soon as they got older. They weren’t bad kids, they were completely normal until your uncle started to touch women without their consent and your father began to kidnap strangers and slash their throats, with no apparent reason.

Your family was weird.

Penelope is not surprised you grew up like that, sick and twisted like them.

However, she felt bad for what happened to you and what she found out. She knows that Spencer asked her to send everything she could find on you, but Emily ordered not to – if Penelope had sent him everything, he would’ve found a way to get to Robert before everyone and choke him with his own hands.

That’s exactly what you want.

“We don’t have anything.” – David breaks the silence within the team – “People here saw Y/N, but not Robert. How’s that possible? Either he has a house nobody knows about, or there’s something wrong here.”

“Penelope already checked his old apartment with Cecily, but there’s a family living there now. She also checked the warehouse where he used to work in, but it has been turned into a supermarket.” – Luke explains, crossing his arms to his chest – “Both Samantha and Olivia said that he used to take them behind their high school, but we’ve already checked the place and there are cameras there. No one has been seen there.”

Spencer walks towards the window, opening it. “There must be a place he used to be obsessed with. A place where he’s holding all of his victims now and where he probably is now, trying to pick the next target.”

“Do you think it has something to do with his past? Maybe with his family?” JJ asks

The young doctor shrugs, leaning against the wall. “It could be. Maybe an old holiday house or something connected to his family, maybe even connected to Y/N. She was his first victim.”

David scratches his chin again. “The first?”

“Yes. Robert didn’t touch her, but he brought her with him each time he was hurting a woman.” – Luke mumbles, lowering his eyes to look at the files Penelope sent the team earlier – “She wasn’t raped, but Robert threatened to rape her once she got old enough for him. Or so we know.”

Spencer’s nose twitches as he looks out of the window, trying to repress all the anger ready to jump out of his body. It feels like he’s holding back, his hands are itching to choke something and hurt someone, but he can’t. He can’t get ahead of the team, he has to respect Emily’s orders and hope that she lets him be the one to catch him – unless he gets there first.

Unless he finds a way to get to Robert and put his hands on his neck, ending his miserable life.

“Did she go to the police to report Robert?”

“I don’t think so, otherwise the police wouldn’t have allowed the charges to be dropped.” – JJ answers, dialling Penelope’s number again – “Hey Pen.”

“Office of the Enchanted Oracle, speak and be heard.”

“When Y/N reported her uncle, who did she talk to?”

Silence fills the room for a few seconds as Penelope hums, trying to find the information requested.

“She went to the local church here in Arlington. She used to go there to attend Holy mass every Sunday when she was a child, even after her father was arrested and her mother left her.” – Penelope mumbles, reading from the screen in front of her – “Y/N reported Robert to Father Dylan.”

Spencer gets closer to the table. “Is he still in service?”

“Yes, he is.” – Penelope says – “I’m sending you his address now.”

A few seconds later, Spencer’s phone receives a text with the man’s address. He’s not sure he’s going to find Robert there, but Father Dylan must know something - either about you or Robert.

This whole situation is a mess and yes, Robert is trying to avenge the loss of his marriage and his family, but he’s also trying to get to you somehow. Spencer feels like there’s something he doesn’t know about, something you haven’t told him because you can’t let him see you.

What?

What is he missing?

“I’m going to pay a visit to Father Dylan.” – Luke says, immediately glancing at the young doctor standing beside him – “Spencer, do you want to go for a ride?”

Spencer gives him a smile, nodding. “Yes, please.”

“I have a question.”

Spencer turns to look at his colleague. “Shoot.”

Luke stops with the black car at a traffic light. “Why does Robert want to target Y/N? She was the first one to accuse him, I understand, but is it just because he’s mourning the loss of his wife?”

“Or maybe he doesn’t know his brother is still alive.” – the young doctor tells him – “And he wants to avenge his brother by using his other victims’ as an excuse to lure Y/N here. He knows she’d do anything to protect people who have been hurt the way she has, so...”

“Okay, but the first victim was murdered a few days after he was released, which means luring Y/N here wasn’t his priority.” – Luke replies to his colleague, briefly glancing at him – “Let’s stick to your theory and mine. Robert kills Elizabeth when he gets out of prison, then he gets to Zoe. He finds out Y/N tried to kill her father and she escaped prison.”

Spencer follows Luke’s train of thought. “Robert realises that getting to Y/N will be difficult, so he tries to scare her.”

"Scaring a serial killer will have the opposite effect. What if Y/N is here because she wants to kill Robert?”

Luke can’t know that you asked Spencer to kill Robert for you, so Spencer has to lie to his team again.

“It’s possible. Y/N wants to protect women who got hurt, it’s likely she wants to do the same with the women her uncle hurt in the past.” – Spencer says, unbuckling his belt once Luke has stopped driving - “I think this case is personal to her.”

“Okay, so this means Y/N heard about the murders in this town. How?”

“I don’t know. Maybe after not being able to kill her father, she decided to come back to her roots.” – the young doctor mumbles, closing the car door with a loud thud – “Maybe she just wanted to come back and see if she could start living a new life.”

Luke shakes his head, following Spencer to the entrance of the church. “It wouldn’t make sense. She hasn’t been in Arlington, there are no cases connected to her. Unless...”

“Unless we consider her past having something to do with the whole case.” Spencer finishes the sentence for him

They grow silent as soon as they step inside the church, spotting Father Dylan next to the altar. He’s fixing a vase of flowers right in front of the monstrance, so they wait to approach him until he’s done with his job.

Spencer is growing nervous as the seconds go by.

He didn’t know anything about your past because most of it was a blur or it wasn’t described in your records. If Penelope hadn’t unsealed your file and hadn’t mentioned you, Spencer would’ve never understood why you were there in the first place. At the same time, why would you pick that specific town and taunt him with flowers if the case hadn’t anything to do with you?

You’re a psychopath and you love to gloat about your crimes, but not to the point of claiming these murders as your works.

Spencer also knows you pretty well by now, he knows how you work. He has studied you, just like his team.

“Father Dylan? SSA Alvez and SSA Reid from the FBI.” – Luke interrupts Spencer’s thoughts, showing the priest his badge – “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

Father Dylan leaves the flowers on the altar. “Anything, Agents.”

Spencer looks around. There’s a strong scent of roses lingering in the air and the Church is covered in bouquets.

“Do you remember Y/N Y/L/N? She used to live here seventeen years ago.” – Spencer lowers his voice, now focused on the priest’s face – “She came to you because she had a problem with Robert Y/L/N. Her uncle.”

The priest looks surprised as he puts a heart over his chest. “Oh, I remember her. I saw her on the news a few months ago. Poor girl, she was troubled.”

‘Troubled’ isn’t even the beginning of it, but Spencer stays quiet.

You weren’t a troubled child, you were traumatised by a man who’s looking for you, who’s desperately seeking revenge for your actions and who has threatened to rape you if you hadn’t collaborated with him. You were just a child and you were forced to see a man humiliating and torturing a woman in the worst way possible, by abusing her body.

You must have been terrified in those moments. Hearing those women crying for help and begging you to do something must’ve been what led you to become who you are now. A monster seeking revenge against criminals who decided that women mean nothing – you decided to turn them into nothing, proving that women are not as weak as men make them out to be.

Spencer is not sure they’re going to find you, or at least that’s what he hopes, but he has to find Robert. He needs to prove he’s worthy of you.

“When Robert attended mass here with Y/N, was there a place they used to go?” – Luke says, noticing the priest’s confused expression – “I know this question sounds weird, but we’re looking for him and we can’t find him anywhere.”

“Robert came back to Arlington when he was released from prison. The whole town turned against him: they didn’t want him to find a new job, nobody wanted to rent him or sell him an apartment. He was lost in this town.” – the priest explains, crossing his arms to his chest – “He needed a place to stay, so I offered him a room in the rectory. I don’t live there anymore, so I thought...”

Spencer interrupts him. “Have you seen him today?”

“He was in the rectory less than ten minutes ago, he should still be here.” – Father Dylan says, pointing to the door behind the altar – “He was cleaning the garage behind the rectory. He’s probably still there!”

Luke doesn’t need Spencer to speak up about his plans, because as soon as the priest stopped talking, Spencer started to walk towards the door. In silence, Luke follows Spencer; both of them are holding their guns, ready to shoot Robert if he tries to do something.

The rectory is the perfect spot for Robert, especially if he uses the garage and doesn’t let Father Dylan near it. It’s likely they had this conversation because Spencer could see the fear behind the priest’s eyes at the mention of your uncle’s name, but it wasn’t necessary to ask particular questions. Spencer knew better.

Luke and Spencer walk down an empty hallway.

The stinging scent of bleach is what captures their attention. Why would you use an enormous amount of bleach to clean a rectory? Unless you’ve committed a murder in it and you’re trying to cover up your tracks, so the gentle priest who’s kind enough to let you stay there doesn’t know what you’re up to.

Spencer is the first one to walk inside the garage, hearing the soft sound of a female voice behind the closed door of the room he’s in. It’s not your voice, yours is much more lighter – but it doesn’t matter, because Spencer stumbles out of the garage.

Luke spots Robert not too far away from where they are.

When the man turns around and sees two Federal Agents with their guns pointed at him, he does what every criminal does best: retracts his gun and starts shooting, pushing the woman he was talking to down on the floor. She shrieks, smashing her forehead against the floor.

Spencer starts running towards him, barely noticing they’re heading inside of a cemetery. He doesn’t care, because now he has only one target. A target you begged him to find. A target that deserves to be shot right in the heart, or everywhere else on his body.

He has to get Robert.

He can’t let him get away.

He can’t let him get to you.

Spencer feels his heart throbbing hard in his chest, the adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream and rushing through his body. The blood rushing in his ears and the heaving breaths he’s taking as he runs, make Spencer think he’s not going to stop.

He won’t stop running until he catches Robert.

And when he does, it’ll be over for the man.

Right behind him, Luke is running as fast as he can. There’s something wrong in the air, he can almost taste it – Luke wants to catch Robert because of the pain he has put too many families through, but he knows that Spencer has other plans for him.

Spencer wants to kill Robert.

It’s obvious.

Still, Luke doesn’t stop him – and nobody needs to know.

“Robert Y/L/N!”

Spencer finally grasps the man by his shirt, making him trip on his own feet. Without pulling away, Spencer points the gun right between the man’s eyes. He’s about to pull the trigger, excited by the adrenaline pumping even harder through his bloodstream, when Robert decides to speak.

“You must be the Bee my Daisy is looking for.”

Spencer kicks Robert’s gun away from his hand, crushing his chest with his foot.

“You have no right to mention her name.”

“And you have no right to kill me.”

Robert manages to knock Spencer on the ground, tackling him and using a rock to press down on his throat. Spencer coughs and he can feel the oxygen decrease in his brain, in his throat, in every inch of his body – but he’s not going to stop fighting.

Just because Robert is bigger than him, it doesn’t mean he has to win.

Luke is still too far away from them and he has lost Spencer, probably because he was distracted by the desperate sound of his phone going off in his pocket. He had promised Emily to call her once they knew more about the priest’s story, but the chance to catch Robert was there.

They couldn’t let it go.

Now, Luke almost regrets it.

“You know, I’ve always thought Y/N was a gorgeous girl. Now she’s even prettier, maybe she’d let a real man touch her the way she deserves.” – Robert grits through his teeth, covering Spencer’s mouth with his hand – “Isn’t that right, Agent?”

Spencer can’t bear the sound of his pet-name coming from the man’s mouth. The image of your uncle thinking about touching you, dreaming about owning you the way Spencer had, is too much for him – he has to fight and he has to win for you, no matter what it takes.

Twisting his neck, Spencer manages to feel Robert’s fingers on his tongue – and he bites down on them, making the man yelp in pain. Blood spills out from the broken skin over his fingers and Spence can taste it on his tongue, flooding his insides with that delicious warmth you’ve felt over and over again in the last three years of your active job.

Is this how it feels to kill a man who has hurt people?

Why hasn’t Spencer felt this rush before? And why does it have to feel so fucking good?

Spencer pushes the man off his own body and immediately rolls on top of him, grasping him by the hair and smashing his head on the ground. Robert is gasping, desperately seeking to tear Spencer’s throat apart with his fingers. He tries to grab something on the ground, maybe another rock to smack Spencer with, but he’s not quick enough.

Robert wants to hurt an FBI agent, but that’s not going to happen.

Spencer grasps his gun from the floor and shoots him.

It’s self-defence, he knows it. Luke knows it, and so do you.

Sitting down on the wooden bench right behind the scene of the collision, you bring the Black Dahlia up to your nose to inhale the soft scent. The soft petals of the flower tickle your skin, but you’re used to it – you can never grow tired of that feeling.

Of that sight.

Of all the blood that has been spilled.

Blood that belongs to a man who has hurt too many people. Who has caused terrible, atrocious pain to an enormous amount of people. A man that can’t kill or taunt anybody else. A man that can’t get closer to you anymore because he’s dead.

It brings a smile to your face and it makes your heart jump in your chest.

You knew Spencer was going to prove his loyalty to you. You knew he was going to understand the message you were trying to send him and it makes you incredibly proud to know that he hasn’t said a single word to his team – otherwise you would’ve been caught by now.

Being in the same town as the FBI, who’s working on a case that involves you, is exhausting and terrifying but you had Spencer there to protect you. And he proved his loyalty again, showing you that no matter what he did less than nine months ago, he’s still your bee.

Your sweet, innocent Bee who was waiting, so desperately, for the spring to come.

Taking a step back from the wooden bench, you gently lean the Black Dahlia where you were sitting and you look back up. Those honey coloured eyes are staring back at you.

The same pair you were dreaming of at night.

The same pair that looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

The same pair that screamed at you how much they loved you.

The same pair you’re going to admire every single day for the rest of your life.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something, probably to call out your name, when Luke approaches him from behind. The honey-coloured eyes man turns to look at his colleague and then, with fear in his heart, looks back to where you were.

He doesn’t find you.

You’ve already vanished.

“Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?” – Luke asks, climbing inside his own car in the parking lot of the Headquarters – “I’m worried about you, man.”

“I’m fine, Luke. This is not the first time I get attacked by an unsub.” – Spencer mumbles, sitting on his seat and hissing when he involuntarily touches his knee with a hand – “It’s just a scratch, it’ll go away in a few weeks if not less.”

Spencer knows what Luke really means, but he’s not going to say it out loud.

Everyone on the jet was kind enough to stay quiet, ignoring the fact that Spencer Reid had a close-up fight with an unsub that whispered something awful to him. They didn’t know what it was and Spencer definitely wasn't going to tell them.

JJ and Tara fell asleep on each other’s shoulder, while David was busy reading a book. Emily and Luke spent the whole flight watching a movie, but they ended up falling asleep.

The case took a toll on everyone.

Especially on Spencer.

When he came back to his hotel room last night, after getting checked out by paramedics for those scratches on his knees and those bruises all over his neck, Spencer was hoping to find you on his bed.

He opened the door of his room with shaky hands, a smile plastered all over his lips, but he soon was disappointed.

You weren’t there.

Spencer was all alone in the bedroom. No flowers to greet him, no cheeky grin, no cocky smile, no sensual voice caressing him all over.

Nothing, he was alone.

You were there on the scene, looking at him and making sure that Spencer took care of that task you’ve begged him to complete, but then you disappeared. You were supposed to meet him, you were supposed to want him as much as he obviously wants you, but he got disappointed.

Should he still wait for you?

Should he stop obsessing over you?

The rest of the ride home from the headquarters is silent.

Spencer doesn’t want to talk. He just wants to get back home and sleep. Sleep, sleep until he’s tired of sleeping – and then he’ll read until his eyes cross and he falls asleep again.

He knows that Luke is worried about him, but there’s no need to. Spencer is not a doll that needs to be taken care of, unless you are the one to take care of him. Isn’t that what you promised him the same day you kidnapped him?

Well, it wasn’t a kidnapping.

Spencer willingly left with you after you sucked him off, looking at him with those adorable big eyes and cheeky smile. A smile that enchanted him beyond words, a smile that captured his own and broke it when you disappeared the day before.

If the truth ever comes out, what would his team do?

They’d stop trusting Spencer and they’d have every reason to do so, but they would never be able to understand his relationship with you. You might be a psychopath that doesn’t care about anybody, but you – but the way you looked at him in the eyes, the way you kissed him and made love to him... Spencer knew they all meant something.

You’re a good liar, but not a perfect one.

“Thanks for the ride, Luke.”

“No problem.” – his colleague says, stopping the car – “Have a great weekend, Spencer.”

Gathering his backpack and his leather satchel, Spencer climbs out of the car. The fresh air of the night hits him as he walks towards the entrance of his building, headed directly to his apartment. Luke drives out of the parking lot and Spencer turns around, staring at the empty road right in front of him.

Lying to your best friend is never a good idea, but Spencer can’t let Luke know that he saw you. Luke and the team can’t know that you were at the scene, carefully watching Spencer as he shot the man beneath him - or it would cause a disaster of enormous proportions.

Spencer struggles to walk up the stairs, but he manages to get to the door of his house.

Every muscle in his body is screaming at him to lay down and get the rest he so desperately needs. Spencer pulls out his keys from his coat and yawns loudly, ready to find his apartment in perfect shape and excited to finally launch himself on top of his mattress.

He has missed his bed.

Unlocking the door, Spencer enters his apartment.

All the lights are turned down. There’s no scent of flowers in the air.

Have you left Spencer for good?

Have you decided he’s not worthy of your time anymore?

Spencer closes the door behind his back and turns the lights in the living room on, kicking his shoes off and leaving his backpack on the floor. He’ll put everything away tomorrow morning, after a good night of sleep - he hopes not to dream of you, since you decided to leave him.

How is that fair?

Spencer killed your uncle for you.

You should be grateful, you could’ve left him a flower.

Sighing, Spencer unbuttons his shirt and leaves it on his couch. He needs a shower, but right now he barely has the strength to walk back to his bedroom. He’s too tired, he’s in pain and his throat hurts.

When the lights in his bedroom turn on, Spencer looks up.

Something’s not right.

With a hand on his gun and his heart pounding in his chest, he holds his breath.

Ever so gracefully, you walk out of his bedroom wearing nothing, but a skimpy black dress and a pair of matching high-heels. You’re holding a Black Dahlia in your hands as you lean against the wall, playing with the flower and inhaling the sweet scent it radiates.

Spencer can’t breathe right, and it’s not because his throat hurts.

Your eyes are filled with happiness and your smile is not cocky, it’s sincere. Spencer wasn’t expecting you to be there, he thought you left him. He thought he was never going to see you again, but you’re there.

You came back.

“Hey Bee. Did you miss me?”

Spencer lets his arms fall to his sides, admiring you. “Dahlia.”

“That’s my name.” - you whisper, walking up to him until your lips are a few inches away from his - “Don’t you ever forget it, my sweet innocent Bee.”

And without letting him answer, you close the distance between you.

Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting on the fic if you are on the taglist. Otherwise, you are essentially asking me to take an extra step to include you while offering me absolutely NOTHING in exchange, which is a pretty shitty feeling.

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