#neither of us have a problem with cleaning but why fo you only ever ask us

[haganez]

it makes me sound like a cunt but i don't care about cleaning but it's the fact that my gma only asks me and my little sister to clean when there's another grown ass adult here and first she was like well its bc she works then i got a job then it was well she pays bills here so i started paying bills and still. you rather ask a us everyday to clean* but like never ask my big sister who sits on her ass and just lectures us

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 33 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Beta makes his final move against the survivors as the group prepares for the final showdown against the Whisperers and our story comes to an end.

Word Count: 4971

Warning: Swearing, Violence, Blood

Song I Wrote To: “Sanctuary” by Welshly Arms

Note: THANK YOU. That is all I can really say. I have never written something this long and I am forever grateful for the handful of you that have stuck with it for all these months. Happy TWD 10c premiere and I can’t wait to write even more for you though I may need a break for a bit! I hope you also listen to the song for this chapter, I think it fully encapsulates the relationship between Negan and the reader! ALL OFFICIAL DIALOG IS PROPERTY OF AMC

————-

They say that Death rode on a pale horse as Hell followed behind, but they had never considered that Hell was with them all along and that they were only waiting for someone to swing the sword.

Your sword hung on your hip as the rumbling sound of the Dead crashed over you in waves. From the tower window, it looked as if the ground was alive with insects rather than crumbling bones and rotting flesh.

As soon as Gabriel sounded the alarm, you and Negan went off to help where you still could. Michonne was frantically searching for Judith who had run out after her uncle in hopes of helping. She only began to relax after Daryl had gotten through to her to tell her that they were on their way back to the tower.

They also had Kelly and Carol with them.

Gabriel was running around with blankets, extra weapons, and ever extra bottles of water for those he would be moving out of the tower as the herd got closer. You were starting to feel a bit out of sorts. You had been waiting for this moment since Beta had singled you out in the clearing during the fair and yet, you didn’t know if you were ready to face him for the last time, but you had to be.

At this point, it was either him or you.

The Walkers were a big problem, but then there were the Whisperers that moved within the herd. There was no way to properly single them out without wasting long-distance ammo. These were the days that you missed the armory back in Alexandria.

The only guns in the group were Gabriel’s shotgun and Rick’s colt python in which Judith carried. It wasn’t enough and you knew that. The only hope that any of you had was that Michonne and Gabriel’s plan of diverting the horde would stand up.

When Daryl and the others returned, Gabriel explained what he wanted to do.

“Is that even going to work?” you asked as you stood in the hallway.

“It’s the only thing we’ve got,” Gabriel said. “If we can get the stereos working and lead the horde away, it may be the only thing capable of drawing away this large of herd.”

“What about the Whisperers in the herd?” Kelly asked. “Isn’t their whole thing herding the Dead towards a certain area?”

“Negan said that it’s more complicated than that,” you said. “It’s not an exact science. If they try to force the Walkers, they start to become more aware of the Living among them. It never ends well.”

“Meaning what?” Carol asked.

“Meaning I don’t like our odds,” Michonne said.

“Neither do I,” you agreed.

“It’s either this or we wait to be slaughtered,” Gabriel said. “And considering we got kids in here, I don’t like that idea at all.”

“Of course not,” Michonne said. “Okay, so we get to the wagons on the outskirts and we get them hooked up, then what? Where do we take them?”

“We can figure that out once we get them away from the tower,” you said. “Beta isn’t going to stop until we are all dead. He can’t take on all of us at once so he’s using his Walkers. This may be the only opportunity that we have to get to him.”

“Beta is not the only enemy out there,” Carol said.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you shot back and Daryl got between the two of you.

“Easy,” he warned. “We are not going to get anything done by fighting among ourselves. Gabriel is right, we have to get to the wagons.”

“We have to get through that horde before we do anything,” you said.

“We’ve done it before,” Daryl said and you quickly realized what he meant as did the others. Michonne made a face of disgust along with your own.

“Well, this isn’t going to be pleasant at all,” you said.

“Never is,” Michonne added, “but we gotta do it.” Frowning down at Paul’s coat, you sighed.

“Fine, someone find us some Walkers,” you said, “and make them extra bloody.”

--------

“Have I told you yet that I hate this plan,” Negan said as you finished strapping your knives to your thighs and storing more in your coat. 

“Many times,” you said with a sigh. 

“And yet, you’re going through with it,” he said. 

“Like Gabe said, we don’t have many other options,” you said, turning to him. “Unless you know if any RPG’s just happen to be in this very building with useable ammunition.” 

“Afraid not,” Negan said with a frown. 

“Then it looks like we are shit out of luck, honey,” you said as you double-checked your weapon on your hip. “I know you’re worried about me, but I have to do this and so do you.” 

“Nah,” Negan said, disagreeing. “I’m not exactly an invisible force when it comes to these assholes. I’ll stick out too much, you’re going to have to do this part without me.” 

You knew he was right. There was no doubt that Beta had found Alpha’s head and knew that Negan was the last one to be with her. While Beta still wanted to kill you, right now, Negan was number one on his kill list. You were just hoping that he would be too distracted with his own vengeance to recognize yours. If you could keep hold of even an ounce of surprise, then this would be a whole lot easier. 

“I get it,” you said. “I don’t like it, but I do understand.”

“Thanks,” he said. You then pulled him in for a harsh kiss, putting all your passion into it. If this was the last time you held him like that, then you were going to make it count. Pulling back, you stared into his eyes, eager to see that fire. When you did, you gave him a half-smile. 

“Now or never, big man,” you said. “Are you with me?”

“Damn right,” he said before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He then pushed you back towards the main hallway where you were supposed to meet Daryl in order to don your Walker disguise. As you walked away, he felt as if you were taking a part of him with you and he prayed that part would be enough to keep you safe.

----------

“Our plan is the same,” Gabriel said as Negan listened at the side. “Lead the horde away, just not from Oceanside as we had planned. Once the Walkers are clear, we evacuate to Rendezvous Point B. Luke, We ready?” Gabriel asked Luke who was standing next to Jules. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, technically,” Luke said with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Okay. So, these are the final pieces that we need to connect to the wagon. But in order for it to do the pied piper thing that we need it to do over the cliff, we gotta get from A to B, and I gotta plug and plug,” he said.

“And then we should be good to go?”  Kelly asked. 

“Hopefully,” Luke said.

“That wagon is on the other side of the horde,” Beatrice said. 

“Which is why we have these,” Daryl grunted as he and Jerry dragged in two extra-large Walkers into the foyer of the tower. 

“Oh man, this is just wrong,” Luke said. 

“But it works,” Gabriel said. “Trust me, I know.” Negan smirked at that, remembering that time he and Gabriel had done the guts trick to get back into the Sanctuary. That time felt like another lifetime ago now that he was thinking about it. 

Negan stepped away from the group temporarily, heading to one of the vacant watchpoints. His eyes scanned the horde for Beta, but he couldn’t see the man amongst his Dead. If Beta was out there, he was staying out of sight for a reason. Negan never pegged the man as one who would lead the army. He was more of a free agent when it came to taking orders from his Alpha. However, now with Alpha gone, it seemed as if the Beta had finally taken command of the pack. 

It wasn’t very reassuring. 

Negan had seen some large hordes since this had all started. He had even told you about a particular one that scared the hell out of him. Negan didn’t think a tow truck would be able to get through this one even if it had a flame thrower attached to it. Michonne was right, he didn’t like their odds either. 

Taking one last look, Negan turned away and headed back into the fold. 

As he neared the main area of the fighters who were waiting to go out, he noticed you, soaked in Walker blood, trying not to gag. If it was any other scenario, he would think it was adorable.

It was a moment later that Daryl noticed Negan. 

“Hey,” Daryl called, approaching Negan, “why you clean?”

“I ain't goin’,” Negan declared.

“You've done this more than any of us,” Daryl said. “How the hell is this any different?”

“I am on the tip-top of every skins' kill list. Especially Fee Fi Fo asshole. So, if the idea is to get through without drawing a shitload of attention, then I am the last person these people want standing next to them,” Negan said, not liking the idea of more of these people dying because of him. 

“That's a bunch of bullshit,” Daryl said, shaking his head. “You wanna be a part of this? You gotta put your ass on the line just like everybody else and (Y/N) needs you by their side.” 

“They understand,”  Negan said. 

“Do they?” Daryl scoffed. 

“Yeah, I do,” you said as you approached. “I thought we could do this together, but we can’t. At least, not this part.” Negan nodded, agreeing with you. 

“We’re just leading the horde away,” Daryl said. 

“You are,” you said. “I’m not.”

Daryl understood your words immediately. Negan, who had already guessed your plan, was silent as he stood by your side. Daryl was shaking his head as he looked at you. You were one of his closest friends and he was just realizing how serious you were when it came to getting to Beta. He had been so focused on Carol’s vendetta against Alpha, that he had missed the signs of your own fury.

“No,” he said, “not like this.”

“I’ve already made my decision, Daryl,” you said. “You’re not going to change my mind. Look, Gabriel is staying behind to protect the kids and I need you to disperse the herd.”

“Are you hearin’ this?” Daryl asked Michonne who was nearby. 

“I am,” she said with a nod, “ and I am trusting that they know what they’re doing.” 

“Fucking ridiculous,” Daryl said as he stormed away. 

“Great, so if I die, he’ll be dancing on my grave,” you said as you watched him walk away. 

“Daryl will be fine,” Michonne assured you. “Besides, Daryl doesn’t dance,” she said with a wink and a nod before going to follow him in preparation to leave. 

-----------

You lost sight of Negan shortly after the group headed out of the tower. 

While you were still covered in the Walker guts, you weren’t leaving just yet. You had a plan and you needed to stick with it. Standing across from Dianne, you watched as your family began to move through the Dead. You could make out a few of them, but not everyone. Also with the sun beginning to set, you knew that it was only a matter of time before you lost all visibility.

Everything that had happened since that first wind storm, was suddenly echoing around in your head. You had lost people shortly after that night and it just kept crashing down like that tree that collapsed the wall behind your house. You weren’t even sure if your house was still standing at this point. Aaron and Alden had radioed to say that the horde had moved through Alexandria, trampling it. They were supposed to keep on them, but then their line had gone silent and nobody was hearing from them. 

It was making you nervous, not knowing where your friends were. You knew that Enid was worried, but she was staying busy, looking after the kids with Siddiq who was constantly hovering over Rosita and Coco. Considering they were the only doctors in the group, they would not be going out into the horde until it was clear. They would head straight for the meeting point and even then it was a risk to have them out there. However, you knew that they were strong fighters and that they would do everything to survive. They had proved that the night Alpha had taken them. 

The Fair seemed so long ago. That moment of you walking up the hill to see your friends and family on pikes still haunted you, but you used those feelings of horror and despair to keep your vision alive. The vision you had of your future with both Negan and Lydia by your side. 

You had always fought for family and you were not going to let Beta take that away from you. 

A sudden scream broke you out of your thoughts as Beatrice went down in the horde. Dianne was stunned next to you as you watched the woman being torn apart by Beta’s guardians. You knew that Carol had been with her, but you couldn’t tell if she was down as well. You couldn’t look away as blood and flesh were covering the Walkers as they feasted on your friend. 

Holding your head higher, you moved away from the window and headed towards the elevator shaft. Catching Negan’s eye who stood near Lydia, you nodded to him. He nodded back and with one final look, you grabbed the rope and began to propel down, adjusting your focus not on your family above, but the enemy below. 

-------

“They're coming up,” Judith said, who was staring at the stairwell in horror. Gabriel pushed her back, holding her tightly.

“You all know what to do,” Gabriel said. “Dianne, you get the first group. Children and wounded come second. If Rosita argues, just come and find me.”

The evacuation went smoothly as Dianne got everyone out, even Rosita and her baby. It was going well, but Negan knew it wasn’t nearly done. There was more work to be done.

Not too far away from Gabriel, Negan spoke to Lydia. “You know how this ends,” he said with a sigh. 

“I don't and neither do you,” Lydia argued, looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

“Come on, kid,” Negan said. “You being here when the shitstorm hits ain't changing what definitely is happening.”

“I'm not leaving,” she said defiantly. 

“They're never gonna trust me, you,” Negan said, knowing well enough that no matter who he wanted to spend his life with, he would never be more than what these people remember from eight years ago. “Doesn't matter what we do now. You can just slip out, down, and dance your way through the Dead.”

“So can you,” Lydia pointed out, gesturing to the Whisperer mask he still had in his jacket. 

“Like you said, I ain't no hero,” Negan said. 

“You could be,” Lydia prompted.

“Well,” Negan said, pulling her into his side. “I guess that's what I'm doing now. You be careful, kiddo, and you know what?” Negan then pulled out another mask from his coat, one that Lydia instantly recognized as her mother’s. “You take this and you use it for good, you know, if that’s something you feel like doin’, alright?”

Lydia took the mask in her hands and clutched it in a fist. 

“Don’t die,” she whispered. “Please, Negan, I can’t lose any more family.” 

“I ain’t plannin’ on it,” he said as he kissed the top of her head and then turned his back on the room. Lydia watched as Negan took hold of the rope that led into the elevator shaft. Not looking back, he began to descend. He didn’t stop until his boots found solid ground again.

Shoving the mask onto his face, Negan pushed out into the world, ready to face anything that it threw at him. Even if it was for the last time.

He was on the outskirts of the horde when he exited the building, but he didn’t see any Whisperers and he didn’t see you. He didn’t think you would be waiting out in the open so he figured you had disappeared into the trees or even the horde itself. 

Pulling the bat off his shoulder, Negan looked down at what you had coined “Lucille 2.0”. His hand wrapped around the end of the bat, feeling the familiar grip. With a deep breath, he held it close to his face one last time. “Thanks, old girl,” he whispered before tossing the bat into the horde of Walkers. He watched as it disappeared amongst the Dead and felt another weight disappear from his shoulders.

Drawing his knife, Negan began to move through the herd in hopes of finding you and the man you were going to take down. He just hoped that Daryl’s plan started to work and that the building behind him didn’t succumb to the wave of Walkers among him.

-----------

Something was wrong, that much you knew. 

You didn’t know what it was, but the horde had stopped moving in the direction of the cliffside. You could hear the crashing of metal and cracking of stone behind you as the horde moved into the building.

The only good thing was that only the Whisperers could move up into the building and you were just hoping Gabriel had enough fighters to keep them back. However, he was also trying to evacuate people so it could easily go bad very quickly. 

Fresh blood was splattered on nearby Walkers and you were praying that it was Whisperer blood and not the blood of your family. You wanted to stop and search for any bodies, but so far, you had gone undetected in the herd and you needed to keep it that way. 

Shouts of alarm came from the building, but you couldn’t turn back and so, you kept Walking.

It was well into the evening when everything seemed to slow down. You had been moving through the horde slowly, taking out any Whisperer that recognized you. It was easy to do, a few quick slashes and the blood would attract the Dead. However, as you killed more of them, they began to realize the enemy had infiltrated their own army.

It was a few minutes later that you saw a familiar face in the crowd. Magna moved behind a slow-moving form and then slit their throat. The Whisperer fell to the ground as Walkers fell upon them, and then, Magna was gone. 

You heard more sounds of choking as more Whisperers fell to the phantom movements of your friends and family. You could never pinpoint where they were in the crowd, but soon, you began to join in the stealth mission. Using your smaller blades, you cut down Whisperers, silencing them once and for all. 

When one went to stab you first, Kelly was there in a second, slitting their throat, and throwing them down to the ground. You nodded to her as you passed by and she reached out and grabbed your hand quickly before continuing on. 

Everything was going as planned, but you couldn’t find Lydia. You didn’t know if she had joined up with Daryl or had stayed behind with Gabriel. You hoped that Negan had eyes on her, but you didn’t know where he was either.

As the sun finally set and darkness fell, the horde began to thin and the enemy was finally exposed. 

Negan saw him first. 

Beta stood amongst the dwindling Dead acting as if he was the king of them all. A moment on the left, caught both men’s attention as Alpha’s mask moved through the crowd.

Negan shook his head at the move Lydia had made. If he wasn’t sure that she wasn't, he would have thought she really was his kid considering how daring she was with taunting Beta like this. 

Beta stared at her in awe until she disappeared again from view. It was enough of a distraction for Negan to move in.

He knew you had to be close so with a smirk, he let loose his memorable melodic whistle, something he hadn’t done in a while. 

He just hoped that you would get the meaning. He was essentially sending up a flare in the form of a few notes. “Come get him,” Negan whispered as he approached Beta. “Hey, shithead,” he spoke louder, gaining the attention of Beta. 

The larger man instantly locked onto Negan’s position with ferocity. Recognizing him, Beta charged right for him. Negan braced himself for impact when Beta threw a Walker at him. “Shit!” Negan said as the Dead man fell upon him, its jaws fighting their way towards his throat. Pulling his knife, Negan finished off the Walker, kicking it away, but Beta wasn’t done. 

He threw himself toward Negan as the latter tried to get to his feet. Beta aimed his fist at Negan’s head, catching him in the temple and Negan went down hard. Blinking back the black spots in his vision, he focused back on the enemy above him.

“For Alpha,” Beta growled. Negan stared him down as Beta raised his knives above his head, ready to strike true, but a sound from his left made him turn. He snarled as you came running from the horde with your sword in your hand. Beta didn’t have any time to move as you rushed past him, your blade slashing out to the side and cutting both of the man’s Achilles tendons. 

Beta yelled out in pain as blood pooled from his ankles. Negan pushed him off of him as you circled back. Kicking his knives from his hands, you reached down and shoved your blade into Beta’s shoulder. The same shoulder you had injured in your fight with him in Alexandria. Beta bared his teeth at you and that’s when you noticed the new mask on his face.

It was half of Alpha’s own face.

He seemed to be sneering at you as you reached forward and placed your hand on his throat, forcing him to look at you. “I’ll kill you,” he spat. 

“You make veiled threats,” you said, quoting what he had first said to you in the clearing as your friends were being slaughtered by his Alpha. “I told you that I wasn’t going to die like this. Not by you or anyone.” Beta yelled, trying to get up and attack you when suddenly Daryl appeared out of the darkness. 

Pulling his blades, Daryl brought them down into Beta’s back, keeping him in place. The shock of pain sent Beta back to the ground. Blood bubbled at his lips and you leaned in closer, making sure your face was the last one that he saw. “Killer,” Beta spat at you as Daryl pulled his blades from Beta’s body.

“No,” you said as you pulled back and then in one fluid motion, buried your sword up into his chest. “Survivor,” you corrected as you withdrew your weapon and kicked him to the ground and towards his own Walkers who smelled the fresh blood immediately. 

Negan and Daryl instantly, stepped in front of you as you watched the Dead tear apart Beta. The sound of tearing flesh and the growls of the Walkers had never sounded so liberating before. Negan slowly took hold of his mask and tore it from his face, letting it drop to the ground beside him. Daryl, who had been the first one to fight Beta, let out a breath that spoke louder than words.

They had won. 

“Now is it over?” you asked, leaning on your sword, 

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “It’s over. Come on,” he said as he passed Negan, knocking his fist against the taller man’s shoulder. Negan then reached down and took your hand in his and without looking back, walked away from the bloodbath that had ended the war.

---------

The sun was rising by the time, you managed to find the group again. 

You, Daryl, and Negan found Carol first. The woman looked as if she had been through hell, but she lit up as soon as she saw her best friend. Daryl grabbed her first, hugging her close. It immediately reminded you of when they had reunited after Terminus. 

Looking around, you couldn’t find the person you had been worried about since you had dropped down the elevator shaft. “Lydia,” you said, “where is she?” Carol looked up from her moment with Daryl and approached you. 

“Rendezvous point,” Carol said. “She went looking for you. Both of you,” she said, sending a look to Negan. You didn’t hesitate to start running through the trees. Negan was right behind you as you jumped over old roots and fallen branches. Your only thoughts were on Lydia and if she was okay. Seeing the break in the trees ahead of you, you slid to a stop, your eyes scanning the area. 

Negan arrived right behind you, but then, he froze. He felt as if the world was suddenly pulled out from under his feet. Everything around him felt on fire as he beheld who was kneeling in front of Judith, speaking softly to her.

Maggie Rhee. 

You noticed his hesitation immediately. “What’s wrong? Do you not see her?” you asked, still looking around for Lydia. 

“(Y/N)…” Negan said slowly.

“What?” you asked and then he was nodding over to where he was looking. Turning, your eyes found Maggie who had finally noticed Negan. The woman was staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Negan swallowed thickly as Maggie stared him down.

There weren’t many people in the world that scared him as much as Maggie Rhee did and he was not looking forward to the words she would definitely be throwing at him. “Ignore her,” you said.

“(Y/N),” he said again. You grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him back to face you. He did, looking down at you with worry in his eyes. 

“Just for right now,” you said. “We need to find‒”

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out and you could have sunk to the ground at the amount of relief that flooded your system. 

“Oh, thank god,” you said as you turned to see Lydia running towards you. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted but she was alive and that was all that mattered. Lydia ran right to you, throwing her arms around you and Negan. You didn’t hesitate to follow suit, wrapping your arms around both of them. 

Your family. 

Negan squeezed both of you tight in his arms, finally letting his heart settle from all the adrenaline that was pulsing through him. “Is he dead?” Lydia asked as she was pressed between you two. 

“He’s dead,” you whispered. “I promise, we got him.” Lydia pressed herself tighter to you before she stepped back with a relieved expression on her face. You then grabbed her and checked her for injuries. Lydia was doing the same as she checked over you and Negan. When Lydia noticed the blossoming head wound on Negan’s forehead, she became worried.

“I’m fine, kiddo,” he assured her. “I’ll take a bruise over a body bag any day.” Lydia then looked from him to you and then back at him. 

“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asked, looking at him with hope in her eyes. 

“Nothing is going to make me leave you,” he said. “Either of you.” Lydia let out a breath as she moved in to hug him again, coiling her arms around his waist. He held her back and sent a wink to you over her shoulder. You moved and picked up his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles, not caring who was watching. 

You would deal with her later. 

“So, now what?” Lydia asked.

“Now, we start fresh,” you said, taking her hand in yours, Lydia leaned into Negan, her head resting on his chest. “And who knows, maybe we discover a little more about each other along the way.”

“I like the sound of that,” Negan said as he tugged you into his side. 

“Me too,” Lydia sighed. 

“Good cause I am not giving up on either of you,” you said, trying not to get emotional, but it was futile. Letting a tear fall, you smiled at them. “You’re my family,” you choked out. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Negan said as he leaned down and pulled you in for a kiss. You kissed him back quickly, knowing there was a future ahead of you filled with more. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you, too,” you said. “Until the end of our little universe.” Negan grinned at that as he pulled you and Lydia in closer, holding onto his found family. 

There was a lot more to come and you knew that. With Maggie’s reappearance, it was not going to be easy and there were always going to be more enemies and wars to fight. However, because you had the man you loved and a kid who was a hell of a fighter, you knew you were going to be okay no matter what the new world threw at you.

After years of feeling like an outsider, you finally felt whole and it was all because you took a chance and spoke to the big bad wolf. 

THE END.

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;mikasa ackerman x fem!lesbian!reader

;modern au, band au

word count: 2.0k

warnings: swearing, fluff if you squint, deep talk with jean

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Hitch dropped you off at home with a loud "Au revoir!" and sped off in her black car while you waved silently.

You couldn't shake the nervous feeling Hitch had left you with. It was reasonable to feel uneasy after a strange encounter like that, but nevertheless, you plastered on a fake smile when you walked inside and saw Eren sprawled on the couch.

He lifted his head from his phone when he noticed your presence. "Y/n, you're back. What did Hitch want?"

Admittedly, you felt bad about never telling your best friend, but it was too late now.

"Nothing much, she just wanted to catch up. Haven't seen her since college," You lied easily as you plopped down in the chair next to the couch. "What's new with you?"

Eren shrugged and looked at his phone. "Just trying to pass the time. Jean's headed to the airport at eight tonight. Hope you're ready to see your girlfriend." He tilted his head back while laughing.

You smacked his forehead and he recoiled in pain. "Ah! What's your problem?" Eren rubbed his forehead with a hard glare aimed at you.

"I don't have a problem, you're just being freakish."

Eren gawked. "No, I'm not! You're the real freak, being you and whatever."

"Oh, good one." You snorted. "Hey, speaking of, where is Jean, anyways?" You furrowed your eyebrows as you glanced around the house.

"You tell me." Eren repeatedly clicked his tongue while turning his attention back on his phone.

"I'll go find him then," you decided. Eren just grunted in response, too immersed with the JAEGER BOMB fan pages he was scrolling through.

You got up from the comfy chair and starting looking around the house for Jean. After your talk with Hitch, you were feeling even more nervous about Mikasa coming home. You desperately needed to talk to someone, even if it wasn't about Hitch. You just needed a good distraction from tonight.

Jean was nowhere to be found on the first floor, so you trudged upstairs in hopes of finding him. You rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, passing Mikasa's dark room, stopping when you heard a quiet string of curses from the hallway bathroom.

"Jean?" You called out hesitantly. Lightly knocking on the bathroom door, you pressed your ear to the wood in hopes of figuring out what the issue was.

"Come in," came Jean's strained voice from the small room. You peeked your head in the doorframe and took note of his frustrated figure.

"What's going on?"

"Who decided it would be a good idea to grow my hair out?" He made furious hand motions at his head.

You let out a chuckle as he angrily tried to comb his hair back. "You did."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. I think I might have to go back in time and slap myself for that one."

Shrugging, you sat on the counter next to the agitated male and crossed your arms. "Just cut it then."

"It's not as simple as that," he sighed. "I like the way it looks long, Marco likes it too. And the fans, you know. Besides, I can't cut it in a fit of rage. I'll end up like you." He snorted after his snide comment.

"That was one time! Besides, that was high school. We all did stupid things back then." You grimaced at the memory.

"Yeah, you were the stupidest. You chopped off all your hair because of something that aggravated you." He pointed his comb at you in a teasing manner.

"A little thing called feelings were aggravating me. At least I can control myself more now." You pushed the comb back at him and poked his shoulder.

"Speaking of which, I'm surprised you didn't lose your shit when I told you guys Mikasa was coming home." He went back to working on his hair.

"Seriously? I made you all clean the whole house. I could barely get through her room yesterday. Wasn't that enough of a reaction?" Your head fell onto the mirror against your back while you laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, I guess it was. I don't know what I expected honestly. I assume you aren't over her?"

"Definitely not." You sighed. "Because it's been two years since I last had any contact with her, you'd honestly think I would've moved on by now."

Jean set his comb at the side of the counter and faced you. "Did you want to move on?"

You fidgeted and looked away from his hard gaze. "It would be best if I did. I had my chance and I never took it. There was always a part of me that knew she'd come back. I had always hoped that she would, I never got to tell her how I felt, but now that it's actually happening it feels almost unreal." You met Jean's eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched up.

"Are you going to confess when she's back?" he inquired.

Your thoughts circled back to Hitch. Her threats were powerful. She knew what she was doing. Maybe you could confess to Mikasa in secret and she would never know. However, she somehow knew about Mikasa's future arrival, so you should play it safe. Plus, you hadn't seen the Mikasa you knew in two years.

"No, I don't think I will. There's so much to know about her now. She could be a completely different person." You pulled your knees to your chest.

Jean put his hands on your shoulders which made you look back up at him. "Y/n, you've been putting this off far too long. She's proven to us that she's not always going to be here. If there's ever a time to tell her, it would be now."

You stared at each other for a few moments before you pursed your lips and looked away. Jean was right. The perfect chance was right in front of you but just out of your reach. There was always an unspoken obstacle when it came to your feelings for Mikasa. Whether it was another person or yourself blocking the way. "I just need some time to think."

Jean took his hands off your shoulders and shook his head. "You, my friend, are what people call hopeless." He picked up the comb again, about to run it through his hair once more, but sighed and placed it in a drawer. "Fuck it, ponytail it is." You found it funny how often he would end up tying his hair in a low ponytail. His hair was long, but it wasn't close to the length Eren's was. Whenever Jean did his hair like that little tufts would stick out at the top of his neck and loose strands would curl around his ears.

"How long are you growing it?" You asked as you let your legs dangle over the countertop.

"I'll grow it until it becomes seriously unmanageable. It's already getting unruly." Jean softly kicked open the door and gestured to the hallway. "After you."

You hopped off the counter and gladly took his offer, sliding your arm along the balcony railing before folding your arms over the wood and resting your head on them. The hallway was only lit up by the orange light from the sunset beyond the large living room windows above the glass doors.

Jean passed by you swiftly, making cool air hit your neck. He loudly trudged down the wooden stairs and you saw him walk into the living room from your view.

Armin was sitting cross legged in the cushy rocking chair and Eren was still taking up the space of the long couch. Their eyes were trained on an ocean documentary, Armin occasionally commenting on the sea life while Eren nodded at him.

Jean sat on the loveseat under the balcony, now hidden from your view. Armin noticed your content gaze and beckoned for you to join them.

You followed Jean's path to the living room and put your hands on the back of the couch he was sitting on.

"What do you guys want for dinner? It's nearly seven o'clock." You asked the seated boys.

"Can we just get Burger King or something again?" Eren tore his eyes away from the screen to look at you pleadingly.

"Eren, we had that yesterday. I don't want it two nights in a row. That's just gross." Armin frowned at his request.

Jean placed his hands behind his head and on top of your hands. "Eat whatever you like. I have to drive to the airport soon." He patted your hands and stood from the couch.

Once Jean left the room you continued your survey. "We could have spaghetti?" You offered.

"That sounds good. I'll help you." Armin started toward the kitchen with you before tugging on Eren's sleeve. "You come too. You've been sitting on that couch all day, you lazy bum."

Eren groaned like a child being asked to do the dishes. "Fine, if I have to."

The three of you started preparing the meal in the kitchen with Armin getting the noodles out and making the meatballs, you making the sauce, and Eren filling the pot with water then leaving the rest to you and Armin.

Eren sat on a kitchen stool and pulled his phone out. You and Armin both gave him an eye roll before continuing your cooking.

It was around seven-thirty when the food was done. There were a few mishaps along the way since Jean wasn't around to help and neither you or Armin were very skilled in culinary practices. But the final product looked edible and that's all that matters.

Eren and Armin got their servings and sat down on the kitchen island stools while you went to close the curtains in living room and the dining area. You then pulled out a stool next to Armin.

The three of you ate in silence for a while before you spoke up. "Jean should be back soon."

Eren perked his head up. "Really? He said he'd get her at eight. He left an hour ago but we all know he likes to be early so who knows," He said.

"I'd give it maybe twenty minutes. Why? You nervous?" Armin twirled the pasta around their fork.

"Incredibly," you exhaled.

Eren snorted. "As expected from you. But if you're nervous, imagine how Jean feels right now. That should perk you right up." he laughed to himself while imagining Jean waiting for Mikasa, a nervous wreck.

"Are you not nervous?" You asked timidly.

Armin shrugged. "I guess I am. We've known her forever. It'll be just like seeing an old college friend. It'll be refreshing to see her after all this time. I'm more worried about how ready the house is," they explained while folding their arms.

"I'm a little nervous. You think she'll like my hair?" Eren gestured to his bun.

"No, you're ugly." Armin commented. You laughed so hard at Eren's shocked face that you didn't hear the door unlocking behind you.

Armin stopped laughing with you and stared at the door. "Mikasa," He whispered.

"Mikasa?" You questioned and looked back at the door. "Mikasa."

Sure enough, Mikasa was at the door with Jean lurking behind her.

She was wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants with dark green sneakers. Her hair was cut much shorter now. It was slightly fluffed up and messy from the plane ride. She had a few rings decorating her fingers and a small tattoo on her middle finger on her right hand. In that hand, she carried a navy blue suitcase. In the other, gripped the same scarf Eren gave her years before. She held a tired expression but you thought she looked beautiful as ever.

Your eyes widened and you parted your lips to say something but nothing would come out.  Instead, you opted for a hug. You wrapped your arms around her waist, your head just peeking over her shoulder, earning a surprised noise from her. Her arms made their way around your frame as she held you close.

"Mikasa," you could only manage to squeak out her name.

posted: 8/27/21

neptunetheplanet7© 2021

no reposts, edits, or modification to my work by anyone other than me.

[haifengg]

The Dutch Room - Chapter 4

Find all chapters here!

“Did you solve your problem yet?” Johnny asked and fell into the armchair.

His boss sat on the other side of the office, hunched over a remarkable stack of paperwork. “Problem?” He asked without looking up.

“The … uh … thing that came up a few weeks ago.” Johnny said carefully, not sure if he really forgot about the incident.

“Oh, so you’re not talking about yourself.” One could hear Jaehyun’s smile even if it wasn’t visible. Especially if one’s name was Johnny.

“Why would I refer to myself as a problem?”

“Because you always show up when I'm busy and steal my time.”

“By doing what?”

“By talking to me and not working like everyone else.” He said and finally looked up from his paperwork, smiling.

Johnny sighed. “You suck real bad. Did you know that?”

“I’ve been told, yeah. Honestly tho, what problem are you talking about? There are so many lately.”

Jaehyun leaned back in his chair, crossed his fingers behind his head and put his feet up, looking at his oldest friend.

“The one that dropped dead on your floor.” Johnny scoffed and yawned. Once again it was one of those days they were working late, which basically described every other day in their field of work.

Every single one of them had spent at least a few nights in their office, which is why they all kept travel kits at their desks somewhere.

“Oh.” Jaehyun said and his relatively good mood faded within seconds. “That one.”

“I assume it is as always more serious than you’re telling us right?”

“I don’t need to tell you how serious it is. Everyone working here is qualified enough to know that for themselves. And if they don’t I should consider replacing them. But yes, it is gravely serious. It could ruin the entire project.”

“And I assume you found a solution?” Jaehyun nodded and took down his hands, resting them on his core.

“I did. And I will schedule a meeting as soon as it is set in stone.”

“As always. I’m here now so why don’t you walk me through it?” Johnny offered casually while playing around with the end of his tie.

“I’m really busy …”

Johnny snorted. “Dude, I don’t care. I haven’t talked to you in ages about work let alone anything non-work related. And if business talk is the only talk I get these days I will take whatever you got.”

“Fine. The solution we came up with involves Taeil.”

Johnny suddenly sat up straight in the armchair and looked at his friend in a very confused way.

“Taeil? I thought you decided against using the hostesses.”

“True. We won’t use BARbara. But Taeil is the one who came up with the back-up plan.”

Jaehyun paused to lean forward, leafing through his calendar looking for a specific event.

“On the uh … 4th he’s meeting with the owner of a few high class restaurants. Something japanese. To be honest I neither met the guy yet nor have I heard about his restaurants but Taeil apparently knows him for quite some time and I trust him. After they meet up and where he introduces him to the idea, we will schedule another meeting in which we discuss the specifics.”

“I thought you don’t want to involve more people than necessary? Why are you suddenly considering working with someone you don’t know? This seems chancy.”

“Because”, he began and groaned. “the original plan was the most irresponsible imbecile I’ve met in my career so far and whoever Taeil is talking to in two weeks can’t be worse. I don’t know if you noticed but we don’t have that much time left. And I told all of you before that we’re only doing it if we find a way to clean the money.”

“You did tell us that. Several times. But we always reassured you that we would do it even if you don’t know how to launder the money beforehand. Because we trust you.”

Jaehyun sighed and rested his head in the palms of his hands. “You shouldn’t tho.”

The other shrugged and got up. “We know. But we do against your better judgement.”

“You’re going home?” Jaehyun looked at him in surprise.

“What? No.” He chuckled. “I’m working late, boss. As always.”

***

“Someone home?” Johnny stuck the head through the door as he opened it carefully.

“Come on in!” Song shouted from the back of the studio, her voice weirdly muffled.

So he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, looking around for her but couldn’t find her.

The studio didn’t change much since the last time he visited. The dishes were clean and put up to dry, right next to it was a small stash of toiletries.

Everything looked fine and even more in order than Haechan’s cubicle so why did Jaehyun want him to come up here and check on her? And besides, why didn’t he just do it himself?

He shuffled across the room to take a closer look at the easel and the prints that were spread out on the huge wobbly table alongside with a variety of … ingredients and colors. The canvas was smudged with a mix of brown and green tones.

By this point of progress Johnny wasn’t able to see any resemblance or how the hell this would turn into what was on the prints.

“Oh. It’f you.”

Hearing her voice behind him he turned around to see Song in sweatpants and some threadborne sweatshirt. Just now he realized how late it must have been once again, since Song was brushing her teeth and didn’t bother to take out the toothbrush while talking to him.

“If I knew y’all would take the ‘come by anytime’ fo literally I wouldn’t have faid it.”

“Did someone else come by?”

She nodded and walked over to spit out toothpaste and put away the toothbrush. “Yeah. Haechan came to see me the day before yesterday. And Doyoung yesterday.”

“What did he want?” Johnny asked a little bit too hastily which made her turn around.

“Who?”

“Doyoung.”

The conversation forming between them was clipped and terse but not at all in an uncomfortable way.

“He brought the prints.” She said pointing at the table. “It’s a really good quality and very clean. You can literally see every little detail on it. Did you have a look?”

“Yeah, I did just now. Why was Haechan here?”

Since they were still standing around all dressed up and with nowhere to go, Song just walked over to the sofa and dropped down on it, grabbing a pillow to hold in her arms.

“Nothing too important. He just wanted to know how I am doing. Speaking for what reasons people are showing up here all the time: Why did you come?”

He pulled up the stool she was using to sit on while painting and sat across from her, one arm resting on the table and shrugged.

“Same reason. Just wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“Well, you did that. Something else?”

Johnny chuckled more to himself than to Song. Why wasn’t he able to figure her out? Since she was employed he caught himself wondering what the hell she was doing here and how she ended up being their coworker.

“Have you ever sat one foot on our floor?” He asked trying to change the topic but Song was quick.

She thought for a moment leaning her head to one side, then shaking it. “Why would I? Everyone is coming upstairs anyways. I don’t really have to leave this place.”

“Touche.”

Silence settled between them during which Song scanned the man carefully and Johnny tried to not curse himself for coming here. Nice gestures never were a thing at this company so why did he thought it would be a good idea to start being nice?

Right. He though. It was about what Doyoung said and how right he turned out to be. The girl … woman sitting across from him didn’t really fit in with all of them. And even though he corrected his thoughts from girl to woman he couldn’t deny that there certainly was something fairly young about her. She definitely looked her age and she probably had both whit and sass but … something didn’t add up.

“Do you want to drink? Something?” Song suddenly asked and got up.

Johnny jumped to his feet as well and gladly said: “Yes, please!”

***

Song chucked the last sip of wine and lowered her glass. Johnny reached for it to replenish her drink for the fourth time but she quickly covered with both hands.

“No no no, I’m good.” She laughed.

They both sat in front of the sofa, legs crossed and leaning against it. He had no idea of how long they had been sitting together like this but two hours probably already had passed since he got here.

“Are you sure?” He asked sliding the bottle of white wine back into the cooler.

“Yes. Absolutely. This is actually way more than I usually have. If you have questions you only want honest answers to: Ask them now.” She stated jokingly and waved away her sobriety.

Johnny laughed. “Okay, let me think.”

When he wasn’t saying anything for a few seconds she turned her head to look at him and found him actually thinking about what he wanted to ask her.

Song curiously and patiently waited for him to ask:

“What do you think of Panoma?”

Their eyes met and she could see how serious his question was. He really wanted her honest opinion about the company and/or the people working here.

“Well”, Song began but hesitated. “about the people or more about the entire thing?”

“Whatever you want.”

She sighed. “To be honest: I don’t think this is for me.”

Johnny’s eyes widened at an answer he didn’t expect at all. “What does that mean?”

“See, I feel like you all know each other so well. Yeah, sure I am the new one and y’all don’t know me and we don’t have a history but I am not sure if we will get along well eventually. And this is just the case for getting along well. Not exceptionally well or being a great team. Whatever that involves.”

He put down his wine glass ready to give her his unshared attention. This seemed to have bothered her for a while. “What exactly makes you think that?”

“This might sound weird but … to me you all seem like criminals.”

“You aren’t exactly whitecollar either. I chose your file out of 20 others because I like to think of you as someone who screws people over twice. First time by forging art and replacing it and the second time when you keep the original to yourself.”

“But compared to you that’s nothing.” She said, using one the one hand that wasn’t still holding the empty glass to empathize the arguments. “You are professional criminals. Working in a company devoted to launder money and steal shit. This is organized crime. What I do … every art-school graduate could do it. It all comes down to very basic things.”

Johnny sighed. “What makes you think you don’t fit in?”

She sat on her knees, putting aside the glass she was holding up until this moment and looked him directly into the eyes.

“I don’t know? Jaehyun is super scary and June is so … flawless? Doyoung seems a bit odd and I don’t know what to think of you but you are professionals. You work in an office, wear ties and suits, do paperwork, crunch numbers, have desks with files on them.”

“Is that how you define professionalism? That we appear to be harmless office employees but aren’t?”

Song nodded quietly.

“Under the pretext of commonplace?”

“Yes.”

There she was again. The girl Song that seemed so innocent and harmless as if she couldn’t hurt nobody and has no criminal record. As if they were two different personalities sharing one shell.

Johnny chuckled and suddenly the dramatic tension that had built up in the studio imploded and disappeared.

“I don’t mean to offend you personally but that’s very naive of you to think. Romanticizing our field of work is what writers do. And I have to ask you to neither put June nor Jaehyun on a pedestal because those two ain’t perfect. Also they’re not the cold and calculating professionals you think they are. “

He saw her face and immediately backtracked. “Don’t get me wrong: Both are evil masterminds and exceptionally at their jobs. But they have their flaws.” He leaned back. “Did you hear about Lucas?”

“Who’s that?”

“He used to work here before we hired you.”

“Why past tense?”

“He … quit. That aside: Lucas and June had an affair that was going on for quite a while if I remember correctly.”

Song gasped and choked. All Johnny did was laughing at her gasping which made things worse.

“Does everyone know?” She asked after catching her breath and being pat on the back by Johnny.

“I’m not sure but I assume at least Haechan does know. Nothing really goes past him. If you want to know things in the future I suggest you ask him.”

He returned to the semi serious attitude he had about himself for the entire evening as he said: “But my point is: Even though I don’t know if there were feelings involved or what exactly their arrangement was, it is what it is. An affair between two coworkers. And if that’s not the epitome of non-professionalism - I don’t know what is.“

Navigation

[purplesurveys]

924

Do you have a taste in your mouth right now? What of? Just the faint taste of coffee since I have a cup at the moment but haven’t drunk from it in the last few minutes. Which is your least favourite day of the week? I’ve lost the concept of the days of the week for a few months now, man. Back when we used to do things, though, I hated Sundays as I felt loneliest on that day. It was always an automatic thing too so I had little control over it. If told to clean the house, would you be more inclined to clean one room really well or clean all of the rooms with hardly any effort? Clean all rooms with maximum effort. I’d be really bugged if I didn’t strive to be perfect with the whole place lol. Do you put glue on the object you're sticking down or on the paper? Object, so that the amount of glue I’m putting would be accurate. What was your last dream about? I don’t remember the details anymore but at the very least, I know it was very vivid since I remembered it throughout the morning. I’ve been having very detailed dreams lately – it’s the depression for sure. 

What is your favourite part of the last movie you watched? Haven’t seen a movie in a while but the last thing I watched in full was The Crown; Vanessa Kirby as Princess Margaret really shone through in the last episode I saw. Have you stuck any stickers to the computer you're using? I put all my stickers onto my laptop case but not the laptop itself. I haven’t had the case on for a while now though, since I’m always just at home now. Do you ever write or talk to yourself in your head when you're bored? Yes or when I’m feeling upset, as long as I’m alone. I’ve found that talking to myself is a healthy way to address and deal with my emotions. What interests you the most about other people? What I find interesting always varies. I have friends who I find interesting for their music tastes; some others for their knowledge of random trivia; some for their jobs, etc. It’s always different. Do you ever take random pictures out of boredom? What of? Not really. If I take photos it’s because I want to remember a moment or because I find something cute or funny. Basically anything that elicits a strong emotion out of me, I’m bound to take a picture of. Do you prefer listening to things through headphones or speakers? Headphones. How many siblings do you have? Do you get on with them? I have two siblings. I only get along with my sister; I have not talked to my brother since last year and have no desire to again. Would you rather live in a log cabin or a brick house? Mmm I’d take the brick house. Log cabin would be nice for a quick getaway, but I wouldn’t want it to be my permanent home. There’s a psychological factor in there and I just think that staying in a log cabin would make me feel suffocated eventually, haha. Do you have a calendar up for this year? I have a ‘Job Applications’ calendar that I’m currently monitoring, and it tracks the applications I’ve sent out to different companies and how long I’ve been waiting for a response from each of them. Really needing some positive vibes and energy since I actually just got my first rejection notice today. Other than that this year has been pretty fucking boring and there’s been little need to keep an active calendar. What was the very first CD you bought? The first CD I remember asking my parents to buy for me was like the High School Musical official soundtrack. I was big on Disney as a kid and wasn’t a big fan of any solo acts or bands up until I was around 10. Do you keep things like old train tickets, etc? Yessssssss. Do you like your smile? Why (not)? I like it; I find my smile friendly and warm. I just hate smiling with my teeth at the present since one of my front teeth protrudes. Can’t wait to get braces again. Would you rather be able to sing or dance? Why? Dance. Dancers are super hot, lmao. What was your favourite colour when you were a kid? Do you still like it? It was purple/violet and it was mostly influenced by my great-grandma who lovedddd the color and had it everywhere in her home. When she passed away, my love for the color slowly faded away and I don’t think too much of it now. Have you ever said 'lol' in real life? Haha yeah sometimes. I pronounce it as ‘lohl’ and never ‘el oh el’ though. Do you like your friend's parents? I like most of their parents, though I’m aware that some have abusive tendencies. Most of the parents are super nice, though. JM’s mom cooked a big lunch for us once and his dad buys like four party-sized boxes of pizza every time we come over, Angela’s parents treat me like their own kid, Gab’s mom constantly tells me she loves me...it’s in the little things. How many times have you moved? I can remember just the two times, but I know that we moved several times more when I was an infant. Have you ever refused to try a certain food? Which? Most stuff with fruits, hah. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, like when a sushi roll has mango or if I’m having banoffee pie, but I almost always refuse a meal with some kind of fruit in it. What's your favourite type of soup? Not really big on soup. I just like miso. Very occasionally I’ll have mushroom soup too. What is your favourite candle scent? I don’t buy candles nor do I know people who regularly get them, so I’m not very familiar with the different scents. Does the sight of blood make you feel ill? In real life, it would. I always have to look away whenever Gabie gets a nosebleed ha. But I have no problem watching bloody wrestling matches and I actually enjoy the bloodier ones. Super weird quirk of mine. What do you call it when you're sick anyways? (Sick, ill, not well, etc) If I’m referring to a fever I call it sick/ill/not feeling well. If I feel like throwing up I say I’m getting dizzy/need to vomit. I’ve never referred to puking as ‘getting sick,’ and it took me a very long time to realize that it was a common American saying, haha. Did you ever really believe in the tooth fairy? I did, and I felt super betrayed when I put my tooth under my pillow only to see it again the next morning. If you had to appear in a movie, which genre would you choose? Coming of age. What do you do with unwanted gifts? I keep them, since I still appreciate the effort of the gift-giver. Are there any clothes you haven't worn in ages, that you've suddenly started wearing again? HAHA yes. There will be rare instances where I get to go out and I always take the time to look stylish as all fuck, even though I’m only running an errand and wearing flashier pieces would be so unnecessary. I just miss dressing up and looking cute, man. Do any keys on your keyboard stick? Like, if they’re sticky? No. Would you rather own a laptop or a computer? Laptop. Love it when things are portable. Do you think you'll look at old photos of yourself and be embarrassed? My teenage years are definitely bad especially with regard to my fashion choices lol, but so are everyone else’s so I’m not super embarrassed. I cringe at the photos but I wouldn’t mind if my friends poked fun at them because chances are I’d join in too. What was the worst hairstyle you ever had? I always hated it whenever my mom took me to the salon to have my hair rebonded. That kind of look has never worked with my face shape and so I usually did everything for my hair to start curling up quicker and go back to its original form. Do you like t-shirts with sayings on them? Why (not)? Not really. It’s just not a personal preference. I like plain or slightly printed pieces. Do you click on the adverts at the side of the screen? No. Have you ever coughed and sneezed at the same time? I’m sure it’s happened before. Are you embarrassed to show people your ID photo? Nah. Whatever dude. Have / would you ever become a cheerleader? I haven’t, but I would have loved to. We don’t have a cheerleading club or varsity in my old school though so I was never able to hone my skills, if ever. What's the longest you've gone without eating? Maybe a little more than 24 hours. What is one of your biggest irrational fears? Commercials airing at night. I find jingles and graphic effects unsettling by a certain hour lol. What comes up when you press Ctrl + V? “I reeeeally miss seeing you and your purple things and seeing you give glares to people who deserve it. what a lodi <333” omg aw. It’s Jane’s birthday today and I copied that bit of my greeting to move it to another paragraph so that my message would flow better. Out of the bands you listen to, were most of them around before or after you were born? After. When did you last jump out of fright? I don’t remember. Are you currently waiting on something? What? For a company to take me in. Does time pass slowly or quickly when you're on the internet? Usually it’s quickly, but now that I feel more and more useless around the house, time’s been more slow and for the first time the distractions of the internet haven’t been working. What about when you're at school / work? Depended on the amount of stuff I had to do and whether I’m enthusiastic about them or not. Does the thought of being pregnant gross you out? The thought of giving birth does, but not pregnancy. What was the last thing you made with your hands? I mean I made myself a cup of coffee tonight, but the coffee mix itself was already pre-packaged. I just mixed it with hot water. Are you good at making shadow puppets? I’d say no. Are you more hungry or thirsty right now? Neither. I’ve been so anxious and depressed these days I’m actually skipping every single meal except dinner, and even then I eat very little. I don’t even do it on purpose; my anxiety has simply stopped me from feeling hungry. No idea what the weighing scale’s gonna tell me the next time I check, sigh. Someone hire me plz. God it really sucks being a fresh grad in this current state of the world. Are you prone to headaches? No. They only come out during hectic schedules and stressful weeks. Do you forget things easily? The little and everyday things, like forgetting my school ID at home or where I placed my keys. But I don’t forget things that are more bigger-picture, like birthdays or faces or memories. Do you enjoy going out to dinner? I enjoy it and I terribly miss being able to do it. Would you ever go on a cruise ship holiday? I would and I have. Lots of fun. Would do again and again. What's your favourite sea animal? Dolphins and whales. Do you get coughs or colds more? Coughs.

[risottostitties]

Secret Santa!

I’m back from vacation woo!

This is a secret santa thing I participated in with @staruplatinum‘s discord. This is actually for @staruplatinum because I was her secret santa lol. I hope you enjoy it! I tried my best I promise!

Please check the tags before reading

Discovery

It was the third day in a row that Abbacchio had been awoken by the sound of vomiting from the bathroom connected to the room he shared with Nina. While normally such a sound wasn’t new to him, they both enjoyed their alcohol a bit too much if he was being honest, they hadn’t had any the previous night. Or the night before, out of concern that she might be getting sick. So the fact that Nina was waking up in the morning and immediately vomiting immediately put the lilac haired man on edge. What could be causing this? She didn’t feel feverish.

“Have you considered going to a doctor?” He asked, rolling out of bed to gently scoop his girlfriend’s hair out of the way as she heaved. They hadn’t eaten yet, so mercifully this spell of sickness would be brief.

It seemed like she was getting sick more and more often lately. Buccellati had to stop ordering shellfish because the smell made her sick.

“I already considered that, appointment’s this afternoon. I figured that if it was something important I’d tell you after.” Nina admitted, standing on shaky legs and flushing the toilet before going to clean her mouth out.

“Do that.” Abbacchio hummed, watching as she brushed her teeth with an expression softer that what people would expect out of a man like him.

It was hard not to feel soft, not to look at her with such complete adoration. After all, he’d never have anticipated finding himself in such perfect domesticity. It made this bout of illness all the more concerning for him. He hopped to hear nothing but good news from the doctor soon.

 Month 3

Well, as it turns out, it was news alright.

“What do you want to do about this?” The unsure waver in Nina’s voice made his heart clench.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant, and unless there was something else going on it was his. According to the blood work, and the imaging she’d gone in for, she was about twelve weeks in, or approaching the end of the first trimester. There was time, theoretically, to end things before they became a real problem. Kids were never in the picture. In their line of work it was far too dangerous, and what’s more to have him as a father. To come into this world in the shadow of a failure such as himself. To grow up knowing your dad was not only a criminal but a coward and a disgrace as well; wasn’t that just too cruel?

What was he supposed to do? On one hand it would be easier to tell the kid everything from the start, to not allow them to idolize their father and grow up with the false notion that he was a man worthy of their admiration. If they were going to hate him anyway, why would he prolong the inevitable. Was it not cruel to allow the kid to build up a version of him in their head only to have it torn down as soon as they were able to investigate their father’s name?

Of course, this was assuming there would be a child at all.

“We should-“

“I want to keep them.” Nina’s voice prevailed over Abbacchio’s reluctant admission.

It startled him into silence.

“Why would-“ Why was he getting choked up. “It’s a bad idea, with our lives. They’ll be in constant danger.”

“We’re strong enough to protect them. Leone-“ Oh god, there she went. Using his first name. Even after all this time, he still felt his heart skip a beat when she said his name with such a reverent, adoring tone. “I want this. Us. Our family.”

Who was he to say no when she looked up at him like that. Eyes dewy, expression both hopeful and unsure. If he really wanted to, he could probably talk her out of it. But then for a brief second he pictured it. A little boy with her eyes and his nose, chubby and healthy in his mother’s arms. And he wanted it so much, it caused him to ache.

And although he was still wildly unsure… he found himself nodding.

“Our family.” He agreed, closing the distance between them with a quick step and leaning down to capture her lips with his.

He couldn’t tell if the salt he tasted was from her tears of his.

 Month 4

Emotional announcement aside, Abbacchio still had his doubts about the whole pregnancy thing. Morning sickness was killer, and he couldn’t do much to fight off the mounting guilt when he awoke in the morning to his girlfriend hunched over the toilet heaving on an empty stomach. He did this to her after all.

But as though she could read his mind, Nina was always there to reassure him. And soon, he started to warm up to the idea of being a dad. Even as the cravings started to kick in and he found himself up at odd hours of the night, Leone Abbacchio couldn’t remember ever feeling happier. They had decided to keep it their little secret for as long as they could.

Their friends were good people, but they were loud people. And, something about the quiet domesticity the two of them shared together; the beginning of their own little family, something about that was just too nice to give up quite yet.

Although it was only a matter of time before someone found out.

 Month 5

“Nina, did you want any wine with your meal?” Bruno’s good natured question caused the woman to pause, and for Abbacchio to tense up.

“Oh no, no thank you. Not this time.” Her response was just a touch nervous, and Bruno honed in on that like a blood hound. Sometimes his ability to read people was a curse to all of them.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, softly. A question that was quickly overshadowed by Narancia’s boisterous proclamation.

“You haven’t been drinking much either Abbacchio, what gives? Finally going back on the wagon?” The young man adjusted his bandana as he looked up from his homework. “Can’t manage without your little girlfriend?”

The smug smile on the teenager’s face immediately put Abbacchio in a bad mood, but instead of retaliating he simply reached for his glass of water. They had been told to try and reduce stress on Nina as much as possible, it wasn’t good for the baby. And Abbacchio snapping at people did little to relieve stress.

“None of your business.” He settled on that, which only seemed to fuel the fire.

“What, you pregnant or something Abbacchio?” It was meant as a joke obviously, but the silver haired man almost choked on his water; sputtering as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit man I’m kidding! I didn’t think it’d get you that bad!” Mista was quick to offer his apologies, and a napkin.

“Abbacchio?” Bruno’s soft, but pointed question, left little room for the silverette to worm his way out of things.

Thankfully, Nina stepped in before he could mutter something under his breath.

“They’re due in December.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

 Month 6

Between the obnoxious ribbing from Narancia and Mista, there was a genuine happiness that filled the small private room in the back of their favorite restaurant. It wouldn’t be easy of course, raising a family in this kind of life. But with an army of over protective uncles it seemed like the kid would have a good start as any.

Nina was starting to really show now, as the doctor had warned them. Once the second trimester reached its end things would progress much faster than they had before. Nina had been removed from active duty because of her condition, something she protested greatly about. But Bruno would be hearing none of it. She had a child to nurture, he chided, she couldn’t be putting her life at risk anymore. Neither of them could. Soon, they would have someone very precious relying on them.

So both Nina and Abbacchio found themselves on ‘light duty’ so to speak. Abbacchio rarely rent on any dangerous jobs anymore. Bruno had taken to using Mista as his back up in Abbacchio’s place. Which, he supposed, was fine. Despite being dense, the gunslinger had a good head on his shoulders, and he was dependable. And, as much as the former police officer and his partner hated being left out of things it certainly wasn’t the case that they had nothing to do.

“I don’t have any fucking idea how this works. This is stupid, they won’t even remember the damned nursery why does it have to be so complicated? Just put them in a fucking box or something and be done with it.” He’d been working at this crib for over an hour now, and frankly Abbacchio was starting to lose his patience.

“Leone. If you imply our child deserves to sleep in a cardboard box in front of me one more time, you’ll be the one sleeping on a box.” Nina sat happily in a rocking chair (the first of many gifts from Godfather Bruno) munching on some plantain chips.

“Do you want to help then?” He asked, pulling back to adjust the bun he’d thrown his hair into.

“Hmm… no. I’m good thanks. I’m busy growing a foot.” Nina’s grin split wider at the exasperated expression on her partner’s face. “Besides, if you really hate the crib we can always co-sleep.”

The crib was finished later that evening.

 Month 7

“So you don’t want to know the gender? Why not? It’d be a pain in the ass to buy all these new clothes if it turned out you had the wrong one.” Narancia asked, watching as Nina opened his gift.

Somehow he’d managed to get a baby onsie emblazoned with ‘All Eyez On Me’ album cover. Very much a little boy outfit. Complete with the sneakers and a hat.

“You fucking moron, this is why I told you to find something gender neutral. I knew I should have bought your present for you.” Fugo grumbled, shoving his present towards Nina next.

“Oh yeah, a strawberry outfit is totally gender neutral. What little boy would be caught dead in that?” Narancia snapped back, and Fugo jumped from his chair. The clattering sound made Nina wince.

“You spoiled my gift before she could open it you cretin! I’m going to end your whole bloodline you filthy fucking-“ And there he went, Fugo was pissed again.

“Oi! If you’re going to fight take it outside!” This, thought Abbacchio, was why they had tried to keep it a secret for so long.

Thankfully though, that seemed enough to stop any further altercations and Fugo muttered an apology before fixing his chair.

“You sound like a dad.” Mista joked, already on his second slice of cake.

“That’s because he is one. Thank you Narancia, Fugo, they’ll love the clothes.” Nina spoke, admiring the cute strawberry printed onsie (and lamenting the fact that it was mostly white, that wouldn’t last long) before putting it carefully with the other gifts.

Mista had given them blankets, five of them (a good number! He claimed) and had even taken the time to show Abbacchio how to swaddle a wine bottle in them. Apparently, Mista was quite good with kids. He never talked much about his former life, but he admitted to having several younger siblings. The ex cop found himself impressed. Although the thought of asking the gunslinger for any help made his stomach coil. Nina on the other hand, seemed to have none of those qualms.

“Mine’s a bit big. I’ll help you get it back to your apartment, but please open it here. I’d like to see what you think.” Bruno spoke up last, offering up a box larger than the others they’d seen before.

“You already bought most of the nursery furniture, Capo. You really didn’t have to get another gift!” It was true, as Nina had said. Bruno had taken it upon himself to furnish the nursery. They should be saving their money, he said, and he wanted to make sure his godchild had appropriate furniture.

“It’s the last one, I promise.” Abbacchio had the feeling it wasn’t the case, but as he helped Nina cut the tape off the box, those thoughts faded.

It was a mobile, with fish and boats and other aquatic creatures carefully hand crafted from wood with sea glass safely secured and dangling from fishing wire. It looked lovingly made and Abbacchio had to do a double take.

It wasn’t until after the party that he had the chance to ask Bruno what the deal was.

“Did you buy that yourself? The mobile. Its beautiful but, you didn’t have to go out of the way for that. The brat won’t remember it anyway.” He asked, taking one last cig break before he and Nina returned to their apartment.

“It was mine.” That gave the taller man pause. “My father held on to it. I found it in the attic a few years ago, and didn’t have the heart to throw it away. I’m happy to know it’ll get good use again. It deserves to be hung up, instead of collecting dust.”

“You should save it for your own kids.” Abbacchio spoke, before taking another drag and offering it to Bruno, who declined with a wave of his hand.

“It’s better put to use now, don’t you think?” Bruno’s expression was far off, and Abbacchio couldn’t read it. So instead of responding is simply shrugged, exhaling his final drag and putting the smoke out with his foot before returning to the restaurant to collect his pregnant partner.

Bruno followed and helped them load everything into the car. The unreadable expression gone from his face.

 Month 8

It was getting close. Braxton Hicks contractions were starting to appear. They had scared the shit out of the two of them the first time it happened. It was far too early and they had panicked, rushing to the hospital despite having been told what to expect this late into the pregnancy.

Nervous energy was abound between the two of them. Nina was officially on bedrest. She had been getting weaker and the doctors erred on the side of caution. There was little to worry about, they assured, they just decided to be safer rather than sorry. Leone couldn’t disagree with that, although he was glad that the whole pregnancy thing was almost done. Nina looked like she would kill someone if she had to remain cooped up in their bedroom for too much longer.

It was late, and while Leone had stopped drinking in solidarity with Nina he couldn’t help but want a sip to calm his nerves. Instead though, he walked around the apartment (trying to mind his feet so he didn’t wake his sleeping partner, the pregnancy made her a light sleeper) and took stock of their little home. Their life together.

It was new, better than the one bedroom they’d shared. Bruno helped them get into a neighborhood with a good school. Their rent was affordable, and their neighbors were friendly. IT was all so domestic, it felt like a dream. Or a cruel prank. He half expected to wake up on the couch hungover but that had yet to happen.

He paused, looking into the nursery. Bruno’s mobile was strung up over the crib. The room was simple, white furniture with light blue walls. With the mobile they added a few more ‘nautical’ things into the décor. Striped sheets in the cribs, some bubble decals on the wall, but over all it was a simple and calming room. The shelves were lined with books and blocks and other baby toys, and the stuffed animals they had been gifted were safely tucked away out of the crib. In less than a month there would be someone living here.

Leone took a seat in the rocking chair and observed, not even noticing as he nodded off to sleep.

In the morning he awoke with a blanket covering him, and he got up. Nina had no business being on her feet covering up her idiot partner. Ah, partner. That needed to change soon. Husband sounded better. But that was for later. Once the kid was born, then Abbacchio could worry about making his girlfriend his wife. Some would say it was out of order.

Abbacchio hoped to encounter them one day so they could say it to his face. See how well that worked out for them.

 Month 9

How did it come to this? How had he allowed it to come to this? Abbacchio knew the kind of man he was, the kind who took the cowards way out of things. The kind who would rather turn to underhanded bribes than admit the futility of his work. The kind of man who allowed an innocent man to die for his mistakes. The kind of man who fucked up everything he touched. It only stood to reason that someday, eventually, he would ruin this as well.

He should have put an end to this when the problem first reared its head. Instead here he was, taking a drag from a rancid cig he bummed off a nurse to try and take the edge off of things. It was snowing, almost Christmas. This would have been their first Christmas.

Everything was wrong.

It all happened so fast. Things were going fine, labor was long but not unnaturally so. It was about five hours in when the baby’s heart beat started dropping. Emergency c-section. She seemed fine. The baby came, a girl, shockingly enough. And then Nina started slurring her words. It all happened so fast, he was being rushed out of the room by a nurse and the last thing he heard was the slowing of a heart monitor.

Twenty minutes later a doctor came to offer his apologies, and a child. Abbacchio had turned and left then, unable to handle the weight of what just happened. Shoving past Bruno (the only one allowed to be there for the birth) he ran from the hospital; coward that he was. And here he found himself, smoking to try and… what? Numb something? He was already numb. The cold helped with that. Perhaps if he stayed out here long enough, he’d risk hypothermia. He’d be doing everyone a favor right, freezing to death outside the hospital. It was abundantly clear to Abbacchio that he ruined every good thing that had the misfortune of encountering him.

Perhaps it would be best if he vanished from this kid’s life before he had the chance to infect that too. Or perhaps he’d doomed the kid of a life full of hardship by virtue of being the son of a bitch that fathered it. Her. It was a her. They had a name picked out. It was-

“Are you going to keep the name Sophia?” The only person capable of piercing through Abbacchio’s haze of self-depreciation had come outside to meet him.

How Bruno managed to get the baby out of the hospital so soon after it was born, who knows. Or perhaps he just became numb to the passage of time along with the cold. How long had it been already? Who knows? Who cared. But there she was, bundled up tightly in her hospital blankets and Bruno’s own coat for good measure.

“I’m not keeping anything.” Abbacchio huffed a long drag from his cigarette, having the decency to at least blow away from his friend and the child he held.

“Leone.”

“Bruno.”

His friend’s normally gentle face was furrowed into an expression of distaste. Always so righteous, of course Bruno would take issue with his decision. He still clung to the belief that Abbacchio was worth something, a dangerous notion considering that now there was a child in the mix. Bruno was a smart man, but perhaps their friendship had blinded him to the reality of the situation-

“She loved you and Sophia very much, you of all people should know that.” Bruno tried, only for Leone to take another drag from the smoke.

“A horrible choice on her part.”

“Leone.”

“What, Bruno? What do you want?” That was it, Bruno had found Leone’s breaking point and fuck, if he wanted a reaction out of him so bad, he had it. “Do you want me to be on my knees bawling in the hospital room? Should I be clinging to her hand, shaking her body, begging for her to wake up? What kind of reaction would please you Bruno?”

He threw the cigarette down and stomped it into the slush.

“What am I supposed to do?” Abbacchio could hear his voice crack, knees hitting the cold snow as his legs gave out.

It was amazing, how quickly rage could turn to sadness. Nina had borne witness plenty of times, as had Bruno. This was nothing new for either man, but there was a certain weight to it now. Nina was gone. She wasn’t coming back. If she were here she would be on her knees with him. She’d hold him close, let him scream into her shoulder and cling to her hard enough to bruise (something he always felt horrible for after). And in the end, she’d be there to fix his makeup. Sometimes they’d both need to touch things up; she wound up crying with him.

He’d have her sit on the bathroom counter as he fixed the delicate wing of her eyeliner. They’d tease each other over their puffy eyes and still runny nose. It was like a ritual between them almost, doing each other’s makeup. It wouldn’t happen again though, and the realization washed over him like a cold wave. He missed the numbness then, as he choked out an undignified sob. It was so much easier to be numb.

“Leone.” He could hear the crunch of slushy snow in front of him as Bruno knelt, careful not to jostle the child too much. She was already getting fussy from her father’s loud outburst. “I can’t help you. You need to help yourself. But I can be there for you, and for Sophia.”

“I’ll fuck that up too.” Abbacchio managed, unable to lift his eyes from the ground to look at the child beginning to fuss in Bruno’s arms. She already hated him it seemed. The sound of his voice was enough to make her squirm in discontent. He couldn’t blame Sophia.

“Sophia doesn’t seem to think so.” Bruno’s soothing voice did little to calm the infant, but it began to work on Abbacchio. The tears had yet to dry, but a feeble hiccup signaled the end of his sobbing.

“She’s trying to get away from me.” As if on cue the baby squirmed more, turning her head from her father.

“I think she’s just scared.” Bruno corrected, shifting the baby in his arms. “Leone, try holding her.”

“What?” That caused Leone to snap to attention. “You can’t be serious.”

He had very little time to react though, as Bruno deposited the infant into his arms. Abbacchio had to fumble a bit to support the head, but once things were in order it felt almost… natural.

He stood then, trying to dry what wsa left of his tears off on his shoulder. The kid looked kinda like both parents. She had some wispy pale hairs. Were those from him? Or would she grow dark hair like her mother? Sophia was still fussy, a spirited little thing it seemed, and although her eyes were mostly shut against the cold he could see the tiniest little sliver of purple and gold. She had his eyes.

She had. His eyes.

It was a simple realization, nothing remarkable. It didn’t do anything to quell the ache growing more and more apparent in the place in his heart Nina had occupied. It didn’t lead to any grand epiphany of how he was going to handle the future without her at his side. Nina had been his rock, his confidant, the person he loved most in the world and the one person capable of making Abbacchio see through the haze of self-loathing to imagine a better future. And she was gone. There was nothing that could replace her, and he didn’t want anything to replace her. If he hurt, it meant that she had been there once, right? The fact that her passing left such gaping hole was proof, in its own way, that she had really loved him. And that he, the failure Leone Abbacchio, had been capable to returning that love. Worthy of accepting that love.

And the physical proof was here in his arms. A mixture of Nina and himself. A gift that she had lavished so much time and love on, and had worked so hard to bring into the world. And what a job she did. Sophia was healthy, and energetic if the way she squirmed was any indication. Nina would have been so proud, so happy to have been her mother. Sophia couldn’t replace Nina. She couldn’t do anything to fill the voice her mother left behind. But it was strange, there was a new spot now. A new hole, but instead of emptiness it overflowed. He had to take a shaky breath to try and steady himself. It was overwhelming, the feelings of grief and loss and love mixing together. He could feel himself crying again, although for a new reason.

“Leone?” Bruno asked, having gotten up out of the slush himself.

“I’ll try.” It was all Abbacchio could manage as he again used his shoulders to try and dry his face. It was enough though, and as the new father began to bounce his daughter to try and soothe her, the two men headed back into the hospital together.

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 6: Build 2.0

Yall, I cheated. And am also late. I couldn’t get anything done with ‘husky’, so I decided to prolonge my previous prompt, as the last one didn’t give me room to fully explore my idea. So... be warned that this is... quite long. Possibly very long. I leave that up to you.

It’s a continuation of this one

𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟷𝟿𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟸𝟻𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟷, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚣.

Dani and I had done this before, many times. We’d had our fair share of paranormal investigation—sometimes just plain investigation—and most of the times, it even amounts to nothing, if not a slight disruption of a picture or the ‘mysterious noises’ turning out to be either stray cats or a group of teenagers setting a horror movie set for strangers. But the Maduro case was peculiar to us. It was Dani who suggested we’d investigate the Maduro case, and she always did seem rather curious about the outlines of the case.  

We did the needed investigation before we got there. Aside from some news articles, there was the original 1983 police report, which looks… sloppy, rushed, and honestly, not like they were even trying at all. The majority of the photos vanished, supposedly lost in mishandling of paperwork, except three—the ones well known—and both disappearances were chalked up under ‘runaway children’, despite the fact that Samuel Maduro was 15 and Aura 28 at the time of each of their disappearances.

We knew the house had belonged to Aura after her parents, and before that, to Amelia and Augusto Maduro, the grandparents, who used to own a quarry up until 1939, when they sold their part of the business to Mr Maduro’s partner. At the time, we couldn’t really find the reason why they sold it, though what we did conclude afterwards is nothing short of speculation, so we just assumed it to be some sort of financial strain. There was a civil war going on, though we couldn’t find confirmation on the Maduros’ political affiliations, nor is their village located anywhere close to where the war hit, but… War always does bring about hard times, so it wasn’t at all that inane.

What was surprising was finding our first clue that contradicted the original 1983 report. Though Claudia Maduro, mother of both Samuel and Aura, suffered from a lifelong heart disease and eventually died four years after her son’s disappearance—a time spent between check-ups and several psychiatric consultations—the father’s death, Francisco Maduro, does seem related to the case.

He appears to have lived the last ten years of his life as a recluse, and the only visits he ever had were a gardener—who helped around with the backyard—, a maid—mostly responsible for doing his laundry, some cooking and cleaning—, and a man named Antonio. He was the last one to see Mr Maduro alive, though his name wasn’t even mentioned in the original report.

According to Antonio, when he arrived at the house that afternoon, Mr Maduro was in a state of distress. He had set up a ladder to go up the attic and was going up and down frequently, to fetch several items, all of which he recognized as being used for construction purposes: toolboxes, measuring tapes, rope, sandpaper. Of this, Antonio reportedly joked for a while, asking him if he was building something, or maybe fixing a piece of furniture, but Mr Maduro was majorly unresponsive, instead appearing focused on his task. He simply kept mumbling: “The animals keep tearing it down.”

It must have been shortly after he left that Mr Maduro fell off his ladder, approximately two meters high, hitting his head on a rock and being found hours later by the maid, who had him rushed to the hospital, where he died an hour later.

Here’s what’s so appalling about this. Looking at the original police records, there were no interviewed. It looks like the police simply asked no questions to anyone, no acquaintances of the family, no friends, no neighbours. Every evidence was gathered from inside the home, and every conclusion reached without taking into consideration the village itself. At first, we thought they had been careless—ridiculously careless, mind you—but as our days went on and we tried speaking to others, it became clear just what the real reason was.

The villagers avoided the Maduros because they were afraid of them.

Overall, it seems neither Aura nor Samuel—nor their parents, for that matter—were particularly hated, rather ostracized by what the villagers saw as a need. The priest at the time, one father Ángel, even did his best to include the two children in his community, and we did find several photos of Samuel carrying the podium of Santa Marina during one of its processions. Both siblings appear to have been devout Catholics too: crucifixes and rosaries were found in both rooms, as well as prayer books and Bibles, they attended church regularly, got involved with the community and celebrated every day of the calendar.  

The problem was not Samuel and Aura, nor Francisco and Claudia—the Maduros’ dark history was older than that.

There was one fundamental piece to their history that everyone completely overlooked, which wasn’t on records for reasons that, for a while, seemed mysterious enough, though it became clear as we unravelled the story. Francisco Maduro, grandfather of both Aura and Samuel, disappeared without a trace in 1939, immediately after selling his part of the quarry.

After searching through records, old newspapers and considerably angering the locals, all we found was one newspaper clipping, though not an article. It was an ad, an announcement, posted by the local police, asking villagers to please notify them if they new anything about Mr Maduro’s whereabouts. And nothing more. The only way to understand what had happened was by asking, and by now, we knew nobody would say a word about it, so we thought Antonio would perhaps collaborate.

By all means, it must be said: Antonio had a bit of a drinking problem, and we might have bargained in that sense. I’m not terribly proud of it, but in my defence, he looked desperate to talk, like he had kept something buried so deeply he waited years to finally speak up. Though I wasn’t expecting a confession exactly. After all, Antonio was, in his own words, Francisco’s best friend, though the two weren’t as close in adulthood as they had been in childhood. And like the Maduros—maybe because he appeared to be the only one in the village who didn’t fear going near the house—he was a bit of an outcast.

He told us that Amelia Maduro was far from being a heart-warming woman. He recalls her posture from childhood, which I think can be seen in the pictures found inside one of the locked rooms of the house: haughty, stern, impeccable. She seldom smiled, and her face bore something grievous to it, a chiselling of austerity that made children everywhere tell stories of her beatings and whippings. She was very pious too, at times too severe in her belief, and her doctrine was an imposing one. Antonio recalls an event from childhood, after visiting Francisco one afternoon: she had stopped a maid on her tracks, taken a step back and inspected her outfit; then, she had asked why was her skirt three fingers above the knee, to which the maid, flustered, replied she had to borrow her sister’s, who was younger, considering she had found a hole in hers that morning. Then, without warning, Amelia slapped the young woman across the face and said: “I will not have whores serving me.” And she fired her.

This might be explanatory to what truly seems to be the reason behind the quarry issue. Shortly before, Francisco Maduro became romantically involved with a supposed worker at the quarry, a woman who would bring refreshments to the men on the field every afternoon. It turns out, however, the woman was Pilar Deocampo, niece of Alfredo Deocampo—Francisco’s business partner. She became pregnant and decided to plan an escape with the aid of Francisco, who was supposed to meet with her after dealing with some logistics as to not leave his family with no support, but the plan failed when Amelia discovered their affair. When Pilar gave birth to baby boy in 1939, things took a grim turn.

From here on, Antonio swears, the story has become folklore, but the vast majority of the villagers strongly believe it to be true, and stands as the reason for them to stay away from the Maduros and their home. Amelia, without her husband’s knowledge—who was away for a few days—invited poor Pilar for some afternoon tea, under the guise of friendship and empathy before her condition—unmarried and with a son borne from a married man. How it happened differs, since nobody was present if not one maid who left the house immediately after, but on one thing all tales are consistent: Amelia killed the child in front of his mother, proclaiming that her act was justified before God because it was in God’s plans to cleanse the earth of sinners, and that the child was impure and shouldn’t have been born either way.

In a fit of rage, Pilar Deocampo attempted to injury Amelia, but failed to. As a result, Amelia inflicted several wounds on the grievous mother, who bled out in her living room. Many say Mrs Maduro watched, untouched by her very own gruesome actions, and in her dying breath, Pilar Deocampo uttered one last thing, something the village now chants as much as a curse as a reminder: Mi sangre marcará tu tierra, y mis huesos serán tu mausoleo. Por cada uno que pierdas, un otro quedará en sofrimiento, y como las árboles de tu finca, vosotros marchitarán lentamiente.

My blood will mark your land, and my bones will be your mausoleum. For each one you lose, another will stay in suffering, and like the trees of your property, you will wither away slowly.

Amelia then proceeded to force her very own maids into taking the body to the nearby forest, dig up a grave and bury them; then, she placed the two pillars with the chain to forbid anyone from going into the area, and never spoke of the subject again—until her husband arrived home the next day. Seeing the maids scrubbing blood from the wooden floorings, he inquired his wife as to what had happened. Amelia didn’t spare any details; in fact, many agree she was quite assured in her grim account, believing hers had been a righteous act.

Francisco Maduro then, in a frenzy of grief and despair, ran into the woods to see it for himself, to see the grave of his beloved and his child—and he crossed the space between the two pillars. He was never seen again.

Amelia would die less than ten years later, and despite everything, many agree she was incredibly grievous of her husband’s disappearance and entirely devoted to her faith. The Maduros then became a cautionary tale—it’s unclear to me whether or not Francisco witnessed this event, considering he would be around 18-20 at the time, but the tale became part of the villages’ folklore so much he became a person they willing avoided. Antonio swears, however, that both Aura and Samuel were entirely unaware of this past.

From the story came a legend, one the villagers believed to be real, from the case of Samuel and Aura Maduro’s disappearance. Anyone who crossed the space between the two pillars would find the secret burial place of Pilar and her child; keeping her promise, it seems a Maduro would always be bound to find the place in one way or another, and it was none other than Pilar who called them, leaving someone else behind to suffer for their absence, until no Maduros were left.

It seems Pilar achieved her goal, then.

This also explains something about the house, something Aura herself spoke of in her last journal entry: that there was an overwhelming sadness to it, something bittersweet that didn’t seem to belong there. If the path itself sent a shiver down our spines, and there always seem to be something lurking between the trees when we looked, inside the house we felt… safe. Dani even recalled feeling this sudden pang of sadness which she described as being ‘like a mother losing her child’. At the time, I laughed it off, told her she was just missing her cat, but after Antonio told us the tale, we… froze in dread, to be honest.

Energy like this is nothing new—the spirits of those who died inside the place always leave some speck of it behind, and we feel it like something external. We thought it strange at first because no Maduro had died inside the home that we knew of: Francisco at the hospital, Claudia at the local market, Samuel and Aura vanishing, and as far as we could tell, with Francisco also vanished, Amelia died while in mass of a heart attack. But it started making sense then: the only people who had died inside the house were not members of the Maduro. It was their pain we felt, and consequently, that Aura felt.

Dani and I weren’t sure what to expect of this, but it certainly explained why all those who had tried finding the clearing described by Aura never did—because they went around the two pillars, not through them. We had come all this way to find answers, so we figured there was only one thing to do.

I think we were naïve. We believed the tale was only a tale, and if any of it was to be taken for truth, it was certainly aimed at the cursed—the Maduros, not us, mere wanderers. But… we were wrong.

I took a recorder and a camera with me, while Dani took a photographic digital camera. For a while, we stood before the two pillars in silence and tried telling ourselves it was fine, perfectly fine, it was just a piece of local folklore based on Catholic devotion of two women, one a sinner, the other scorned. We’d heard many like that, and it seemed improbable the clearing even existed in the first place. So we held our hands—though why, I can’t exactly tell—and we leapt over the chain.

Every single one of Aura’s words travelled back to me. She was right. It was… daunting. Shapes hovered about, escaping my sight constantly, caught only from the corner of my eyes, and the dense vegetation closed around us. There was a horrible silence all around—more of an absence of sound—and we couldn’t even hear our own heart beats. The sun struggled to transverse the heavy foliage, and the air was thick and prickly. Dani snapped a few photographs as we trod on, but it was clear she was aiming at nothing specifically, just frantically moving her camera with a gasp and a jitter, frightened by a sudden movement from which came no sound. Even the snapping twigs and crunching leaves beneath our feet seemed muffled.

After thirty minutes, we stopped. Before us, the space opened widely, and trees sprouted from a bald batch of white and brown earth, entwining together above our heads like a gable roof. Dani stopped, her camera frozen between her hands, but her eyes were glazed into a sort of mania I had never seen before. With a shuddering finger, she pressed the shutter, but didn’t look into the screen, just ahead—contemplating, focused. Her arm lowered then, and I called her name; Dani jittered, blinked and looked down at the photo she had just snapped—frozen and pale.

When she showed me photos, my heart sank to my feet. Every single one of them was so corrupted almost all of them were unusable, but a few of them showed something buried beneath the static corruption. Shadows, figures, silhouettes. A pair of baby feet. Faces, hollow and daunting, frozen into a scream.

I pressed my recorder, but it didn’t seem to work; Dani pressed some buttons on her camera but suddenly halted, and her eyes—glazed once more—cast curiously all around. She gave a step forward, and another, and a few more—all considerate and cautious, though they grew, and unexpectedly, she took her backpack off her shoulders and threw it on the ground; she dashed ahead, her hands diving deep into a bush, rummaging through meshes of thorny foliage, and a faint yet vivid laughter escaped her lips.

I called her in screams, but she did not react. At this point, I was terrified and could not move; all I could see was Dani dashing back and forth, stacking sticks under her arms and wiping the centre of the clearing clean, hands covered in white and brown dust—until I realized what she was doing.

I remembered Aura’s account. She was building something.

I shouted again, telling her to stop, as loud as I could, but this time, I couldn’t freeze. I ran to her, wrapped my arms around her when she began to struggle, and with all my might, held her steady, face buried against my chest. She smacked her fists at me, but I persisted, desperately trying to keep her still. I thought then that all it mattered was that she wouldn’t see, she wouldn’t look at the clearing, at that spot where she was feeling somehow compelled to build. I closed my eyes shut, and wind gushed past—no sound still. And I waited.

I opened my eyes first, didn’t let Dani move, and froze again. Before me was a house—small, no higher than a meter and a half tall—made of something white, polished and scraped to precision. Bone.

Stood in a moment of suspension, my arms relaxed, and my fingers stopped gripping Dani’s clothes. Her body shuddered against mine, and her breath raged louder than the gushing wind around us, louder than any sound in that deathly and hollow clearing. Then, she screeched—a gasp that grew in timbre, a rising cadence that somehow seemed to come far slower than I took notice of, and she jolted herself. In a motion faster than I could have anticipated, her body escaped my grip, and she ran—she ran away from me, towards the bone house that rose before us, without really having actually seen it before turning her head with resolution and dashing away.

I tried to grab her, but she escaped; her hands smacked open at the door, and on her knees, she crawled; her panting, heavy and desperate, came like an omen. She was famished for whatever exited beyond it, and I tried to stop—I screamed and ran after her, but she was elusive and fast and set on getting through that door and into the darkness that sucked her in and in and in—and I was too slow. Inside the door, nothing but blackness—swirling, consuming blackness—and as Dani entered the daunting absence of it, she evaporated from her very being. It was like watching someone being devoured by an invisible mouth that swallowed her into nothingness, and her every gesture came with so much reassurance I finally understood what Pilar Deocampo had warned: one always stays behind to suffer.

It wasn’t just meant for the Maduros; it was meant for anyone who desecrate her grave.

When the door slammed shut with a hollow thud, I collapsed to my knees and screamed her name, over and over until nothing existed inside my throat but the soreness of my efforts and the saltiness of my tears. There was not a sound. The entire space around me was engulfed in nothingness. I couldn’t see nor hear Dani anywhere, and before me, the house made of bone appeared far too small for her body to fit inside.

I curled up, and though the terror that had consumed me and made my heart pound so harshly my chest hurt, I couldn’t move. I grabbed the camera, but was unable to turn it off. By my side, Dani’s backpack laid forgotten, tossed aside in a rush. I had studied the Maduro’s case to the smallest detail and I knew she wouldn’t come back. And I finally understood what it was that had consumed Aura in such overwhelming grief, enough to make her leave her home and never come back, until her father passed away and she realized—she must have—he too crossed the space between the two pillars. I finally understood what madness had possessed Amelia after her grim crimes.

It was knowing they weren’t dead, but sentenced to absolute nothingness, left to hover in a sea of absence and non-existence, spiralling down to possible madness. It was knowing they were better off dead.

I blinked my teary eyes open, cold and trembling, hands gripping the camera, and saw something. The house was still there, but next to it, someone: sitting on the ground, back turned to me, legs crossed and shoulders slouched forward, clothes ragged and torn, and in their long auburn hairs, small leaves and twigs were caught in the slender threads. Instinctively, I turned the camera and snapped a quick picture—but the figure didn’t move.

My eyes didn’t move away from the strange figure in front of me, and as I put the camera down, I realized it could only be one person.

“Aura Maduro?”

Her head rose slowly, as if she tried to have a look at the skies, hairs swaying behind her, but she said nothing. Then, I felt it again—that same pressing sadness we always felt inside the house, like a mass of air that swarmed around me, emanating from the spectre before me.

“Where is Dani?” My voice was low, considerate; I looked at the figure and I still saw who I had seen in Aura Maduro the moment I had arrived there—a victim, as much as I was now. “Can you please bring her back to me?”

Immobile. Time passed, though I couldn’t measure, couldn’t tell how long it had been, if it was night or day though the sun existed somewhere in the sky—of that, I was sure. Then, her voice floated in the air, a ragged tune, husky and dragged, but frayed by an overwhelming agony that consumed me like a gust of wind.

“She has to stay.”

My breath rose and whipped the back of my throat; I moved restlessly, but couldn’t leave the small batch of earth on which I knelt. “Please,” I pleaded. “Please, just let me take her home.”

“El sangre marca la tierra,” she spoke, “y sus huesos son nuestro mausoleo.”

“I know what Pilar did to your family.” Every word seemed senseless to me, as if I read from a book: reciting a prayer in order to save myself, though unsure I was there was any salvation left. I wanted to say more, let her know that I understood that misery that encompassed us both, that exuded out of her like a cold wind—but every word died.

“One always stays,” she said, “and the other feels pain. But I look after them.”

I felt my chest tear open in that same sweeping sadness—it was something carved deep into her words, something instilled in the worn-out tone of her voice.

“I look after them,” she continued—and in between her words, a dissonance came: of a woman that wept in silence, the distortion of a throat filled with swallowed tears, “so they don’t feel so lost.”

Defeated, I looked down at the earth beneath me, at last understanding what never-ending horror Pilar Deocampo had cast on the world, that projected grief that would never cease, a continuous cycle of pain and terror—meant forever to steal and burden those who lived, who came out unscathed, to unfathomable pain.

I thought there was something I had to say, though I sincerely don’t know what my reason was: “What can I do?”

Her hand waved in the air, and from the ratty long-sleeves of her jersey, a slender finger, bony and pale, pointed to her left. I noticed there was a watch, glass cracked and black bracelet, with gold rims around. “Take him,” she said. “Let Sam rest.”

The order was immediate, and somehow, I understood. I stood, paced slowly towards the area she had pointed at—below a tall tree, at a small mound covered in pine needles and dried leaves, a batch of golden-brown amidst a soft green. I knelt, pushed the leaves aside, dug my fingers into the earth, and shuddered at the touch of something cold, harsh and angular. A hand, made of bones entirely, no flesh left, emerged—and when I understood at last what she demanded of me, I nearly vomited—sure I was completely incapable of completing the task.

I didn’t look back; short of breath, lungs collapsing at every sweeping movement of my hand, I didn’t rest. When I was done, a putrid smell filled my nose and I covered it with one arm; I ran back then, to Dani’s abandoned backpack, and rummaged for something useful enough for the rest of the deed. We had both brought our sleeping bags, expecting to perhaps spend the night to collect some evidence—so I unrolled Dani’s, pulled the zipper open, and with a force I hadn’t felt before in my life, unsure still where it came from—an urgency of survival, perhaps, or something outside of myself, cast upon me by Aura Maduro—I grabbed the pile of bones and put them inside the sleeping bag.

She was still there when I was done, her hand resting on her lap again. I stopped, stared at her with a cold shudder—whether of dread or something else, I can’t say anymore. Aura Maduro—what was left of her—simply sat in contemplation, her head still raised as she stared at something ahead, and only then did her words echo in my brain in full meaning. I grabbed my backpack, put the sleeping bag carefully on Dani’s, and stared at her. I had almost forgotten about the bone house.

“Do not return,” she said. “You won’t resist next time.”

Somehow, there was an unpronounced message in the air, something that wafted by like a tune carried from the distance, something you only notice when you stop and listen carefully: I am sorry you will have to suffer like we all did. I am sure that was it. Somehow, the precision existed in the tone of her voice, exuding out of her like a radio wave meant to be captured; somehow, I knew.

I walked back—ran back—and once I leapt over the chain, almost instantly, the air was weightless, soft and comforting. But everything else—my entire existence—began to press against my shoulders into a burden that was only now beginning to emerge. Guilt. Terror. Sadness. Crushing, overwhelming sadness—and Dani’s inexistence, her sentence into nothingness, collapsed over me.

It goes without saying I never saw her again.

I buried Samuel Maduro in the backyard of the house, and with nothing to mark his grave, I simply left, on the mound of earth, a framed picture I had found in the house—of Samuel and Aura. In it, she was wearing a wristwatch, black bracelet with golden rims.

I left and never went back. Though sometimes there is a burning wish to grab my things and drive until I see them again, the two pyramidal pillars with that creaking chain between, I never did. I think of Aura’s words, her blooming sadness, and something about it breaks my heart to pieces. The last of a cursed family, unknown of what she carried. On the night she had finally returned to her brother, in 1983, she had sacrificed far more than I could have anticipated. Cast into nothingness forever, sentenced to exist in a limbo of non-existence, forever imprisoned in the blackness of the bone house, she had willingly become a guardian. A watchful soul over those who fell victim to Pilar’s treachery—unable to put an end to it, she had at least given herself to the chance of easing their burden, making that consuming nothingness a bit more bearable. The core of it is, however, what it means to the two last members of the Maduro family.

I was never religious. I still am not. But they were stark Catholics, born and raised between catechesis and Saturday mass. For them, being sentenced to a limbo that is neither death nor life, neither Heaven nor Hell, and something far worse than purgatory… It must be horrifying.

I destroyed my camera and the footage, as well as the tape recorder I took with me, though there was nothing in it. I couldn’t bear, however, to destroy Dani’s digital camera. It was a piece of her, and every little thing that attested to her existence, I just… held on to it.

It was only months later that I turned that camera on again. To my surprise, there was a picture I had never seen—the last one I had taken, of Aura Maduro herself.

I can’t describe it. I will leave it to your eyes to see what lacks words entirely. Perhaps you can understand what it that I felt that afternoon.

I wish I could tell Dani how sorry I am.

________

𝙻𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟶𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟷. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚔, 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚣.

𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚣 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍.

𝙰 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚢𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚐. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍.  

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘’𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 

_________________

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

[gerbiloftriumph]

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

3/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

“Your Majesty, we’re sorry about earlier,” Royal Guard Number Three called through the door. The others stood clustered behind her, looking apprehensive.

(“He’s going to throw something at us.”)

(“He isn’t.”)

(“You didn’t see the look on his face. He absolutely will.”)

“We brought hot chocolate,” she persisted, knocking again. “After walking in the rain, we thought you might need to warm up.” Still no response. “King Graham, are you in there?” She shifted the tray from one hand to both hands and bumped the door open with her hip. Everyone huddled around her, peeking through the gap.

“He’s not there,” No4 sighed, relieved.

No3 pushed the door open all the way. The throne room was littered with socks and acorns, as they’d left it. “But it’s getting dark.” She thought about the monsoon gray sky and amended, “Late. Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Maybe he’s staying in town. He used to do that a lot.”

“Yes, but that was before we crowned him.” No2 hesitated. “Is that allowed now?”

“It’s not like he’s a proper king, is it? I expect he can do whatever he likes.” No1 made some dismissive hand flapping gesture. “I suppose we should get this cleaned up or something. Hardly looks civilized. Doesn’t keep a very neat throne room, does he.”

“Does that mean we can drink the hot cocoa?” No2 asked hopefully.

No3 tapped her finger against the tray, not sure at all if she should—or even could—make a suggestion. She was the newest rank and file, just hired by the king. But he’d given her a job when she’d desperately wanted it, and…well, she felt wrong about all this. Like an unpleasant itch beneath her armor. Graham had looked so miserable when he’d left (fair enough—she’d heard the shouting even from the entrance hall), and he hadn’t come back hours later, and….

“What if I go to town and make sure?” she offered.

“Sure about what?” No1 said distractedly. He picked up one of the abandoned socks, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it once he had it, and he let it drop again.

“That he’s safe?”

“Safe? We’re in Daventry. It’s no Serenia or Llewdor. We haven’t had anything worse than a wedzel around for years.”

And that dragon that killed that knight, she thought, a touch rebelliously. And leprechauns and goblins and giants and…oh, never mind. “Still, sir, I think a spot of rust on the helmet will do me good. Get some practice marching in.”

“Ah, go on then. We’ll keep some cocoa warm for you.” He took the tray from her and wandered back toward the kitchens, trying to bat No2 away with his elbow without spilling anything. “Later, later. Let’s reheat it and get the rest of the lads in, make it fair.”

She looked at the empty room, remembered how distressed Graham had seemed when he pushed off into the rain alone, and she spun on her heel. She’d go to town. He’d mentioned Wente earlier; may as well start there.

No3 meandered along the road, that eternal Daventry monsoon rain drumming on her umbrella. She practiced what she might say to him, what would convince him to come back, to not give up on them, on her and her beginning career. If she could get Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) on her side, surely combined they could whip up an argument as solid as Wente’s brownie frosting.

But when she got to the town, and when she found half a broken flute, and empty houses, and a ton of churned mud, and shards of glass and splintered wood, and broken pies and cracked alchemical vials, and a complete lack of any king or villagers whatsoever, she flung the umbrella into the shattered bakery, sprinted back to the castle, and managed to completely ruin hot cocoa night in three words: “King Graham’s gone!”

*~*~*

Someone tapped on his hand, gently. “No, go ‘way,” he mumbled. “Ten more minutes.” The tapping persisted. He withdrew his hand and pulled it close under the blankets. “Five minutes,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly shut, though to his disappointment he could feel himself waking up. Something licked his nose, and he sat bolt upright. “Triumph?”

The glowing salamander on his pillow flicked its tail. Graham gaped at it for a split second before the pain hit in a horrible wave and he huddled forward, clutching the back of his head. The blanket (no, his own cloak) bunched around his waist. His probing fingers found the aching lump on the back of his head from where he’d hit it on the cobblestones yesterday. Yesterday?

Oh. Right.

He was sure he’d dreamed it. Prayed he’d dreamed it. But in the cold light of salamander glow it was undeniable. No point in pinching himself to make sure—everything already hurt.

Graham shifted, leaning against the stone wall behind him. It felt like he’d rolled down the side of a mountain (ha, again). His leg was uncomfortably stiff. Cautiously, he rolled back the fabric and found a horrible bruise on his hip, mottled purple and black and ugly in the gloomy light. The slightest pressure made him hiss. Sore, finger shaped bruises also marked the back of his legs and calves and even his arms from where they—the goblins, right—had gripped and pulled and thrown him into this cell. Stars.

Gingerly, he eased himself off the mattress, putting weight on his good leg before equalizing himself. His stiff leg shuddered, and he staggered forward, catching himself on the stone block that suited for a table. Newton chirped at him, and Graham breathed deep before pushing himself upright. Every bone seemed to creak and groan and pop as he did.  

For the next undeterminable amount of time, he limped in agonized circles around the room, half hunched over for most of it, stretching out aching muscles and trying to focus, to think. His steps sloshed���much of the water from the night (or whenever—how much time had passed, anyway?) had drained away, but the lower stones puddled. He guessed it was rainwater collecting in the caves. As long as it was raining on the surface, his little prison would be damp.

The worst part about this, he decided (other than the sharp bite in his hip every few steps), was the not knowing. Not knowing why they’d taken him, and not knowing what they wanted to do with him. The goblins’ faces (masks?) revealed nothing. He couldn’t ask without an interpreter—not that there was anyone around to ask, anyway.

It wasn’t like the kingdom had enemies, at least none that he could definitively name. Or, to be fairer, there were some, but he wasn’t certain who, or if there even was a who, to blame, and guesses were just guesses. But it felt so…drastic. Unnecessary.

Sure, he’d only just been crowned and perhaps someone was upset about not being chosen (fair enough; who crowns a royal knight with no proper training or, truly, all that much warning), but so what? He upheld an open court. They could have walked in and laid out their frustration, maybe even made a claim to the crown. Stars, after that debacle in the castle earlier, he might have simply given them the throne had they asked politely enough.

It could be a ransom demand, he supposed, but the kingdom was dealing with rotten budget problems brought on by Edward’s illnesses and badly implemented addendums in his final months, and neither Graham nor any of the guards had sorted out how the unlimited treasure chest worked yet. (If, indeed, it even was unlimited. It had the mark of the Merchant of Miracles printed on the bottom, so, not much hope there.) If someone planned on getting a ransom for him, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Hopefully send-him-home disappointed, not cut-his-throat disappointed.

Oh, shining stars. He ran his hands through his tangled hair.

To avoid losing Graham to the knife, the royal guards would have to strike up deals with the neighboring kingdoms. They’d have to relinquish the lavender fields to the highest bidder. Trade their goats and livestock. Open the King’s Forests for hunting. Daventry would be ruined economically and politically, just to scrape together a pitiful ransom for their stupid king.

It might just be best to forget the ransom, crown someone new (a King’s Tournament instead of a Knight’s Tournament? A tournament of speed could be the first to sign a ream of addendums) and forget Graham had ever existed. They hadn’t even had more than two sessions for the new royal portrait to be added to the Hall of Faces. It would be easy enough to hide him, a pathetic little footnote in the history books.

Which would make for a happy, thriving Daventry, but a not so happy pack of goblins, and, consequently, a less than thriving Graham.

He pressed his face against the barred window. No one was around. He looked down, trying to see what sort of lock held the door—a very large padlock, by the look of it. He wriggled a hand through the bars and twisted his arm until he had it in his grasp. Sturdy. Heavy. He tried to angle it to see the lock itself, but he couldn’t quite manage from here.

With a flash of delighted inspiration, he unpinned his brooch from his cowl. He flipped it over and studied it, but he felt his burst of excitement drain away again. The metal pin was far too small for the weighty lock. He’d just break the brooch off, and then the goblins would have to break down the door to let him out or just not bother to open it again.

He wandered toward the cracked mirror, to reaffix the pin straight against his chest, and stared at himself. With the dark rings under his eyes, he looked like he’d been punched in the face. Twice.

“Ahh.” Graham sank onto the mattress, the only properly dry thing in the whole cell, and wrapped his cloak tight. An opportunity would come, surely. He just had to be ready for it. Whenever it came. Whatever it looked like. He curled on his side, favoring his bruised hip, and tried to think of sunshine.

*~*~*

Graham fell into a sort of routine as time crept past on soft salamander feet. He couldn’t know how much time was passing, and he was reluctant to make a guess at it for fear of making the situation feel all the more helpless. Hopeless.

He took to reciting what addenda he could remember—he thought he might be mixing up some of the numbers (was it Addendum 78934 that was about pasta in royal guard diets, or 86752, or maybe he’d forgotten a decimal point), but he knew he had the content right. He’d been memorizing facts and sheets for weeks. It helped keep him grounded after he’d counted all Newton’s spots and every facet of every rock dozens of times over.

Every now and again, when his nauseous hunger felt overwhelming, he stumbled toward the pipes and gathered up a small amount of porridge. Stringy to the eyes, slimy to the touch, and rubbery to the teeth, he bit back on his gag reflex and swallowed handfuls of it as quick as he could with his eyes screwed shut. It didn’t seem to have much of a smell to it, but that was most likely because he’d gotten used to the wet-dog reek of his damp, lizard-infested cell.

But one day (the third day, had he been able to accurately number the hours—a proper fairy tale amount of time, which might have given him a hint as to who had done this), the horrible porridge stopped coming. Nothing oozed out of the pipes at all. Graham almost laughed. No more porridge! Ha! No more…oh, hang on. No more porridge means no more food means…his stomach snarled. Or was it the goblins outside his door snarling at each other?

Then, because the goblins didn’t want to do their own chores, he was freed. Or, at least, he wasn’t locked in his cell constantly. Every evening they unlocked the door and let him out to do their literal dirty work. This first night, they thrust an oily rag in his face and ordered him to clear spiderwebs. Well, fine. Chores would break up the monotony of his own thoughts, and anyway, it was a great excuse to explore every corner of this prison without getting tackled.

But his cleaning came to a screeching halt when he discovered, to his utter horror, that he wasn’t alone. All his friends were trapped in the shadows and the slime, too. Wente and his new wife, Bramble. Amaya. The Hobblepots. The Merchant. Even, bafflingly, Mr. Fancycakes. They were starving, bedraggled, as pathetic as he was. Worse than he was. And they were depending on him for survival.

He straightened his crown.

It’s a puzzle, Graham. Find a way out.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Burning Passion pt. 7 - Loki x Reader Soulmate AU

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Sorry, Tumblr hates me and doesn’t display the links to the previous chapters no matter how often I try. Neither do the tags work properly. -.-

Summary: After you’ve lost the love of your life, how will things turn out from this point? It seems like the universe feeds on your pain.

“I wanna hurt to you just to hear you screaming my name.”

(Alice Cooper - Poison)

I swear this will have a happy ending lmao. What a ride.

Warnings: Well...Angst, Mental breakdown once again, unhealthy relationship, Loki being a major asshole.

Words: 4500ish

Early reunion

You couldn’t remember much of what happened after the incident. Only worry about whether Loki would be alright, after leaving witht he poison still inside of his system.

Except for this, your mind went completely blank. The only thing you felt was Thor’s firm embrace as he tried to pick you up from the ground, your limbs feeling like rubber. And how Steve was yelling at you without seeming to have any sympathy, wanting you to explain this situation. He seemed to have a heaty argument with Tony, who wanted him to leave you alone. But for the rest, you stopped paying attention a while ago.

All of this was miniscule to you right now - for you had lost the most important person in your life.

________

“We’ll get him back, [___]. I swear to you upon all of my honor!” Thor whispered as he lay a wet cloth on your forehead. The stress had caused you to get high fever in adittion, as if you didn’t have enough problems right now.

You nodded without a word, but your lips managed to give him a reassuring smile. It was good to have him around you right now - only he could understand the loss you’ve felt. And to be honest, it made you feel like a total hypocrite. Thor had lost so much more than that, and here you are, mourning over a man who isn’t even presumed dead yet. But both of you had the same goal - get this man back into your lives unharmed!

There was no time to brood about the harsh things he said to you earlier, neither for being sick. Sitting up in bed while telling your theory and the details about what happened before your friends arrived, you forced yourself out of the bed just shortly after.

“Come on, [___]. You can’t stand up just yet. We’ll handle this” Natasha said as she tried to pull you back, but the resolve in your eyes made her back off.

“I caused this mess, I’ll help cleaning it up.” After you swallowed some pain- and feverkillers, you already started to get dressed. Your head was still dizzy, but at least your body moved as you wished.

“You don’t know the whole story! Now that The Ancient One and Odin aren’t here anymore, Thanos will come for the Tesseract” you explained as you put on your shoes, “And Loki went completely nuts. What does he even want to do with that thing? I bet he doesn’t know himself.”

“Do not worry, [___]. The Tesseract got destroyed, together with Asgard!” Thor cheered, hoping it would make you see reason and go back to bed.

“Uh, yeah...about that....” you stuttered, not looking up to meet their gaze as you still sat on the floor, trying to get on your boots with shaking hands.

Thor frowned, remembering it’s Loki you were talking about. “No.”

“Yes. I once sneaked into his room for a prank and saw him summouning it. It looked the same as back in New York, and I assume it’s not a fake.”

“Why didn’t you report to any of us instantly?!” Clint yelled as he shook you, before Tony pushed him away. You didn’t want them to fight because of you, but look at what you started...

“He was just admiring it. Looking as if he was thinking about what to do with it. I confrontet him about everything and he assured me he didn’t want to use it, just protect it from humans and their desire to form weapons with it’s energy!”

Steve’s expression told you exactly how he was feeling right now. “And you honestly believed the damn God of Lies?!”

“Yes” you barked back at him, “Yes I did! And did he try to use it once up until now? No!”

Walking up to you just to place a hand on his shoulder, Thor tried to calm you down. The way he pet your head only made you painfully miss Loki’s touch even more - but you tried to stayed strong. “I am very touched by the way you feel about my brother. Even though I doubt that he deserves your fidelty - if you are able to still believe in him, I’ll try to do the same. We’ll get him back to you, I promise.”

The others still didn’t understand. Of course, he wasn’t all that bad ever since he and the rest of Asgard arrived on Earth, but there was never a guarantee that he didn’t plan to do this the whole time. Not that it would make any sense to gain their trust if he already had the Tesseract and could trick the security system from the very start, but it was only a theory that he lost his mind due to the poison.

“Even Thor stopped believing in Loki a long time ago” Bruce said, nervously walking around in the room and trying to keep his cool.

“No, he didn’t” you spat, “He may have gotten an unhealthy amount of suspicion, but he never stopped loving his brother.”

“Hey, I’m not that naive” Thor mumbled, but after seeing you rise an eyebrow ashamedly adding “Okay, there may be some truth in that...”

“This still doesn’t explain how you can be so sure that there’s still some good in this man. Only because he did one or two good deeds, it doesn’t mean he’s changed” Clint scoffed.

“Well” you mumbled quite annoyed as you removed the sweatband from your wrist, “Either my soulmate isn’t as bad as he seems or I’m going to become a villain at some point. I really hope it won’t be the latter.”

The only reaction you got from the team was a gloomy “...Oh.” Well, thank you guys. Really, much fo a help.

Thor was the only exception, instantly lifting you up in a bonecrushing hug that stole your breath. “I knew it! You’ll be the one to melt the ice around my brother’s heart!”

“...Oh god Thor. I swear, if you ever say something that cheesy ever again I think I have to turn you into a living torch.”

“See?” he cheered, “You and my brother really are made for each other!”

_____

Well, in the end you had to stay in bed until your fever reduced. It was a trade-off to at least hear about the plan to get Loki back.

It made you think: You really have wonderful people surrounding you, that you could gladly call your comrades. Not even for one second they’d doubt your integrity, rather believing in your words that there’s still hope for your soulmate.

Originally, the plan was to ask Dr. Strange for help. The Avengers met him after Loki and the others came to Earth, obviously demanding a reason for their return. Ever since then you didn’t have any contact to the mage.

Yawning loudly as you got out of the shower, you still felt tired as hell, even though you’ve slept for almost twelve hours. You walked towards the window, still only in your underwear and a towel wrapped around your hair, glaring into the distance. “I wonder if he’s doing fine...”

Strange needed way longer than before to find the whereabouts of Loki, since he was concealing his presence through magic stronger than the Doctors. Still, it would only be a matter of time until he’d find him with his spell...

Being awake and alone with your thoughts was hard to bear, but you couldn’t be with your friends, either. They just couldn’t help themselves other than looking at you with those pitying eyes, and you couldn’t bear to have that right now. You told them you wanted to be left alone, and so they tried their best to respect that.

Most of the time you’d ignore the knocks on your door and the kind words they said to cheer you up, even though it made you feel bad for being so unapproachable despite everything they’re doing for you. Sometimes you could really understand Loki. You loved all of them, that’s for sure, but it still didn’t change the fact that you felt out of place very often. As if everyone just played as if you belonged.

Better fall asleep before you overthink everything and get a panic attack again, you thought as you threw yourself on the bed and buried yourself in a ton of pillows and blankets. You would need all of your strenght for when the time would come to meet Loki again.

Before you slowly drifted away into your sleep, you could swear to see Loki standing at your bed, but as if through magic, your eyelids got as heavy as lead. Not being able to open them again, you felt a familiar, cold hand stroking your cheek. And still, you didn’t fear anything at that moment.

“I’m back, little dove.”

_______

As your eyes opened, you were not at the Stark Tower any more, but lay on a king-size bed in an even greater room.

The breeze coming through the open window made you shiver, so you carefully stood up and tried to figure out where you’re at. Everything was decorated in gold and red, with old furniture and pompous decoration. When taking a look out of the window, you were certain where you’re at: A beautiful castle with a gorgeous garden in front of it. You couldn’t exactly recognize any of it, but it didn’t seem like you’re still in America, though.

The caste seemed to be some kind of museum nowadays, being restored and having many information signs pinned everywhere. “Schloss Schönbrunn” it said. So you’re in Austria. What the hell is Loki doing here?

Until now, you didn’t realize it just yet, but when you got stuck at a nail or something sticking out of the ground, you saw that you wore a long, beautiful green dress with golden features - as well as a collar around your neck. What the hell is he thinking?!  Gradually, you got really pissed.

You felt Loki’s presence as if it was calling out for you, attracting your attention on purpose. So you dared to take a step out of the room, knowing it would mean no harm. Griding your teeth in annoyance, you took firm step through the giant hallways.

While passing some humans, you realized they weren’t acting out of their own will any more. Of course, it would be more easier to kill them, but without any military force it would be a bad idea to start a war. After you finally found the entrance hall, you realized the staff closed the museum, even though it was still bright day.

This castle was huge. Way larger than any building you’ve ever been in, except for the Stark Tower. You weren’t used to all that royal stuff, even though you were always amazed when Loki was bragging about life back on Asgard.

Well, wouldn’t make any difference to ask these human marionettes for the way to the throne room, would it? But while you were still pondering about which way to go, one of the persons tapped your shoulder, causing you to instantly cover your hands in flames, your alarm bells ringing.

“Miss [___], the king has commanded me to lead you to the audience.” A young woman was talking to you, and you saw it in her glowing blue eyes that she wasn’t herself anymore. Really, Loki? Does this seriously need to be?

Two men were pushing the giant door open, and the first thing you saw was Loki, sitting on the throne with his usual, smug grin. You had to remember Thor’s words after you were upset when Loki were pretty rude once “He likes to make up for his insecurities through acting overly confident - but on the inside, he’s constantly very troubled.”

Just a minute before, Loki was dozing on the throne, having a nightmare. A Chitauri, mercilessly killing you right in front of his eyes. His own sobbing made him awake, slowly descending to reality again. Why does he even waste any of his thought on this silly woman? No, he doesn't care. It cannot be. His mind played a prank on him - as it did very often before. Wiping the tears out of his face, he saw a blurry silhouette of a familar woman entering the throne room.

The men were pushing you over the red carped and towards Loki, trying to force you on your knees until he dismissed them with a flick of his hand. Now it was only you and him, but he kept his distance from you, looking as if he was mentally debating over something.

“Your highness” you scoffed sarcastically as you dropped a curtsey, furrowing your brows. “I see you’re well again. But that helmet looks ridiculous.”

“Ah, how I missed that sharp tongue of yours” he said as he slowly walked down the stairs from the throne to face you. “It sure is thrilling to see you again. And yes, a strong will is very helpful to break the magic of that poison.”

As you refused to look him in the eyes, he pulled on the collar, forcing you to look up. After a while of sneeringly eyeing you, he snapped his fingers and the leash disappeared. “What a ridiculous thing to make you wear. I have to apologize if I offended you with that little prank.”

“Fuck you” you hissed frankly.

“How refreshing. Just like the first time we’ve met” he chuckled with an evil tone in his voice, looking at you with a devil’s eyes. Damn, actually you wanted to contain yourself. “Do you like this castle? I only borrowed it until I have my own one, of course. Way bigger and more fit for a person like me.”

“I’m not up for smalltalk. Tell me what you want” you growled, causing Loki to come even closer to you.

"Oh, do not try to play calm. All of this is way too big for an insect like you. And you know that. I can feel you trembling from here, shaking in front of an enemy this powerful!

You felt how your throat went dry again, but you fought against this fear. "You're not my enemy, Loki. I do not wish fot it to be that way." 

He smirked a bit, realizing how he affected your way of talking into a more polite one. The thought of him being in your head even without magic was pretty amusing to him. Did he leave this much of an impression on you in this short a time?

“Ah, so naive" he curred as he circled around you, still trying to figure out what was so special about you.  How could such a weak creature, unworthy of him in any way, even attract his interest? But he loved the fight you put up against him. “What next? Do you want to call upon my humanity?”

"...I dont know. Maybe I’ll just use the chance to get to know the man who ripped my heart out a little better.”

“Not literally. But I can do that was well, if that's your wish.” His threat didn’t even made you flinch any more, you felt how unsure he was on the inside. 

“Did you kidnap me just because of that?” He could’ve easily kill you in your sleep, so why get you there of all things? So he can do it in a flashy environment, making a big deal out of it? Didn’t he just say he thinks so lowly of you?

His torn apart look as reaction to this question made you hope there might be reasoning with him, but you couldn’t find any other words than a weak “Loki...Please!”

Hearing this, he let out a loud, quick laughter. "Are you being serious, woman? That time with you was nothing more than an illusion, a minor sitback, you could say. It was fun while it lasted, but you were nothing more than a short pastime, an expedient, only meant to let me realize my mission - that I’m meant to rise on the throne I was born for, and reign over this inferior world! You can be proud of yourself, witch. I bet your species will be thankful someday. After all - your mistake helped me standing here today.” 

You grid your teeth and clenched your fists, prepared to slap him - but his body was just an illusion. "How cute" you could hear him say from behind your back, followed by you asking:

“Say, Loki, did you play some cheap trick with my mind?”

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t quite understand, and it wasn’t like you expected to get a proper answer out of this man. Loki was making even less sense than usually. 

Letting your arm finally sink down again, you whispered "Because even despite everything you did, I still cannot hate you the way I should. Quite the opposite, even."

Loki’s eyes widened in excitement, but shortly after he shook his head to try and get those feelings out of his mind. He let out a malicious smile as he approached you again. "No, I fear that's just your inferior human sentiment. What a disgrace."

"Is it so wrong for me to love you?" you asked, quite desparate to get any kind of positive reaction out of him.

"Yes" he said calmly, getting a strand of hair out of your way, still fascinated by your stunning beauty. “Too bad. If you were to be born Asgardian, you would’ve made a fine wife.”

“Loki, none of this needs to happen-”

“Yes it does! What does a human like you understand about the great things I’ve learned about in my exile?!” he yelled, making you duck down in fear. He looked at you with furious eyes before backing off and wandering through the throne room, as he always did when he was pondering about something.

“You’ve always betrayed the people that loved you, probably afraid of getting betrayed yourself. But we all love you, regardless of what you’ve done! There’s still a chance, you just have to take it! You don’t even have a real plan, do you? But together with Thor, the two of you, all of us-”

“Of course you believe that. Everyone is always on his side.”

You groaned in frustration. “Don’t act like you’ve given me a real choice! And don’t you ever dare to talk ill about how Thor and I tried to protect and defend you, all this time!”

"Well, I don't need his sympathy! Or yours, or anyones! I’ll prove my worth to all nine realms, out of my own accord!”

“At what price, Loki? That plan is insane!” you tried to get closer to him, but as soon as he quickly turned around to face you, you winced once again. “T-that’s not sympathy you oblivious idiot, it’s called love!” you began to yell back, but desparation made your voice crack again as you swallowed your tears.

"Lies" he hissed, "I am the God of Mischief. Don't you dare lying to me!" he scolded, adding "I can clearly feel how your heart is racing. Those eyes of you, wide and frightened. Is that love?!”

“Do you want my love?” you said with in a serious tone, your passionate look making him feel a lump in his throat.

Did he? Why did he even come back and bring you here in the first place? What’s the meaning behind this? He didn’t know the answer himself. The only thing he was certain of was that he couldn’t get you out of his mind - and it bugged him. No matter how he racked his brain around it, it didn’t make any sense.

He searched feverishly for a lie which explained why he was still so invested about you, and he quickly found one: The fact that he let you this close to his core. That you knew so much about him and his feelings. This insolence should be punished! 

"Don’t you dare telling me that I am worthy of being loved” he grumbled as his movements suddenly stopped.

Much to your surprise, he really seemed hurt about this. "You're just like everyone else! Telling me I am loved, even though deep inside you all know I'm an repulsive being! And you have a damn good reason to fear me. I'll give you one!"

Like this, even though he was threatening you, he didn't even seem to be this ruthless. He could've killed you ages ago, yet you still waited for him to even raise his hand against you. "That is not true, Loki. And you know that. I don’t think any less of you, even though I knew what you were from the very beginning.”  

"Well" he gritted, tired of deluding himself, "Because of the poison I catched for you, I got some very unpleasant memories back to my mind. How about I return the favour? Maybe it'll make you understand."

Like that, he touched your forehead, forcing you to relive the memories you've surpressed all this time. As you sunk down to the floor, being a sobbing and screaming mess, Loki crotched down in front of you.

You whimpered "You're a monster...", but Loki simply replied "That makes two of us. Or am I mistaken? Back then I got curious about your past, and I catched something in S.H.I.E.L.D’s database - but seeing it is on a whole new level: Back then, when you were but a little brat, you unleashed your might without knowing what you did - killing your family in the process. Their death was your fault and your fault alone. Everything would've been fine if just you haven't been born, right?" 

"Stop" you screeched out as you covered your ears.

"Hit the bulls eye, didn't I? I've always asked myself: Why would you help such weak people, all of the time? What would you gain from that? I knew that mortals try to excuse their weakness with cheap morals, but this was different, since you're no mere human: You try to ease your guilt through good deeds, isn't it like that? Filled your life with empty lies, attempting to find new meaning. That's the only way you were able to keep going this long, right? And now you try to stop me, for what? To save me? The earth? But no matter what - it won't make the dead come alive again, my fair lady."

You didn't answer him, trying to keep your thoughts together to prevent a mental breakdown - when you suddenly felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb wiping away some tears. "Oh...minds are so easily broken. You know my habit of talking more than good for me.”

Like this, he embraced you tightly as he whispered “We’re very much alike. I think I’m possibly the only one who can understand all the pain and loneliness you felt. Even though I coped with it quite the exact opposite way of your kind one.”

What is this contradictory behaviour? Was it to mock you? To torture you any further? You freed yourself from his hug, just to start speaking to your heart’s content.  "Oh, you like to hurt people's feelings, huh? Well, that's a game for two!"

Instead of casting the same magic on him, you simply told him what you thought about him. "You're...pathetic. Not feeling worthy of being loved until you've proven yourself, with that twisted logic of yours. You just turn everyone's words around so they fit your depressing view on your existence. So it's easier for you to be doing this."

You wanted to stop, but just couldn't. "That's also the reason you trust no one, and mark everyone's affection towards you as pity or mocking. Just a bitter man who doesn't know how to belong. Who thinks that power will fill the emptiness in his heart."

Your words didn't leave him unaffected, but he would never admit that. He already turned his back to you long ago, so you couldn’t see the change in his expression. "And there you are mistaken, little witch. I have abandoned such sentiments a long time ago. Unnecessary attachments will leave you vulnerable. And that's the difference between us. For you are a human, and I am a god."

"I...hate you" Those words of you made it feel like his hear got pierced by a burning blade.

"...Not that it matters. As if I'd care what a lowy creature thinks of me." He looked down to his chest, playing with the necklace you once gifted him. "I acquiesced your presence long enough" he said, grabbing your arm so tightly that it hurt. “If you don’t obey me, I’ll have to get rid of you.”

“Do as you please” you said, feeling as if death was the easiest option right now.

“But you know what? I have to admit, I was quite engaged in teaching you well back then. This shouldn’t go to waste. Human mages are quite rare, so I’ll contemplate to keep you as a trophy.” 

No answer, you didn’t even do so much as looking at him.

"Do you think you're above me?" he yells with a furious tone, but it left you unimpressed.

"I've never thought that. But if you don’t believe me, why don’t you turn me into one of those zombies?”

“And where would be the fun in that?” he scoffed loudly, saying “Give me a week to slowly break your mind. As I saw before, it’ll be quite the easy task. I’ll get a wonderful pet as a result.”

"Are you talking to me, really, or are you trying to convince yourself? Who are you so angry at? Why do you feel the need to act so high and mighty? I’ve always admired who you were, not for your status. But you sure are a monster - not because of your heritage but because of the things you’ve done and still want to do. I'm right here, completely at your mercy. Just finally kill me, would you?"

"Never, you imbecile girl! You want the truth?! I decided I wanted you to be mine a long time ago! So if I can’t love you, I’ll at least possess you! You may rot here, knowing that I'll slaughter your whole kind!"

Those were his last words before his servants threw you in a locked room without any windows or a trace at where you are. His magic was way stronger than yours, so there was no escaping it either way.

So this is how things are supposed to be? Is this even a ‘soulmate’, just because you belong to him now? It was never a doubt that it would be easy. Human mages live up to several hundred years, yet he’d still outlive you. You thought about it several times before - but right now you wished this was your only concern.

You curled up on the ground, your knees hitting your chest as you whispered to yourself.

“They’ll come for me. My friends will come, I am sure of it.”

______

[Part 8]

______

Don’t be afraid of criticism! Feedback is always appreciated, and I won’t ever get mad at you for suggesting stuff that makes it more comfortable to read for you guys!

______

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[monaisme]

Day 15: “run, don’t look back”

Day 15: “run, don’t look back”

Coming to after being drugged was always an experience, but none had ever been like this.

The feel of the wooden chair was familiar, as was the feel of metal on his wrists bound behind him. He pulled in a deep breath, trying to clear his head. He could still feel his Starkwatch on his wrist, which Peter and Mr. Stark had retrofitted with a tracker and emergency webshooter, so that was good. All of this together meant this was a Mr. Stark thing and they were amateurs, giving Peter the advantage.

But... there was something he was supposed to remember—something that made this one different from the other times. He’d been standing outside and... and then the van pulled up? That was all pretty standard, but what else was he supposed to remember?

And then, as he racked his brain, the soft sound came from behind him.

“Peter-peter-bo-beeter-banana-fana-fo-feeter, me-mi-mo-meeter, Pee-ter.”

Peter chuckled low, Ned and that stupid song. He’d sing it every day on the school bus back when... wait?

Peter’s eyes flew open. “Ned!”

The singing stopped, “Peter? Are you awake? Oh, please-please-pleeeez be awake!” Ned was moving behind Peter, probably bound the same way as Peter. He kept going, “Peter, you never told me being kidnapped was so boring and my butt’s asleep and oh, my gosh, I have to pee so bad!”

Oh, no. Peter definitely wasn’t with it enough to process all of that, so he interrupted Ned before he completely lost the plot. “Ned, just gimme a sec.” Peter dropped his head to his chest and centered himself as much as he could. He wished he could close his eyes again to take a nap but he didn’t have that luxury. The drugs were already clearing his system, Peter knew, it just helped to wake up fresh.

Ugh.

Ned had seemed to calm himself during Peter’s pause. “Um, Peter, are you okay?”

Peter was nodding before he’d even opened his mouth, still feeling a little disconnected. “Yeah, just coming off of whatever they gave me.” Peter thought for a second, then asked, “How are you okay? Shouldn’t you still be out?”

Ned shifted behind him. “I was never knocked out,” he answered. “I don’t think they planned to grab anyone other than you, ‘cuz they only had the one syringe and then I came out of the game store and saw them and yelled and they totally freaked out, man. It was awesome!” Ned stopped talking.

Peter waited for him to jump in with some more tidbits, but it seemed that Ned’s enthusiasm had run out. “Ned? You didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ned definitely sounded subdued. “I might have a bruise or two from when they tossed me in the van, but I listened so they pretty much left me alone.” He stopped talking for a minute but then started up again, “And so you know, I’m totally not worried, ‘cuz, duh! I’m with Spider-Man right now and Iron Man will be showing up sometime soon to kick ass, and that will be totally amazing, so don’t worry about that, but...” Ned sounded like he was really thinking about things.

“Ned?”

“I’m telling you this, Pete, ‘cuz you’re like my brother and you won’t judge me. I’m worried that my mom will be freaking out ‘cuz we didn’t make it back to the apartment when we said we would. You know that my dad just had the heart attack and she’s already so stressed about everything...” Peter felt Ned shrug in his chair. “That’s all it is, you know? I’ve just been stuck in my head a bit while you were out.”

They both got quiet then.

“Yeah.” Peter thought about Mr. And Mrs. Leeds, who were like an extra set of parents to him. He could honestly say that he loved them, and would do anything to get Ned home to them. Dude was his ‘Guy in the Chair,’ after all, and he needed to get him back... which meant it was time to get to work. “Ned, it’s time to focus. Mr. Stark’s gotta be tracking me by now, but I’m not gonna wait for Mr. Stark unless we need to, got it?”

“Got it,” Ned replied. “What do you need from me?”

Peter looked around the room. Of course they’d be trapped in a cement room in a warehouse somewhere—villains were so cliché sometimes. He took in the layout, and of course they put the two of them in a room with a window. Yes, it was one of those super high, almost a skylight but it was in the wall type of windows, but he was Spider-Man, and he was gonna get crap done.

“Okay, Ned.” Peter was feeling invigorated at the chance to get out. “I’ve got a plan, and it’s super complicated. Ready?”

Ned nodded emphatically behind him. “Ready.”

“Alright, I’m gonna climb that wall there and break the window—“

“Okay?”

“And then, I’m gonna carry you up that wall—“

“Okay?”

“And then we’re gonna go out the window—“

“Okay? And...?”

“And then we’re gonna drop to the ground and run like hell. Got it?”

There was a beat of silence, and then—

Ned snorted, “You, Mr. Parker, are such an asshole. Do your fans know this about you?”

Peter grinned big even though Ned couldn’t see it. “It’s a secret. Only the bad guys know... and you, but you’re my ‘Guy in the Chair’ so you’re obligated by the Superhero Code to keep it a secret.”

Ned took a breath, preparing to clap back when Peter heard footsteps coming down the hall and hissed, “Someone’s coming!”

Neither of them needed super hearing to catch what the bad guys were discussing as they walked down the hallway.

“... and what the hell did he expect me to do?! The kid saw my face and if he’s smart like Stark’s intern, he’d have for sure been able to help track us down. I don’t care how much money he promised us. Tony Stark was never supposed to know who we are!”

A second voice responded, “Look, the Boss just wants us to take care of it. It’s no skin off my nose if you want me to do it, but you’d better help me clean up the mess after, is all I’m sayin.’ I don’t want blood in my trunk again.”

“I didn’t sign up for killing a kid,” the first spoke again. “I don’t wanna—“

“I don’t care what you wanna! I’m not going to jail for this, and neither are you. The extra has to go. Now are you gonna help me out or what?!”

The boys even heard the huff of annoyance as the men continued past their door. “Fine. I don’t like this though.” They were getting quieter, “I’m gonna go grab a tarp from the van...”

The voices faded in the distance.

Ned’s breathing picked up.

“Hey, Ned,” Peter pulled his hands apart, shattering the standard handcuffs. He shoved his chair away so he could to the same to Ned’s. “C’mon. We’re getting out of here.”

Ned, distracted from his imminent doom, gaped, “Why didn’t you do that before?”

Peter was already climbing up the wall to the window, “First rule of kidnapping, Ned, never show your hand—assuming you have one.”

“Who came up with that rule?” Ned called up to him.

Peter barely spared him a glance as he answered, “Natasha, man. Who else would be so bad ass?”

Peter shifted his focus then. The window was definitely made of safety glass, super old and had that thin wire mesh running through it.

Shit. It was going to hurt.

It didn’t matter though. Peter starting banging at the glass, first with his elbow, and then with his fist as the window gave way. He ignored the blood and broken bones.

“Peter!” Ned called up, “I think they’re coming!”

Peter didn’t stop. If Ned heard them, then that meant they could hear the commotion he was making. With one last strike, the hole was big enough but all of those shards could be a problem— and then he took a quick look outside, muttered a “Shit,” and dropped to the floor.

Ned rushed up to him.

Peter grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder. He explained quickly as he crawled. “Okay, change of plans. We’re on the third floor. The glass sucked and I’m going to lower you to the ground then follow you out so you don’t get sliced, got it?”

“What—?” Ned started to ask but they’d reached their destination. Glass and small gauge wire provided for a literal minefield of pain if Peter didn’t maneuver Ned through it right.

He didn’t have time to worry about it as Peter literally tossed Ned through the hole, with not a scratch for the effort, he hoped. Ned’s second and a half of freefall was potentially a bit emotionally damaging, but he could unpack that with him later. Peter shot out a line of webbing and catching Ned at the shoulder. With a jerk, he’d caught Ned and was lowering him to the ground.

The door behind him crashed open. “What the hell?!”

Peter looked back over his shoulder as the men rushed toward the wall, then lowered Ned as quickly as he could. “Ned!” Peter heard the cocking of a gun, “Run! Don’t look back!” He released the webbing, and saw Ned drop a few feet to the ground, “GO!” He screamed, as the gun went off and Peter dropped back to the floor of their prison, his arm, hand, and now leg bleeding all over the concrete.

“What did you do?!” The man holding the literal smoking gun demanded. He’d moved to Peter and stood over him. A part of Peter wanted to snark, his adrenaline high as he tried to pull himself up. The other part of him was struggling to not cry out in pain—In the end, he stayed quiet.

His partner stood staring at the scene from by the door, clutching a painter’s tarp in his arms. “Well, this isn’t good.”

Peter laughed at the understatement, which apparently did not impress ‘gun man,’ who promptly delivered a steel-toed kick to his gut before stomping off the deal with the issue at hand. Gun Man raged at Tarp Man by the door while Peter tried to figure out how to inhale. “What the hell are you standing there for?! Go get the kid!”

Tarp Man dropped the tarp and ran down the hall and Peter prayed that Ned would get far enough away to be safe. His only comfort was that Peter had been left with the one willing to murder.

Gun Man kicked him again, in the chest this time. Peter was sure that a rib or two had broken that time, which must have been the goal because Gun Man nudged at his bleeding leg in disgust and walked away.

And Peter kept trying to breathe.

Peter must have blacked out for a few minutes. When he came to, Tarp Man was back with them, looking winded—but most important, he was empty handed.

Their argument had definitely gone up a notch.

“—look, the boss doesn’t need to know! The kid is gone and that’s all that matters, right?”

Gun Man was not pleased, “You idiot! I’m not goin’ down for this! I only took the job ‘cuz you said it was easy money and no one would know.” He pulled his gun out and aimed. “You’ve fucked me over for the last time, man.”

Tarp Man was quick on the draw. His gun was out and pointed at his partner. “Look! I was lied to, too, man! No one needs to know nothin’— We can just grab the girls and go to Mexico!”

Gun Man cocked his gun.

What was Peter even seeing?

“I said I wasn’t goin’ back to jail. You screwed up, and you screwed me over! There’s no walkin’ away from this, asshole!” With those words, Gun Man shot Tarp Man point blank in the chest—the conversation was officially over.

Peter blinked in disbelief.

Gun Man took a few heaving breaths, like he’d run a marathon and then cocked his gun again. He turned to face Peter, then saw that he was awake. He grinned; looking truly evil now that there was no need to wear a mask, with his partner was gone. “This would have been so much simpler if that kid had just stayed in the store, huh?”

Peter coughed. He wouldn’t stand for Ned to be disrespected, even in his own last moment. “He’s not a kid, dickhead. He’s my ‘Guy in the Chair.’”

The man laughed, “I don’t give a fuck who he is.” He raised his weapon, aimed, and then—His eyes widened as the bullet ripped out of his chest.

Peter’s eyes widened as Gun Man fell forward, dead.

Peter scanned the room, trying to find the next threat when he caught sight of Tarp Man, still on the ground where he had fallen, his own gun now smoking as it clattered to the ground. He looked Peter in the eye and nodded once and with that last act of redemption, died.  

Peter wished that he could fade away into unconsciousness—anyway he could manage. The whole thing was too much.

He tried dragging himself to the doorway, but the pain of his broken ribs was sufficient that he gave up, so he simply turned away from the carnage and waited...

... and waited, until finally the blood loss was enough that he simply floated away.

* * * * * *

The nasal cannula was all the hint he needed to know where he was. He forced himself to open his eyes.

“Kid?”

Peter turned his head and saw Tony standing up from the chair that, from how rumpled he looked, he must have been sitting in for a while.

He smiled sleepily at his mentor. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark smiled back. “Hey, kid. How are you feeling?”

He nodded slowly, “I’m good.” He thought for a second. “And Ned, he’s good, too, right?”

Mr. Stark smiled again. “Ted is fine, Pete, and I’m glad you’re okay. That means the drugs are working.”

“Urgh.” Peter hated it when he needed the painkillers, and hated it more when he teased Ned. “You know he’s not Ted... c’mon. Be nice.”

Mr. Stark did that doey-eyed thing, like he was gonna make another excuse to be a jerk to Ned forever when, “Alright, he’s had a rough day, so I’ll stop.”

He laughed when Mr. Stark said it, and winced for the pain in his ribs for it. Yeah, Peter was sceptical and said as much, “That’s too easy, Mr. Stark.” He squinted up at him, looking for signs of deception, but finding none, he confirmed one last time, “Really?”

Tony nodded and turned to sit back in his seat. “Yeah, really.”

Peter thought about that for a minute and then nodded back, “Okay.”

With that resolved, Peter thought heading back to sleep would be a great idea. More rest meant faster healing, and Peter was over the ribs, like, a million years ago. The problem was that being asleep was different from being unconscious and when Peter closed his eyes, all he saw was them... and if he hadn’t gotten Ned out, or if he’d dropped Ned from too high, or if he’d been shot, or if the man with the tarp had decided that killing Ned sounded better than Mexico.

A tear fell down his cheek.

“Peter?”

He turned his head towards Mr. Stark and purged. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t get Ned out, Mr. Stark, and now I keep seeing what could’ve...” he couldn’t speak for the horror. “If he’d died, it would’ve been my—”

Tony stood up again and took Peter’s hand in his. “Peter, you listen to me. That kid was born to be your, what do you call him? Oh yeah, ‘Guy in the Chair.’” He squeezed his hand, tried to center him, and smiled. “He’s your ‘ride or die,’ my friend. You’ve found your very own Rhodey! And you are so lucky.”

Peter nodded again in agreement. He knew that. They were brothers, after all.

Tony laughed. “You know what the kid did?”

Peter shook his head ‘no’ and wiped some tears away.

“When Rhodey and I got there, for some reason we could only pinpoint the area—must’ve been something in a nearby warehouse, but whatever.” Tony waved off the train of thought. “We were about to start a search of everything that could be your location, but Ned steps out an alley and calls us over, so we go. He points to the right building—even the window we need to go in, and then, juuuust as I’m about to fly off, he offers to help me with recalibrating my tech when we were all done.”

It was Peter’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like Ned.”

Tony brushed Peter’s hair away from his face, “The point I’m making, Pete, is that this isn’t someone who’s gonna leave you at the first sign of trouble. And maybe, you should give him a little credit. He’s a smart kid. He can figure out where he’s supposed to be.”

“Yeah, he is.”

A knock sounded at the medbay door and Peter turned to see Ned standing, holding a foil tray of—“Dude! Did your mom make me pancit!”

Ned beamed, “Of course, she did! You know the rules, if you’re barfing, it’s tinola. Anything else is pancit because ‘it’s Peter’s favourite!’” Ned mimicked his mom.

“Of course! Because she loves me more!”

Tony chuckled and moved to the bed controls to help Peter sit up. “Do I need to go grab some plates for you guys?”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Ned pulled out a handful of plastic forks, then handed one to Peter. “Mr. Stark, this pancit does not wait for plates.” He spoke with such solemnity that anyone who heard him would be a believer.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you gentlemen to it. Ned, get FRIDAY to tell me when you’re leaving so I can come back, okay?”

“Well,” Now Ned looked bashful, “I actually brought you a fork, too, sir.” He thrust it out toward him. “I figured we could maybe talk about my internship?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he turned to stare at his mentor, “You’re giving Ned an internship?!”

Mr. Stark snickered as he reached over to pluck Peter’s fork from his hand, “Of course I am! The kid’s gonna help me tweak my tech! And maybe we’ll throw in a little extra for good measure! Rhodey’s in town for a while so I figured we should get them together, yeah?” He gave Pete a wink.

Peter understood what Mr. Stark was doing, even if Ned didn’t yet.

Mr. Stark would do what he could to make sure that Ned would be safe...

And Ned would be the best Guy in the Chair EVER.

 @febuwhump

[nightsofreylo]

a (not so) quick and dirty review of tlj

Now that’s I’ve had some time to process the film, here’s my initial response. This is after one viewing, so this review is intended to focus on my first reaction to the film, which might not reflect where I actually land on some of these points. Only time will tell.

First off, this film felt like two entirely separate movies crushed into one. On the one hand, you’ve got this beautiful story of Rey, Luke, and Kylo that is at the core of the film. It’s a story of awakening: the imagery is stunning and sensual, and the spirituality leaps off of the screen. The Last Jedi explores concepts within the Force that have never been seen on screen before, and for the most part does so very elegantly. Mark Hamill, Daisy Ridley, and Adam Driver all deliver flawless performances and their characters and relationships elevate this film. Their part of the story contains a truly moving spiritual dynamic and grapples with themes of loneliness and belonging, old and new, betrayal and forgiveness, light and dark. It is a story about balance. It also contains some of the most interesting imagery about female sensuality/sexuality that I’ve seen in a film - ever - which is something I didn’t expect a Star Wars film to address, even though Rey is the main character of this story. On the other hand, the secondary storylines create interruptions in the themes and flow of the deeper story, making for a disjointed and messy film that changes the overall tone. You could watch these two “films” separately and lose absolutely nothing in terms of emotional impact.

Bullet point review under the cut.

With the above said, I’d like to start off with the things that didn’t work well for me, because it’s easier to get those out of the way (and because I don’t like that I didn’t like things in a Star Wars film, so I’d rather not think about them for long). Nothing negative here applies to actors. Everyone in this film delivered the best performances with what they were given.

Negatives

Redundant Characters: There are so many unnecessary characters in this film. Rose Tico and the Codebreaker/DJ should have been merged into a single character. This would remove the Canto Bight storyline entirely and allow her and Finn to go directly to the confrontation with Phasma. Or alternatively, have Kylo track Leia through the force and eliminate this lightspeed issue altogether. Maz Kanata was also unnecessary for the greater story. While I didn’t dislike the Leia-Poe-Holdo storyline, again it seems like Holdo was another complication. Poe and Leia have the background emotional connection, so why not have Leia there to teach him these lessons? 

Finn’s Sidelining: Similar to the redundancy of many of the new characters, Finn was sidelined and experienced little growth in this film. Poe is thrown into the spotlight and gets a bit of character development, but this occurs at Finn’s expense. The better approach would have been to have a Poe-Leia conflict, complete with mutiny, and Finn caught in the middle of it grappling with whether he’s going to obey orders (like the good soldier he was trained to be) or obey his moral compass (as he did in the previous film). Finn would be put back at the center, it would relate back to the themes he’s been dealing with from the beginning, and we’d still get the same message about humility and respect. It would also simplify this fairly messy storyline.

Humor: Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I’m okay with humor in Star Wars, it’s important and necessary. The problem is when you’re having a deep thought-connection between Kylo and Rey, and Rey makes a quip about him being shirtless, and then two seconds later she’s crying and asking him why he killed his father. We know they’re both uncomfortable with the intimacy of being thrown together at odd times because this scene started off with Kylo’s sarcasm, which is a well-placed moment of humor that occurs before the emotions rise. Rey is visibly uncomfortable/vulnerable, and so is Kylo, so why interrupt the emotions with this one-liner? Tone is everything, and I spent a lot of this film being interrupted from a deep, rich, emotionally complex story by oddly-placed humor.

Pacing: The timing was bizarre, there were so many climaxes in this film (when really there should be two at most that have impact). And every time you felt like they were getting somewhere deep, or really moving the story forward, you’re thrown into a different storyline that, honestly, didn’t resonate. Pick the kind of film you’re trying to make and stick with it. This was surprising from Rian, actually, as his films usually are very cohesive.

Moral Lessons: I know, it’s a kid’s film. You gotta have a lesson. There was one: having compassion for your enemy. Then there was another: respect your superiors because they might know things you don’t. Then another: greed and gambling and selling weapons to the highest bidder are bad. And another: both sides are bad, so if you want to live free, don’t join (actually kinda liked this one). Aaannnd another: oppression, quasi-slavery of those kids (who were cute and clean and very TPM-style oppressed), animal cruelty. It goes on and on and on, as though they were concerned that people wouldn’t be intelligent enough to deal with the Rey-Kylo ambiguities and had to compensate with lessons for children that are morally clear. As though a child wouldn’t understand a hand-touch on screen to show compassion, when one of my clearest childhood memories of Star Wars is Luke taking off his father’s mask. These images resonate with kids more than you think, and usually in ways that carry into adulthood more than direct lessons.

Positives

The good news is that there were many, many positives to this film. 

Character Dynamics: Luke and Rey were phenomenal alongside each other, and every interaction brought either a new understanding of the Force or a new understanding of Luke himself. Rey and Kylo were incredible and the acting was flawless. The beauty of leaving their respective physical backgrounds as they were was that you felt as though they were experiencing something together that even the audience couldn’t see. The viewers were intruding on their connection. And when that broke and Kylo and Rey were shown in the same room on Ahch-to for the first time, it knocked the wind out of me. She was confessing her loneliness and fear to him, and he felt so strongly for her that he practically reached out across the galaxy to make that contact. Luke and Kylo were the third component of this “triangle” setup, and their backstory was also really well-executed. It didn’t remove either character’s agency: Luke made a choice AND Kylo made a choice, and they are both living with consequences. I don’t think it was out-of-character for Luke at all and explained his exile - it wasn’t just an Obi-wan type failure, it was Luke who betrayed his apprentice. This was a very unusual choice for Star Wars, which has exclusively dealt with apprentices betraying their masters. Anytime one of these characters was onscreen, you paid attention, because of what was happening inside them. 

Spirituality & The Force: This is different from morality, discussed above. The spiritual undertones of this story were nearly flawless. The Force Bond, the Force Tree, and the Force Mirror were brilliant flashes of storytelling. They made a point to distinguish between Force Bonds (what Rey and Kylo share) and Force Projections (what Luke accomplished at the end during his battle with Kylo). The first is accomplished naturally, as easy as breathing. It just falls into place. Neither Rey nor Kylo reach out to each other consciously; the connection is a part of who they are and it results in a tangible connection in which they are able to physically feel one another. By contrast, Luke sends himself into a deep meditation that ultimately kills him to project himself to Crait. A big point is made that without the Force Bond, nothing physical happens: Luke doesn’t disrupt the salt with his movements, the FO ships fire on him and it does nothing, Kylo attempts to kill him with his lightsaber and it can’t touch him. It’s an incredible display of Luke’s power, which has been dormant through the film. I loved every second of anything to do with the new spiritual dynamics in the Force.

Snoke’s Death & Praetorian Guard Battle Sequence: The thing about Snoke’s death is that we are missing a piece of the puzzle to make it perfect. Luke needed to tell Rey why he sensed so much darkness in Ben...that everything leads back to Snoke (this isn’t in the negatives pile because it’s possible this will be revealed in IX). The scene where Snoke chides Kylo for his weakness helps establish the manipulation; I just would have liked a little more on how Ben breaks free from than manipulation (and exactly how did he hide his intentions from Snoke)? Otherwise, wonderful scene. The Praetorian Guard sequence where Ben and Rey join forces is visually stunning. We move back to an almost Republic-era style of fighting in that Rey and Kylo feel very attuned to each other and their movements. Fortunately, neither character’s fighting style is sacrificed to achieve this coordination: Kylo’s broad strokes are to die for, Rey basically uses his body to achieve her own movements (in an exact throwback to her TFA kicks), her kind of primal scream mid-fight is so Kylo-esque that my eyes got wide. I won’t even go into the thigh-grab, which I will be sobbing about for the next eternity. Their trust and concern for each other throughout the fight is visible. Kylo has to re-focus after he sees her get cut. When she throws him the legacy saber and he just ignites it through that guard’s head there was a collective gasp from the audience. By that point in the film you are rooting for them, which in and of itself shows the character development and progress.

Supreme Leader Ren: I’m so pleased neither Kylo nor Rey yielded entirely in this film. They’re not ready yet. Neither of them are in a position to love each other properly. Rey needs to learn how to stand on her own, to accept her loneliness, to be at the center of her own story. She needs to discover her place, and Kylo would be a crutch that gives her a sense of identity and belonging. She needs to recognize that she isn’t no one. Kylo’s first instinct upon killing Snoke is to take power, so that no one else can control him. He still needs to grieve for what happened to him, release his anger towards the family that failed him, and find a way to move forward on his own. Rey would be a replacement obsession at this point. Both of them are still thinking in terms of “sides” - Kylo sees her with him, ruling the galaxy; Rey sees him with her, bringing down the dark side. Kylo is almost there, right on the cusp...he senses that they have to let go, let old things die, but he’s not there yet. He’s clinging on to the past just as much as Rey is. They’re both still battling for dominance, still trying to win the other over, still fighting over the stupid legacy saber that doesn’t mean anything anymore. I can’t wait for them to forge a future together and find true balance in Episode IX.

Secondary Storyline Stuff: Aside from issues already pointed out above, the opening sequence with Poe and Hux and Rose’s sister was great. Holdo and DJ were both stand-out characters, despite the messy plotlines. I am torn about how to feel about Rose and Finn...I’m not sure if I’m getting friend vibes or if there’s something there, but Finn’s not sure what to make of it? Another watch might help me figure it out. Poe and Rey meeting was interesting to see on-screen, but felt oddly rushed, like they were last-minute introducing this new meeting. Oscar Isaac could have chemistry with a plant, though, so my multi-shipper heart is pleased that the Damereys now have a “hi” to work with (not that it’s going to match the emotional intimacy of a force bond, but hey, we can have fun). I enjoyed Carrie Fisher in this film...though I really wasn’t expecting Leia to use the Force so dramatically, as in the last movie there wasn’t any indication that she’d developed to that point. In fact, when I saw her move in space, I was nearly certain that Kylo saved her in a moment of regret after his cronies blasted her. It was nice to see her save herself, just unexpected. It’s sad that she and Kylo won’t get a reunion. Luke and Leia in the final scene was perfect and tugged at all the right heartstrings, the forehead kiss destroyed me. It was like saying goodbye...but not forever, because no one is really gone.

[kpop-khh-writer-trash]

New Start

*Gif isn’t mine*

With some awesome help from three awesome friends, this is my first time writing. Hope you enjoy Sorry if it’s shit, I’m still learning. 

It had been three months since you had stepped foot in Seoul, as you cautiously look around you realize that you weren’t the only one that had changed in the small amount of time you’d been gone. You let out a long comforting breath that you didn’t realize you were holding until your lungs started to ache a little. When you don’t see your husband, his members or any of his rivals for that matter you feel that it’s okay to head to your new home. It’s no secret that he’s the biggest mafia boss in Seoul so needless to say you knew that if anyone recognized you, you’d be in deep shit! Maybe you were lucky enough that they weren’t trying to track you down after all but as you continue on your way to your new apartment, you can’t help but look over your shoulder, you can’t shake the feeling that someone will pop out at you any second, especially after what happened four months ago. You can’t help but tear up and subconsciously rub your growing belly when you think back to the week everything changed, the day you lost and gained so much. 

*FOUR MONTHS AGO*

Your day had started off with you being woke up by a loud banging on your front door, you immediately reach for your husband only to find him already standing up grabbing his gun, he puts his finger to his lips to let you know to be quiet and out the door, he goes. After a few minutes, you hear the voices of seven men you know like the back of your hand, your husband yells up the stairs to let you know that it’s safe to come down when you’re ready. You don’t know if you want to beat them more for banging like the damn cops or waking you up this early more but in the end, you just head downstairs after getting dressed to find them all in the kitchen, eating you out of house and home. “What in the hell is wrong with all of you?! This is not the hideout, clean up your damn mess and the next time you feel the need to bang on our door like that, it better be an emergency!” All you hear is “yes ma’am” and “we’re sorry” By 8 am your husband and his men left, with the exception of your bodyguard had left (only after they cleaned their messes up) You found yourself leaning against the bathroom counter, staring at the piece of plastic in your hands that consisted of two pink lines. You weren’t sure how you felt, nervous, excited, you weren’t sure yet but new that the hardest part of finding out that you were expecting was that you had to tell your husband. He had made it very clear that kids just weren’t in the picture right now, it was too dangerous with his father and mother stepping down and passing the family “business” to you two. Just as you pick up the phone to call him, the doorbell rings “great, just great” you sigh and get up to go answer the door, only to find it open and your bodyguard laying on the floor, unconscious but that’s only half of the problem, the other half is you don’t see anyone as if on queue the intruder walks out of the kitchen. As fast and as quiet as you can, you go for the gun that is less than a foot away under a table in the hallway, lucky for you the dumbass is too busy stuffing his face to notice you until you’ve already shot him in his right shoulder! “Ouch! What the fuck is wrong with you, lady!?” “Excuse You! Considering the fact that I just shot you, you might want to watch your tongue, boy! Who are you and what the fuck do you want?!” You pointed the gun in even more of a threatening manner. He wasn’t very bright, he stayed quiet. “Look I don’t enjoy killing people, I like to leave that to my husband but if you don’t start talking, I won’t think twice before blowing your brains out!” “Fuck you, lady! I don’t have to tell you shit!” This guy really is dumb as a bag of fucking rocks, you thought to your self as you shot him in his left shoulder and simply said: “That’s the wrong answer!” You pull your phone out and press your husbands' contact he answers on the third ring “Hello my beautiful Queen!” “Honey, we have an issue.” You say as if you hadn’t been holding a gun to the man that not only broke in but also knocked out your bodyguard! “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?” He says in one breath “Baby, relax, I’m okay, I’m at home. Some guy broke in, he refuses to cooperate so he now has bled over our entryway, I was wondering if you or one of the boys could maybe talk some sense into him?” You explain all while keeping eye contact with the intruder. “Don’t move, we’re our way!” You let out a quick “okay” he makes your heart melt with what he says next “Ohh and My beautiful Queen, I love you!” “I love you too, My handsome King!” You don’t have to wait long before you hear your husbands car along with some of the other boys. They all walk in and notice the man sitting on the floor with two holes in his body while bleeding everywhere, your husband, on the other hand, his eyes land on you, holding a gun while looking as beautiful as ever without even trying! He feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest, you’re absolutely breathtaking, he takes the stairs two at a time to reach you and make sure you’re okay. “I’m fine my love, I promise!” You tell him only for him to take your face in his hands and smash his lips into yours in a needing way that only you knew. “I love you!” You say in unison. That’s when you two hear the man that you had shot, yelp in pain and see the two youngest of the boys lifting the man they now have identified Lee Woo Hyuk who is known for his position in an upcoming gang that wants to try and take territory (Over your dead body) A few hours later you sat in your husbands office, after everything that happened at the house. It was as if the world didn’t want you to tell your husband your news because the moment you had gotten enough courage to say it out loud, your husband's right-hand man basically fell through the door. “Sir!! Y-y-your f-father! He’s been hit!” Your heart dropped as your world began to crumble as you being to process his words, watching your husband. He sits there not saying anything and you can only guess what’s going through his mind at that moment. Seeing as your husband wasn’t able to say or move or do anything but sit there, you take charge “What happened?” Your husband's right-hand man looked between the two of you before answering “His car was hit by a truck, he… was… k-killed on impacted” You couldn’t hold back your sobs at that point. Your husband thanked his right-hand man and told him for a few minutes. You heard the door close and felt your husbands' arms around you, letting you break completely. It felt like hours before your sobs died down and you were able to leave the room. The car ride to and from the hospital was silent and heartbreaking, you never thought that you’d have to identify your father in laws body. Soon enough you and your husband arrived home, neither of you saying anything, he went to his office and you to your shared bathroom, hoping a shower might help your muscles. You’re standing in the shower letting the warm water run over your exhausted body when your husband walks in, holding the one thing you’d been trying to tell him about all day. “Y/N! IS THERE SOMETHING YOU NEED TO FUCKING TELL ME?” he half-shouted making you jump, he never uses that tone with you and never in the six years you had been with him, has he ever used that kind of language with you! You get out of the shower and wrap and towel around you and come face to face with what you hope won’t be your worst enemy of the day. You sigh and go to walk past him so you can at least get dressed before you have this conversation but he has other plans. Your husband grabs your arm and turns you to face him, you slowly look into his eyes and see nothing but anger in them. “I asked you a question!” You look down as you let a few tears escape trying to get your words together in your head so you can explain everything but before you get the chance to say anything he not so gently pushes you into the wall and traps you between both of his arms. He gives you time to get your mind together and waits for you to speak when you’re finally able to it’s nothing over a whisper “I found out this morning and wanted to tell you but every time I tried something came up.” You look up at him, trying to meet his eyes, he looks away. After what felt like hours but was only seconds he breaks your heart into more pieces than you can count “I can’t do this right now.” He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he walks away. You brace yourself against the wall as your knees give out and you crumble to the floor holding on to your tummy where your tiny little peanut is growing. You quickly realize the next morning that the bathroom floor is the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever slept. You slowly get up and make your way into your room and notice that your bed is still made “maybe he slept in his office” You say to yourself, you get dressed and make your way down the hall only to find it empty. “I’ll give him a little bit,” You tell yourself. By two in the afternoon, your husband is still nowhere to be found. You decide it’s time to call him, boy was that a mistake! Someone answers after a few rings but no one says anything so you wait until you hear his beautiful laugh only it is accompanied with a giggle you’ve never heard before, a woman's giggle. The phone just slips out of your hand and you’re left sitting there not knowing what to do. You can’t but let your mind wander and jump to conclusions. You’re still sitting in the same spot when you hear the front door open and close, you hope that it’s not your husband and luck must have been on your side today because, to your surprise, it the makenae of the gang “Noona, are.. you.. uhm.. are you okay?” You just shake your head no and ask him why he’s here, he explains that he had to come to pick up files for your husband. He comes back after he has them and asks you if you need anything before he leaves, you shake your head again and he slips through the door. You text your husband after you’ve done a lot of thinking and tell him that you’re gonna be staying at the apartment on the other side of town, you can see that he’s read it but you don’t get a reply so you just continue to pack and when you’re finally done, you call for a car to take you to the apartment. You leave your home without looking back. How had everything gone to shit that fast?!

*PRESENT*

You don’t realize that your tears have escaped until you feel the warmth rolling down your face. That was four months ago, after spending a month in the apartment alone, you packed up and left and just like when you left your house for the apartment, you didn’t look back. You still don’t understand how someone that you had known since childhood and been in a relationship for six years, married for four could just change into someone you didn’t know in a matter of hours! You had so many questions and no answers as to why he just walked out! Did he want this baby? Did he want you? Was it over between you two? Who was the girl that day? You were a couple blocks away from your new apartment when you were brought out of the thoughts that haunted your mind every day by your stomach growling, patting your baby bump you decide to stop at the little store on the corner. It’s when you’re coming out of the store that you run directly into trouble, literally! You’re looking down as you walk out of the store and run into someone. You bow and apologize quickly without looking up, turning away you hear the man say something, that voice, you know that voice! You freeze and look up to find the man that you hadn’t expected to run into so soon, especially on this side of Seoul, hints the reason you bought an apartment where you did!

“Y/N?” Your husband calls out to you.

“Jin?” You say, frozen to the ground with your arms around your baby bump, trying to protect your unborn child from whatever was about to come.

If you would like a part two and/or if you like this story, please let me know.

[elcorhamletlive]

series: Dream Daddy ship: Joseph Christiansen/Robert Small tags: Romance/Angst/Angst with a Happy Ending/Religious Conflict/Internalized Homophobia/Bottom!Robert

Part 1 of the Genesis series

I. your body is the one paradise that I wanna fly to

He was, first and foremost, a believer.

He knew a lot of ministers who struggled with their faith, and it was a constant topic among the Youths at their bible meetings. For Joseph, though, it was never a question. Even in his rebellious years, when he was trying to pretend the minister life wasn’t his inevitable future, he never doubted the existence of God. It wasn’t really something he could put in words. It just made sense, in his head. It was just part of the natural order of things to feel like there was someone there, watching over him, with him in his hardest times. He believed in God as he believed the sun would rise in the morning.

He was not intolerant of doubts, though. Especially with the Youths, it was important to keep an open mind, to try his best to listen to their anguishes and guide them towards a better path. His willingness to listen to other opinions without judgement while also being as faithful as a man could be was what made him good at his job, Joseph knew. He could be approachable and still give a chilling sermon if it was needed. He had a variety of topics always ready, but plain and simple faith was one of his favorites. It was when he really felt his preaching talent come through – it wasn’t rare to see people wiping away a few tears at the end of his sermons, and honestly, he understood why. There was nothing more beautiful than believing and feeling that unconditional love only God was capable of.

When he was younger, he doubted many things about his life and his future, but God was never one of them. He liked that, that certainness. He wasn’t sure he would ever find it anywhere else.

-

He knew anchors were a huge cliché. Still, he liked them. They reminded him of the smell of the sea, of salty water in his mouth and wind on his face. Most importantly, at twenty-one years old, honestly, he thought they looked cool. And it was such a beautiful day, and he had some money left, and his dad kept calling him over and over again and Joseph knew he couldn’t ignore his calls forever. He knew that minister school think kindly of tattoos, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe they’d end up refusing him, maybe they would need time to think, maybe during this time he could take a deep breath and sit down with dad and try to talk to him for once. He could tell him about the water and the wind. About the tattoo guy’s brown eyes and how he had the most gorgeous smile Joseph had ever seen. Maybe his dad would understand.

The needle on his skin hurt, but it didn’t burn half as much as the guy’s fingers touching his shoulder. His face flush, his heart raced and he had to fight the impulse to close his eyes and just feel his fingers tracing the drawing on his naked skin.

Maybe his dad would understand, he thought. Maybe God would. At twenty-one years old, he was naïve enough to believe that.

-

He turned the valve on the sprinkler too far. The water came in strong jets, falling all over his shirt.

“Damn it!” Joseph rushed to turn it off, but the valve didn’t move at first. For a ridiculous moment, he thought he might have broken the sprinkler on the first time he was using it, but after a few seconds of struggle, the valve turned.

It hadn’t wet just his lawn, Joseph noticed, with a quick glance to their next neighbor’s grass. Marilyn wasn’t there, but her husband was sitting at the door entrance, staring at him with a somber expression. Joseph wondered what his problem was. Then, he noticed the sprinkles of water on one side of the guy’s jacket.

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry-“ Joseph stopped abruptly, his mind desperately searching for the guy’s name. He had a few conversations with Marilyn at the bake sale of last week, welcoming the new family on the neighborhood, and he was pretty sure she had introduced her husband, but the man was clearly not a talkative type, so Joseph hadn’t payed him much attention. Between everyone he met at the church and the residents of the cul-de-sac and their families, it was hard to keep track of everyone’s name.

“’s okay.” What’s-his-name said, in a low, raspy voice. He took his jacket off to wipe away the excess water, and Joseph stood up, walking towards his yard, determined to make up for his own embarrassment.

“Really, I can’t apologize enough” He said, his voice falling into his usual cheerful tone. He couldn’t help it. Some people charmed others with their natural charisma and kindness, Joseph did it with his perfect neighbor performance. It hadn’t failed him in years, and if he could only remember the guy’s name, he’d get him out of there with a plate of brownies and no memory of a faulty sprinkler in no time. It was something with an R – Richard? Roger? “You, hm, you know how these lawn things are.” He gestured aimlessly, smiling.

The guy’s face was unreadable. “I don’t.” He said, focusing on his jacket again. His fingers touched the wet sleeve, as if checking the damage, and Joseph found himself noticing how callous his hands were. The guy wasn’t really a muscular type, and he was maybe a few inches shorter than Joseph, but he had strong hands, marked with a few tiny scars, as if he was used to dangerous work. He closed his fist around some of the jacket’s fabric, twisting it, and, really, they were… Great… Hands.

Watching it like an idiot, Joseph felt his mouth go dry. His neighbor caught his look, staring right back. Joseph couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like there a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Oh, uh, really?” He blurted out, feeling ridiculous for how nervous he suddenly felt. They were just hands, Joseph reminded himself. And that was just a neighbor who wasn’t interested in his lawn care talk. Nothing to get flushed about. “I’m going to, you know, get back to…” He gestured aimlessly again. The guy’s dark eyes were staring at him intensely, and suddenly he couldn’t remember how to use his hands.

Joseph turned around, trying to get away from that conversation as soon as possible. To his horror, though, his feet was caught up on the sprinkler’s hose, pulling the valve and turning it on. “Oh, crap!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees to turn it off, ignoring the jets of water falling all over his face and shoulders.

One more time, he struggled with the valve. He definitely owned that lawn supplies store an angry email. “You need some help with that?” Something-With-An-R asked, with a distinct irony in his voice.

“No, thank you, I’ve got it” Joseph answered, annoyed, finally managing to twist the valve and turn the sprinkler off. A very angry email, without a doubt. He turned towards his neighbor’s home. “Did I got you wet again? I’m so-“

“Sorry, yeah, I got it.” He said bluntly, rolling his eyes. “Do all ministers around here swear that much?”

Joseph raised his eyebrows. “What?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know” He continued, putting his hands on the pockets of his jacket. The stupid sprinkler clearly did not manage to get him twice, unlike Joseph, whose shirt was soaking wet. “In my book, “crap” and “damn” are just morning greetings, but I would have imagined a youth minister’s vocabulary to be a lot more… Refined.”

That was the longest sentence Joseph had ever heard the man speak, and it was making fun of him. Maybe a plate of brownies wouldn’t be able to fix it, after all. “The man upstairs has better things to do than to worry about my rude vocabulary towards faulty lawn care tools.” He said, twisting the bottom of his shirt to get rid of the excess water.

The guy smirked. He had such strong features even the smallest hint of a smile was enough to make his face seem a lot friendlier. “If you say so.”

Joseph ignored him, busy pulling at the pink fabric. The easiest option would be to just change it, but he had to coordinate a bible study meeting later, and he hadn’t done laundry that week yet, so he was almost sure that was his only clean shirt. He twisted his sleeves up to his shoulders, trying to get them at least damp.

“Oh!” The man exclaimed. Joseph stared at him confusedly. For a fraction of a second, he almost seemed embarrassed, but quickly composed himself. “Nice anchor.” He said, dark eyes looming over Joseph’s tattoo, looking at him in a way that made his cheeks feel hot.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He replied awkwardly. Then, without thinking, he added: “It was a stick and poke.”

The guy raised his eyebrows, unable to hide the impressed look on his face. “Really?” He crossed his arms, stepping forward to take a closer look. Joseph felt his face warm, in a strange, pleasant way he wasn’t used to. “I guess the man upstairs has better things to do than worry about that either, huh?”

He smiled. “You’re absolutely right… Hm…”

“Robert.” The guy cut his weird pause, mercifully. He was still looking at the tattoo.

“Ah, yes, that’s right. I’m bad with names sometimes” He said, smiling apologetically, but Robert shrugged. If he was in any offended, he hid it well.  “I’m Joseph.”

“I know.” His eyes turned to Joseph’s face, staring at him again. He smiled.

It was a sunny afternoon. Still, Joseph couldn’t help but think it was the brightest thing he’d seen all day.

He smiled back, unconsciously. His eyes met the other man’s dark gaze. Robert didn’t look away, and neither did he.

-

II. every day and every night

He spend one afternoon per week on his yatch. Sometimes the children came along, excitedly running through the lower deck and attempting to reach the water, looking for dolphins. Other times, Mary took them with her to see her parents, or just to go to the mall or the movies, and it was an unspoken truce between them not to contact each other for a couple hours. For Joseph, it was nice. There was nothing he enjoyed more than feeling the sea breeze on his face, almost tasting the salty water beneath his feet, staring at the horizon where the sky and the ocean seemed to meet.

He never went far, obviously. Mostly, he just took a small leap around the coast, his back turned away from the land, never looking at it but constantly aware of it’s presence. It was dangerous to go to the open sea, and he needed to be home by dinnertime anyways.

So he didn’t do much, really. He just enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skin and the ropes on his hands. The sea near Maple Bay was mostly calm, like everything else in the city, but he could still feel the waves moving the boat around, sometimes shaking it after one strong turn. Joseph loved it – it was on those moments that he felt like he wasn’t alone in the yatch, that there was a living presence in those waters beneath him, a powerful force capable of destroying the entire continent of land if it wanted to. God created man in His own image, Joseph knew, but personally, he could feel Him better in the sea. He’d look at the horizon and blue-green water and how the sky was just one different shade of blue and there was nothing that could convince him someone hadn’t worked really hard to create something that perfect.

Sometimes he thought about going a little further. To risk getting a little bit late for dinner – it wouldn’t be the end of the world, there was food in the fridge. To go to a point where there was no sight of the coast. See the whales swimming closer to the surface. On such a warm day he could take his shirt off, show the anchor mark in open light, without a single curious look or judgmental whisper. He could sip a Margarita and maybe take a dive. The whales wouldn’t mind.

It was dangerous to go to the open sea, Joseph knew, but if he was honest, his biggest fear was not being able to force himself to go back.

-

He prayed every night, before going to sleep. Most of the times, Mary wasn’t there. She rarely slept in their bed anymore, and never when he was still awake. He didn’t mind it, though – that was his moment to speak to God alone, without any audience. At church, during a sermon, it was his duty to make his words appeal to the community. At night, in his bed, he could bare his soul, whisper all he wanted to get out of his heart, and hope it would be enough for God to understand.

So he prayed. He prayed for Mary and the kids. He prayed for everyone in their little cul-de-sac: For Brian to keep raising Daisy to be such a wonderfully smart woman; for Mat and Carmensita to find their inner peace about Rosa; for Hugo and his never-ending battle to reach out to Ernest; for Damien to continue to unabashedly enjoy his passions; for Craig to catch a break, sometimes, and for River to continue to grow up healthy.

He prayed for Robert a lot – usually way after all the other prayers, almost as an afterthought, because he was never sure how to put his pleas in words. He always started by praying to Marilyn’s soul, but when it came to him, his words got messier and nonsensical. Some of them were logical – he prayed for him to slow down his drinking, for Val to call home more. And then – messy. He prayed for the tears he saw at the funeral to never come back again. For the ghosts and spirits who could be around the cul-de-sac to show up sometimes, for him to have the hunt of his life. For his eyes and his voice and that smile he saw for the first time three years ago. For them to never go away, to never fade, to never get away from him.

(God never answered. He liked that, a little. He didn’t know if wanted to hear what He would have to say to him.)

Then he’d go to sleep. He could feel the smell of Mary’s perfume coming from the pillow next to his, and, very rarely, he could feel when the weight of her body fell onto the bed, drunk and clumsy but still very careful not to touch him. He could turn around and hug her or stand up and fetch her a glass of water and ask about her night, but he never did.

(He did pray for her. That had to count for something.)

-

A lot of the neighbors asked why he kept inviting him. Nobody from the cul-de-sac, of course –the dads were used to Robert’s anti-social ways. The people from the church, however, didn’t enjoy that random lonely guy walking around their barbecues and bake sales just to sulk in a corner, drinking whiskey and never talking to anyone. They knew they couldn’t raise such concerns around Mary, of course, because of her “Maryness”, as Edith put it once with a malicious laugh, so they went to him instead. “He seems to drink a lot”; “Where do you know him from, Joseph?”; and, sometimes, when a few of the Margaritas had already kicked in: “Is he single?”.

Joseph had an answer ready for all of those questions - “Would you like another burger?” was his favorite and most effective, along with “His house is right there, Helen”. If anyone cared to ask further, he had five different sermons in store about the importance of bringing people together and building a community regardless of differences. Love thy neighbor, even if said neighbor was an aloof alcoholic with a disturbing tendency towards dark humor. The church ladies could not approve of Robert’s ways, but they couldn’t argue with that.

Joseph had to admit they had a point, though. Nobody else in the neighborhood invited Robert for anything, mostly because he never bothered to show up. Still, he was in all of his barbecue parties, some of the bake sales, and even came to a few sermons, sometimes. To Joseph, it always felt great to see him arriving to any of those events – because his job was reaching out to people and Robert was hard to reach, of course. He tried to give attention to all of his guests, but he always made time for a moment to talk to Robert, to offer him an extra burger or brownie or introduce him to someone. The former was always easier than the latter, but Robert never stopped showing up, so he figured he didn’t actually mind it that much.

Maybe he enjoyed it, Joseph thought. Maybe it was the best part of his day, as much as it was his.

He didn’t think so, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was when he was there. His olive skin under the sun, the subtle way he nodded his head in Joseph’s direction when he said his name, the rare laugh that felt like a true prize to see. His unblinking stare, unsettling anyone who attempted to have a casual conversation with him. Robert had a special talent for making people uncomfortable. Joseph spend his life trying to make sure no one around him was as uncomfortable as he perpetually felt, so Robert’s posture should have offended him, but instead, he admired it. He couldn’t imagine being the person everyone wanted to avoid in social gatherings, let alone wearing it as a badge of pride. It was so different from anything he had ever seen: Robert was never a jerk, he just didn’t make any effort. It was wrong, of course, but it left him almost excited to watch, feeling a rush of adrenaline every time Robert casually walked through the events his life revolved around, unconcerned with whatever thoughts about him anyone else might have. As if they didn’t matter. As if there was so much more out there.

He was shocked when Robert told him he had never sailed before – in Joseph’s opinion, he’d be very good at it.

-

The raspy voice. “Joseph?”

“Uh, what?

The dark eyes. “What do you want?”

“Wha- Nothing, Rob.”

That smile. “You were staring.”

-

III. and I'm dying for the rush

Sometimes, he’d spare a portion of the brownies for the bake sale. Not much, just enough for a plate. Because Robert didn’t eat enough, he knew. He couldn’t regulate the man’s diet, of course, but he could at least try to make sure he had something other than a liquid dinner from time to time.

Robert liked the brownies. He wouldn’t admit it, but he never returned him anything other than a clean plate, and Joseph saw the way he eyed them at the sale. It made him think of Chris’s eager look while he was baking, right before he asked if he could lick the spoon. It was almost childish, and Joseph couldn’t help but smile. Robert was the most ridiculous person he knew. He imagined him during a hangover avoiding the brownies on his table until his stomach was growling in protest and felt a wave of affection overcome him. He was so ridiculous and strange and stubborn. He would probably take them to his latest attempt at demon hunting in the hills. Joseph’s smile hurt his cheeks. Because he loved baking, of course. And he loved when people loved his baking. And he loved feeding his friends and Robert was his friend. And he loved… He shook his head and put the batch in the oven.

He put aside the corner pieces for him, every time.

-

“You know” Robert said, resting his hands on the chair behind him. “That’s much farther than I thought we’d go.”

He was standing in front of the bow, looking up. His hair was still damp from the few waves they passed through earlier, a few grey streaks standing out on his forehead. He looked peaceful and happy in a way Joseph didn’t remember seeing him before. The moon was bright above them and the smell of the ocean mixed with the night breeze. Standing there beneath the early night sky, Robert seemed to fit in perfectly, almost gracefully. He stood in the front of Joseph’s boat as if he was always meant to be there. It made his heart ache.

He was going to be late for dinner.

Robert looked back at him, waiting for an answer. Joseph felt his cheeks warm, trying to remember what he had said. He was doing this too often lately.

“…With the boat.” Robert helped, a slight smile on his lips. “You know, because you talked so much about not being able to go far. I kind of imagined you’d want to sunbathe at the docks or something.”

Joseph smiled, rolling his eyes. They had taken a marginally longer leap around the coast than he was used to. It wasn’t much, but it was still better than nothing. “Next time, I will take you to see some whales.”

“Better not. My last run-in with a whale didn’t end up well for anyone – for me, for her or for the United States Coast Guard.” He stared at Joseph unblinking. “Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still hear their screams.”

Joseph laughed. Robert attempted to remain serious, but he was smiling, too.

He had smiled so much during that afternoon. He had the most gorgeous smile Joseph had ever seen.

He swallowed hard.

“Anyway, we should probably turn back” He said, looking back at the coast. Then he felt a warm, subtle touch on his shoulder - Robert’s hand.

“Do you want to get back now?” He asked, soft, almost whispering, an innocent question, as if he couldn’t feel Joseph whole body waking up at his touch. Maybe he couldn’t, Joseph thought, pathetically. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of how much he was burning up inside. Robert was a single man with normal desires and no attachments – maybe it didn’t feel like he could die like this, because of the warm of someone’s hand. And yet to Joseph it felt like his heart was going to stop at any moment, right there, trying to not look at Robert, trying to not acknowledge the question floating between the two of them. They were at arm’s length and yet he could feel his presence, his skin, his gaze, crawling inside of him and taking over his soul like the sermons warned him the Devil could do.

But nothing about Robert felt harmful or dangerous – terrifying, yes, but that good, incredibly amazing type of terrifying eagerness you could get before the drop of a rollercoaster, the kind of fear that made you feel alive. Joseph could listen to Robert’s breath behind him and feel the air on his own lungs sharpen as the smell of the ocean mixed with the man’s scent – and he was closer to him, now, before he even realized it. He could see his olive skin in the moonlight, and he felt Robert’s hand move to his shoulder to touch his face, still softly, still giving him the time to slap it away and ask what in the world was he doing. But they were doing it, together, almost on a trance, and now Joseph was turned towards him and he wanted to drown on his face, to suffocate on smell of his hair and follow through his own path to Hell traced on Robert’s smile wrinkles. It felt like seeing the sea for the very first time, and Joseph stuttered, scared of saying the wrong thing and breaking the spell, scared of everything else in the world around them. Robert cupped his cheek and waited, and Joseph noticed his fingers shaking, and maybe he could feel it after all, maybe he knew and he wasn’t alone and maybe he could want Joseph just an ounce as much as Joseph wanted him.

He traced his face and touched his lips, so lightly, and Joseph forgot how to breathe and think and exist in anywhere other than the touch of Robert’s fingers, so hesitant and still shaking with eagerness. Joseph watch him trace his mouth and smiled slightly, because Robert’s face was flushing, and because if he was going to die there it was nice to know he wasn’t dying alone.

“I-I… I don’t… Robert.” He mumbled, almost laughing when Robert stopped abruptly. He grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, their foreheads touching, keeping his eyes open to stare into Robert’s dark orbs to whisper, more certain than he had ever been of anything else, in his entire life: “I don’t want to go back.”

Robert smiled against his skin, that unbelievably happy smile crushing what was left of Joseph’s heart, then pressed his mouth against his, and, just like that, the world was over.

-

(It hurt, the way he kissed – it was too rough and clumsy and eager, sucking his lips like he needed to, burying his mouth on his neck with licks and pecks and not-so-delicate bites. They tripped twice on their way to the cabin, falling onto the bed like a couple of teenagers. Joseph’s back hurt, but he was laughing too hard to notice, mocking Robert about the condom on his jacket’s pocket, covering his face with kisses when he tried to disguise his flushed cheeks. Robert’s breath smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and warm, sunlit days. He bit Joseph’s shoulder almost too hard, his tongue tracing the anchor as if to savor it. He spit on his hand and started prepping himself, legs spread around Joseph’s lap, moaning and trembling so hard Joseph thought he wouldn’t make it. Robert smirked at his look, leaning forward and kissing him hard and messily, mumbling reassuring words even though Joseph could feel him shaking, could feel his heartbeat against his own chest, could tell he was already holding it as much as he was. He guided Joseph inside of him way too quickly, letting out a few pain noises as they adjusted, Joseph’s hands moving up his thighs, feeling his skin burning beneath his fingertips, forgetting where and who they were. It was so fast, and so messy, and Robert came a few moments afterwards, out of breath, crumbling into him and holding his body close. Joseph fell on his back and they rolled in the bed together, laughing as the frame made a creaking noise at their combined weight. They were old and awful and pathetic and there was still a world out there, in the end, waiting for when they would have to come out of that room.

Robert nuzzled against his neck, smiling softly – sweaty, breathless, perfect. Joseph watched as he intertwined their fingers and wanted to cry.)

-

IV. 'cause my heart ain't got enough

“Good morning.”

Joseph jumped, dropping the cereal box in the table. He wasn’t used to hearing her voice in the morning. Through the day, they talked, or, more accurately, traded phrases when it was strictly necessary - or when she felt like snipping at him and he felt like she was too irresponsible and the polite sentences quickly turned into frustrated screams. Lately, though, that wasn’t as common as it used to be. He altered between feeling so guilty he couldn’t look at her or feeling so happy he couldn’t even remember to. Either way, he was not talking to Mary enough for them to even fight anymore.

“Good morning”, he said, rushing to get the cereal back to the plate. Mercifully, Mary ignored his nervous tone, walking to the counter to get her coffee.

She liked it black with no sugar, Joseph knew, and felt a pang of sadness for remembering that small detail. Then, he felt a pang of guilt for not having thought to make some for her.

Well, she never wakes up so early, he thought, defensively. Neither did Robert, though, and he never forgot to leave some breakfast ready on his table, sometimes even with a note.

There were a few moments of silence as Mary made her coffee. She took a sip, her brown eyes finding his.

She deserved better, he thought.

“Here, let me wash this for you” Joseph said, quickly taking the coffee mug out of her hands as she finished. She let out a short, humorless laugh.

Joseph didn’t turn his head. He washed the mug in the sink, carefully scrubbing the bottom of it to make sure it was perfectly clean. He could feel Mary’s eyes watching him quietly.

He never did Robert’s dishes, he thought. At least there was that.

Her voice cut the silence between them like a knife: “You know, I…”

Joseph froze abruptly, rinsing the soap off the coffee mug. He wasn’t used to hearing hurt in her voice at any time of the day.

He listened as she took a deep breath behind him, and felt the air vanish from his own lungs. That could be the end of the line, he thought. When she opened her mouth again, with just a few words, their future could crumble in front of their eyes. Joseph clung to the coffee mug on his hand as if it were his own life slipping away from his fingers. Maybe Mary also felt dizzy, he imagined, maybe she, too, felt that suicidal urge to ruin their lives burning in her own chest as well. Maybe she, unlike him, was brave enough to do it in the daylight.

She took another breath. He held the coffee mug so hard his hand hurt.

Then – nothing.

He could hear her tiny, muffled sobs behind him. She didn’t want him to listen, though, so he pretended he didn’t. The least he could do was respect her pride.

He heard laughing and talking noises coming from the top of the stairwell. Christian and Christie climbed down, jumping steps and racing each other, while Chris walked behind them. Crish was soon going to start crying in his crib. A regular morning in the Christiansen household.

Mary turned around to talk to the kids. She was good at composing herself when she wanted to, Joseph thought. He thought he could see a slight redness in her eyes, but nothing noticeable. They circled the table, altering between calming the twins down and attempting to convince Chris to finish his eggs. In the rare times where she was sober, Mary could be a valuable help. Serving cereal, feeding Crish, wiping away a stain of syrup Christie spilled on the table – they did work well together, when they weren’t talking to each other. The kids had a nice breakfast. Her eyes didn’t meet his once.

-

He wanted to stop it, he really did. He did it a thousand times on his head, planning it carefully, thinking of what to say and how. He wanted to find the right words to make Robert understand. Joseph hated hurting others. That didn’t mean he didn’t do it, however; in fact, apparently, it meant he did it often. It meant that he woke up every morning and avoided his wife’s face and felt his heart beat faster at the sound of his neighbor’s voice. And every time they kissed he planned again, word for word, how he would break Robert’s heart, throw away every bit of trust he had in him, fix their mistake by saving himself. Afterwards, in bed, he’d look at the ceiling and think about the words “until death do us part” and the admired look on Chris’s face whenever he’d finish a sermon. He sat up straight, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath before turning to look at him.

Robert never looked away, not even once. His dark eyes met Joseph’s with that eternal silent defiance, waiting, almost challenging him to say something – but between the sheets Joseph could feel his body tensing up, preparing for the punch, so willing and ready to get hurt it broke his heart. He was lonely and sad and the most beautiful man Joseph had ever known. The more he waited for him to leave, the more he wanted to bury his face in his neck and promise to stay forever, watching the way those eyes lit up with that disbelieving wonder that almost made him want to be telling the truth.

-

He prayed. Every night, without fail. He’d lay in bed, join his hands together, and whisper to God – for his neighbors, for the youths at the church, for Mary. For Robert. He would clutch his hands together, shut his eyes and ask for God’s light, for His guidance. He asked for strength to do the right thing, to redeem himself and fix the mess they had made.

(Most of the times, Robert was lying right by his side. Joseph’s heart soared at the smell of his hair on his pillow, the warmth of his skin against his, almost wanting it was possible neither of them had to ever wake up. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper, careful, not wanting him to see his hands shaking.)

He prayed for his children the most. Every night, the same prayers, for every single one of them. For them to grow up healthy; for them to learn to care and love for each other; for them to become happy, fulfilled, good human beings.

For none of them to end up anything like their father, ever. He felt like God owed him that much.

-

Robert didn’t own a coffee mug. He didn’t own any real dishes, just a bunch of disposable plates and cups he always forgot to repurchase and ended up reusing without even washing properly. His kitchen was probably somber and dirtier than the town’s cemetery – no wonder he preferred to spend his time there.

He laughed when Joseph said that; not his usual sarcastic scoff, but a honest, full, happy laugh. Robert rarely laughed, even when he was making fun of people. He made up the most absurd stories and told them without cracking a smile. Joseph fell for so many of those tales in the beginning that it was impossible to take it seriously anymore, and yet Robert kept trying to fool him with them, laughing when he rolled his eyes, smiling like a kid when Joseph tried to make up his own versions. He hated small talk but loved a silly banter, arguing with him about movies, gardening, or any other random topic for hours. He would talk and talk, and then he could spend hours in silence comfortably, usually resting his head in Joseph’s shoulder, smoking a cigar and dropping the ashes on the sheets like it was no big deal.

He didn’t talk to Val anymore. He never talked about her, either, even though he had to know Joseph wanted to ask. He held his tongue every time, though. He didn’t want to push Robert with something he didn’t trust him with.

He loved drinking. He was an alcoholic, without a doubt – a high functioning one, sure, but still. He smelled like whiskey and most nights he didn’t spend with Joseph were spent at Jim and Kim’s. Sometimes, Joseph found him at his own door early in the morning, snoring loudly, because he had forgotten his keys somewhere. He lost his keys often, and no one in the neighborhood had a copy. Joseph scolded him for that a lot, because how irresponsible could you be, really, and then one day he just handed him one, right before turning around to get dressed, without saying a word. Joseph hugged him by the waist and whispered “Thanks”, kissing his shoulder.

He felt him shivering. He shivered a lot.

He lived alone and spend most of his time alone. He was lonely, Joseph knew, in the middle of his world of whiskey bottles and classic movies and a bed he used as an ashtray. He didn’t own a coffee mug. He spend a lot of his nights ghost hunting. He was like a fantasy right out of a poorly written romance for teenagers, in all his screwed up coolness. He was pathetic and sad, and impulsive and passionate and wonderful, and Joseph wanted to make breakfast for him for the rest of their days. He wanted the keys to his home and wanted him on his home and his bed, waking up to his alarm to get the house chores ready before he was headed for church. He wanted to hold his hand at a Sunday service, take him to the open sea in the afternoon, find an amazing island with lots of creepy spiritual legends he’d want to go after. He wanted to watch the rest of his hair turn grey, to ask about Val, to tell him about Crish’s first word. He thought the world had ended on that night in the boat when they doomed themselves, but in the end it was still there, and a crazy, stupid part of him couldn’t stop thinking and wondering if maybe it was there for a reason, and maybe it wouldn’t mind if they dared to exist in it together.

He wasn’t twenty-one anymore, though. He already knew the answer to that question.

-

“Robert?”

“Yeah?”

He looked at him straight in the eyes. “I think you know what I’m about to say.”

Robert’s body tensed up by his side, his skin almost touching his, irradiating so much warm Joseph could almost feel it.

Still, he didn’t look away. The dark eyes stared at him unblinking. He wouldn’t cry, Joseph knew, even if the effort killed him.

“I know.”

And, for Joseph, at least, it felt like it could kill. He was definitely about to murder something that night. The laughs, the touches, the kisses, the whispered talks in his boat’s cabin – a bunch of things that should never have existed in the first place, about to fade forever in those next few moments.

He looked at Robert, though, and, instead of murder, he felt like dying – he felt the weight of the world they had destroyed that night in the yatch on his shoulders, crushing him. They didn’t have enough power to destroy a world, Joseph knew, not even together. They were both too weak, too miserable, too tempted by the easiness with which they could melt into each other’s body and forget about all of that for a night or two.

But they couldn’t. Not forever, not anymore. Not with Robert’s dark eyes looking at him like he didn’t even knew it was possible to look at someone else – not with his silly bizarre stories, his whiskey-filled breath and his disposable dishes. Each time they melted, they merged in a way Joseph imagined the sky melded with the ocean in the horizon – except they didn’t, that was an optical illusion, and so was the thought he could just avoid this until a miracle happened, until one day he just woke up and Robert’s touch didn’t feel like it could burn through his skin even when they accidentally bumped into each other in the middle of a barbecue.

And Robert knew it, was waiting for it since the first moment, and Joseph felt his heart ache for him, like it could rip his body apart from the inside just to hold Robert against him and hear that raspy laugh again.

But they both knew – it was time.

Joseph leaned forward, his eyes never leaving his because he owed him at least that, mouth half-open to murder both of them, right there, at Robert’s bed, and he send a silent prayer for God to be with him in those final moments, to fill him with the strength he needed to follow the right path once and for all.

The words came out seamlessly, easy, right: “I love you.”

[an-accidental-testament]

A run-down bar in the Harbour. The Leaky Dinghy. It’s full of the usual, rich people to get a thrill from drinking in a seedy bar, and criminals who can’t afford any better. You sometimes wonder if any of the “criminals” are paid actors, and wonder if you could get that kind of gig. You certainly look grimy enough. That’s the last time you’ll ever take a job in the sewers, you tell yourself. You know it won’t be, but you’re tired and cold and smell like a trog. To be fair, you probably have bits of trog on your tunic. You debate learning some cold spells, hoping for cleaner kills. You know you never will, as soon as you hear a thunderclap from outside. You don’t know how to give up the storm.

A man sits on a stool at the bar. He has dirt on his clothes, but it’s the swords at his hip that really tell you what he is. Only itchies openly carry that brazenly. You see a eight-prong on his chest, dyed red and silver. The whiskey bottle next to him seems out of place, especially with how he’s drinking it, like he’s not remotely interested in tasting it, just wanting it in his stomach. You decide not to judge him too harshly. After all, if he’s drinking that hard, he may be willing to share.

You sit down next to him, and ask him what he’s celebrating. He looks at you, and you can tell this isn’t his first bottle tonight. “Another successful raid on a kobold gang. You’ll see it tomorrow, but Dol Dorn is sending plenty of congratulations down on me and the squad.”

Of course he’s a sword of Dol Dorn, the arming swords should have been a dead giveaway, but you feel like being tired was enough of an excuse.

He doesn’t seem very happy about this, somehow. You wonder, out loud, if it was because they didn’t put up enough of a fight.

“They fought hard, and they fought to the last apprentice. Surrender is never on their minds.”

You can hear a wealth of meaning in that sentence, but it’s too late. He’s already turned back to his bottle, and you know he doesn’t want to talk about it.

You head home, letting the rain wash what you can off your clothes. You know you’ll clean them with magic later, but you’re sentimental. You remember when you first started, how you couldn’t control it, couldn’t even figure out the most basic of magic tricks. You were sure when you got it right, you could do anything you wanted, you could have your own kingdom, be lord of the sky. You tamp down those memories as you approach the ladder built into the side of a building. You climb up the bamboo rungs and crawl into the little shack built on someone’s roof. The first owners of the house below had built it to be an observatory, apparently not having heard that Stormreach earns its name. At least you get it for free, you think. Your powers got you something. Your stomach is hoping you could get some food with your ‘awesome storm powers.’ When was the last time you ate? Yesterday? Two days ago? You know it could be worse, but that doesn’t make it any better. You spend a few minutes practising what’s growing to be your favourite cantrip, and dry out your clothes and tattered beddings. Then you do one of your favourite combinations of spells, and take a bowl of rainwater, warm it, dump it on the beddings, then magically dry them. Leaves them toasty warm but still dry. You gather them up and look out on the harbour and pretend you’re in a studio apartment, with the same view. If there’s anything that makes this open-air, leaky, broken-down shack worth anything, it’s being able to look out on the water.

You lie there and indulge yourself in the dreams you had as a kid, imagining all the things you would buy when the world finally accepts your dreams. The storm lulls you to sleep, like it always has.

It was almost a week later when you see him again, and this time, you’re in a different bar, the Wayward Lobster to meet a contact. Stonejaw was saying this contact could use an extra hand for a job with one of the minor Coin Lords, and you could use the legitimacy. Could use the coin, too, but you don’t like to think about it. Maybe, you think, if you could impress a Coin Lord in this, you might get jobs of your own, and maybe you could get more consistent pay, even… You cut that line of thought off harshly. You’ve gotten your hopes up too often for that.

He’s fully cleaned up, and you think that it’s a new set of mail underneath the breastplate. He doesn’t souch with the tired drunkenness he had before, nor is he rigid like most people who wear Host marks. He sits casually, comfortably in his booth. You come up to the bar and order a Xen’Drik Daiquiri, which Stonejaw said would be the signal to your contact. The bartender recognizes this, and points you to the booth with the as-yet un-named Dol Dorn worshipper.

The seats have obviously been cleaned, repeatedly, but they never quite get the smell of the ocean out of it. The Lobster is too close to the docks, and the sailors have left the unmistakable scent of sea, sweat, and spirits in every inch of this bar.

“So you’re the firepower I asked for.”

He doesn’t mention the Leaky Dinghy, so neither do you.

“You any good?”

You take some offence at the thought, and explain to him, through gritted teeth, just how good you are. The storm writhes in your blood, and you doubt any simple paladin could understand that feeling.

He raises an eyebrow, but laughs. “More than you might think. There’s an alley down the street, leads to our next job. I’ll be at the mouth of the alley around second afternoon bell. If you think you’re good enough, show up. Oh and you might want to have a light lunch beforehand. Intel suggests there’s a trog or two in there.”

You begin to stand up, getting the sense you’ve been dismissed, but he stops you with a raised hand.

“Have you had supper yet? I was about to and I miss having a friend with me for a meal. My treat.”

You internally roll your eyes, your first thought assuming it’s another idiot thinking you’ll be his ‘ebony princess’, but your stomach reminds you you could use the meal, and he hasn’t hit on you once yet.

You sit down, and he gives a relieved smile. “So this place is best known for it’s seafood, but their wild pig roast is brilliant, especially when I’m missing home.”

You’re listening, but he barely seems to be, lost in his memories. “My biggest problem is it’s often too much food for one meal, and I hate taking my food out with me. It reminds me of all those times, with the Greenspears, saying that if I want to be a real dancer for the Darastrix, I’d have to grow more.”

That certainly catches your attention, and you cautiously ask him what Darastrix means, and why he’d be dancing for them.

“Just what the kobolds I grew up with called anyone who worshipped the Host as extensions of the old dragon gods. I’ll tell you more sometime, if you want, but Uncle likes to say that you shouldn’t talk with new coworkers about religion, sex, or money.”

That seems fair to you, and you admit to a little homesickness as well, asking if they have any alligator. You also wonder out loud if you have to get up to order food here, because it is far larger than most diners you’ve eaten at, and you see no servers.

“It’s a lot easier if you know the cook,” he points out a stout human sitting at the bar, “most people order and eat at the bar, so Mahmoud prefers to sit there, so they can hear the orders themselves.”

“Hey Mahmoud, wild pig plate and a gator soup? And for Balinor’s sake, can you keep the pig plate to the size of a plate?”

The cook chuckles knowingly, as he limps into the kitchen, grabbing a clean apron on the way. You notice his right leg is shorter than his left, and your new coworker follows your gaze. “Damned fool healer on his boat set it wrong.”

You nod-  you know that it takes more healing than anyone living in the Harbour district could afford to fix that.

A few minutes later, a prepubescent of indeterminate sex comes up to the table with a cup of tea for you, and a mug of coffee for your opposite. “Best thing about Stormreach? We’re close enough to so many sugar plantations that you can be picky about your sourcing.” He puts nearly two full spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee as he talks. “The Lobster only buys it from the Twelve-run experimental farm, which at least actually bought the land, instead of just knocking down some jungle.”

You enjoy your dinner, the soup somewhat saltier than your parents used to make, but just as spicy. You hadn't realized how much better having food from home would comfort you. But that could also be because it was the first full meal you'd had in weeks. He looks nervouslyat you as you eat, and you realize he was trying to impress you to some degree. He still hasn't made the slightest of moves on you, romantic or sexual, and you leave the diner full and curious. The rain is down to a light patter and a thick fog, rolling over the Harbour like a blanket. Sleep comes easily in warm sheets.

You meet with Stonejaw the next morning, and he smiles knowingly. "You've got a chance to get out, girl. You should take it. I'll miss having an operative who ain't afraid of heights, but you know I push my people to get better paying jobs when they can." The bear-sized half-orc chuckles into his thick coffee. He grimaces slightly, and you know it has nothing to do with the black sludge in his hand. "You figure out the price yet?" You're confused. Your temporary partner hadn't mentioned a price during the dinner, and you question your friend.

"Everything's got a price, and opportunities like this more so. Sometimes, it's just your skills that are the price. Sometimes, it's to feel all nice cause their bein' generous to a street rat. Other times, it's your ability to be all morally ambiguous, cause you're from the streets. Sometimes, it's just having a friend, and sometimes, it's sex. And you have to decide what you're up for, what works for you. I've done it, and the truth is that it's only different from fighting if you think it is. Some people decide they'll fight for money, but won't screw. Other people pick the other way around. Hells, it can change by the day. Don't feel pushed into anything you feel you ain't up for, but say no ‘cause you don't want to, not cause some preacher says no."

Your eyes harden, and you feel strangely protective. You defend your new friend to your old one, but as you're surprised by how quickly you trusted him, you resolve to ask him what exactly he wants out of you. And, you muse, what you want out of him.

An alley. You smell old scales and returned beer. You see your new.. Employer? Coworker? Friend, maybe? Standing at the mouth, humming what sounds oddly like “Ode to an Eagle,” from your childhood. His swords glean, his armour brightly polished. His eyes light up when he sees you, and you wonder if he had hired anyone else for this.

The entrance and the warren are familiar to you. You might not have been in this one, but you’ve been in a hundred others, and every kobber’s hole is the same. It is strange how deserted it is-you’re used to being greeted with threats and the pay for a job, not doing a job on them. You shake off the vague sense of wrongness about raiding the kind of people you usually work with, because you know they’d do the same if they could. You’re sure they would. You begin to remark on how quiet it is, but you see him cooing over a totem-carved torch on the wall. It looks like the usual to you-big teeth and scales, but your companion turns to you and gushes. “Look! Every tribe in cities, so far away from the Elder Wyrms, has to find their own way to venerate their Progenitors. It’s the easiest way to tell tribes apart. They’ve decorated this welcome-totem with their own scales, to imitate an Elder’s leg. It’s a brilliant idea, and whoever placed it was a true artist-they must have completely taken it all down and rearranged it every time they wanted to add more.” He continues to jabber excitedly for a few minutes, as you two walk deeper in. When, finally, you find a fortification manned by kobolds, your employer hisses at you to sheathe your weapons, and to put your hands up, like he is. His hands are open in front of him, but near the centre of his chest, pointed out, with his thumbs touching.

He speaks Draconic to the kobolds, but it sounds more like the yipping that they tend to, than the lower, rougher Draconic you’ve heard others speak. The kobolds respond angrily, shaking their weapons, and he seems to sigh, looking more like he did in the Leaky Dinghy than ever since. His hands drop to his swords, he asks whatever question he had been asking one more time, though it sounds like he already knows the answer. With one more angry yip from your targets, he grits his teeth.

Suddenly, he kicks out the support for the scaffolding they were standing on, and his swords are barely out of their sheaths when they catch a kobold in the armpit, nearly shearing through its chest. The left-hand sword draws open its throat, and one enemy is dead before the others can respond. You recover from the shock far faster, pouring a bolt of lightning into your first target-the one with a skull on its head and a staff in its hand. Only a mage really appreciates how dangerous they are. To be fair, that shaman probably appreciated how dangerous you were after it fell to the ground seizing. There are seven more that you can see- actually six, you remark as an enemy loses its spear, and the hand with it. You almost wince. You’ve seen a lot of nasty injuries, but rarely this much blood. Your next target is one that steps too close for your comfort. Too close for its comfort, too, as you place your hand on its head, and will a blast of lightning to bridge the gap between your thumb and pinky. Through the kobold’s brain.

His style is brutal and symplistic. He allows a spear thrust to splash across his breastplate and cuts twice-once to the elbow, once to the knee. The kobold screams and falls to the ground, wailing in pain. He spares a second while fighting another to kick the back of its head, knocking it out. You’re not sure if he was merciful or vicious. He has a smile on his face, wicked and broad. He raises a sword and cheers, “Dol Dorn watches! This War Wyrm fights!” As he does, you see a glow burst from his octogram, and feel a certain calmness and power in your chest. You see a spear coming for you, but the struggle to bat it aside is not as difficult as it should be, almost an instinct in your head to let it thrust past your face, and your hand comes up to the owner’s chest muscle memory pulling your strike exactly where it needs to be. You smell the burnt flesh before you realise that you cast a spell. Your blood seems alight with energy, and it takes almost no effort to call up old memories of stormy islands. You remember the feeling of your arm hair rising, and channel it at one of the remaining enemies with a thought. In the piece of your mind not occupied with the battle, you realise that you landed it perfectly on the heart. A quicker death, then. You hear no screams as its heart is fried.

You take a moment to revel in the feeling of power and control that you’re now feeling. One assumes that it is coming from your new partner, and you consider hitching your horse to his just for this power.

Power that is suddenly cut from you, and you are surrounded. Everywhere you look there are enemies-kobolds and guards alike, the Deneith soldiers that took your uncle away, and even your mother, tsking at your stupid dreams. “You’re always dreaming, child. Running away from home? Trying to use powers you don’t deserve? You’re about ten minutes from a corpse in a ditch and you deserve it for leaving us alone like this.” Stonejaw is in front of you, and he’s smiling - that cruel smile he gets when he’s played someone, and you know it’s you. “What? Did you think you would get out of this ramshackle life? You’ll always be a street rat, and you’ll never belong anywhere but the roadside we’ll drop you for thinking you’ll ever be better.” And you know this was your chance and you lost it. You didn’t impress him, and you’re gonna lose everything. The man you thought wanted to hire you walks up to you, that wicked grin on his face, and he’s laughing. And he’s grim and concerned. And he’s laughing. And he’s reaching out to your shoulders. And he’s raising his sword to finish you off like the trash you are.

“Breathe.”

You’re back in a warehouse. You’re on your knees, and they ache from the hard floor. Your new friend is holding your shoulders and looking into your eyes, and you realise his are a bronze, flecked with silver. You get to your feet, shakily. That was a mistake. You barely manage to turn to a wall before you taste the crocodile soup from last night. It’s nearly a minute before you feel like you can breathe without hurling. You feel a small canteen pushed into your hand. “Here, when you’re ready to wash out the taste.”

You are halfway through your sip when you realise it isn’t water. You’re not entirely sure what it is, but it was clearly not made for humanoid consumption- it burns your mouth worse than that cheap Gnomish baijiu Stonejaw tricked you into drinking when you first joined him. You ask what in the Hells it is, and hear a chuckle from beside you. “Wound cleaner. Most people don’t waste their time, but Atiya always used to drill in our heads that it heals better if you clean it first. You can drink it, too, if you’re desperate. Won’t kill you, but it’ll hit you faster than they usually do.”

You take a hard swig, coughing after it. You need something to calm your hands down. When you turn to him, he’s looking sympathetically at you. “First time fighting a shaman? First time that spell hits you is always the worst. You’ll never be immune to that incapacitating panic, but next time, it won’t be so shitty after.”

You nod, more out of reflex than any understanding. When you stand up straight and look to the rest of the storehouse, he seems to want to say something, think better of it, then gird himself up and say it. “If you want, you could stop. I’m reasonably sure I can take it on my own, and there’s no shame in going home after being rocked like that.” You shake your head, and tell him that you can still do this, that you’re fine. He knows you’re not, but he respects your decision.

The rest of the raid goes relatively smoothly. You stand at the back a little more, and blast the shaman you see as soon as you see them, spending more energy than you likely should, but the lightning in your veins is reassuring. You realise, sitting in the personal treasure room of the leader, that it was like he had said. They fought and died, down to the last apprentice and wyrmling. You do notice there aren’t any eggs, and ask why. He smiles wryly, “little agreement between me and the gangs. I only raid places being used as staging grounds for crimes. As long as they keep the brood nests away from these hunting bases, their eggs are safe. Not sure if my employers know about it, but I like to think they don’t care. As long as I keep any tribe from having enough power for more than small raids, they’re happy.” You admit you’re curious how a human even came to an agreement with the various kobold tribes of Stormreach, but you remember that in a way, Stonejaw and operators like you have done the same. The idea of kobbers working with any smooth-skin seems weird, but they have problems they can’t handle too, and that tends to be jobs for people like you.

“As per our agreement, you’re welcome to any loot in here you want. I’ll collect my pay from the Harbourmaster, like usual. You’ve now seen the risks of my job, the pay, and I can promise you about one raid a month on average. You’ve impressed me, and if we keep going, you’ll probably impress the Harbourmaster. You do that, and you could join me on my rounds, if you like. That point, you’ll essentially have my job too, and we could start on you getting paid the official way, and splitting the loot. But I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Sakhesh and I’d like to hire you on a more permanent basis. How would you like to be an adventurer?”