#please do not talk to me about my horrifying curtain set up behind me

[autoneurotic]

hiiiii :-)

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Inked

Pairing: tattoo artist!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, cum play, dirty talk, swearing

Word count: 1.8k

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77​ @mrg-jjh (send me a message if you want to be tagged in future fics)

A/N: i’ll never get over Jaehyun with tattoos. Also I know very little about tattoos nor have I ever been to a tattoo shop (this was based on a story my friend told me lol) so please excuse any inconsistencies. Also excuse my unoriginal title lol

The little bell over the door tinkled softly as you entered the shop, much more warm and inviting than you expected it to be. You had been nervous coming in for your first tattoo, but your friend’s boyfriend, Yuta, had highly recommended the place so you decided to check it out.

You had expected the place to be dark, grungy, maybe some loud noise music playing, but it was quite the opposite. There were soft leather couches lining one wall, a calming zen water fountain in one corner, and a curtained off area where you assumed the work was done. You stepped further into the shop, noticing a soothing lavender scent, and just as you were inhaling and appreciating it, the tattoo artist came out from behind the curtained area.

You were a little taken aback by his appearance, which seemed to be out of place in such a serene, almost spa-like setting. He was wearing full black leather from head to toe, his black hair slicked back, tattoos adorning his neck. You couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the work, stepping a little closer to get a better view.

“You like it?” he asked, and when you looked up at his face he was smirking at you. You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten, and at that angle his face was stunning. He had beautiful cheekbones, and a perfect jawline, lips full and smirking at you, eyes twinkling looking down at you. You cleared your throat and stepped back, embarrassed at being caught staring, both at his tattoos, and at his face.

“Um, yes,” you responded nervously, looking around at the shop instead of his face. “I, uh, had an appointment?”

“Ah, yes, you’re Y/N?” he asked, tilting his head at you, the smirk never leaving his face. You nodded, and he clapped his hands together, “Perfect! You’re my last appointment of the day! I’m Jaehyun,” he extended his hand and you shook it.  “Come with me.” He led you behind the curtain and closed it off, motioning for you to sit in the chair.

“So what are we doing today?” he asked, getting his tools ready. You explained what you wanted, and where you wanted it, and he just nodded along and when you were situated he got to work. It was a little embarrassing because you had to pull your leggings down a bit and hike your shirt up so he could get access to the area on your hip where you wanted it, but you figured as a tattoo artist he’d probably seen it all. You turned your head away anyway, knowing it would be more embarrassing if you could see his face.

“I’m gonna start now, let me know if anything’s uncomfortable,” he stated, and you heard the sound of the tattoo gun starting up.

You weren’t afraid of needles, you had a pretty high pain tolerance so you figured you’d be okay with it, so when the needle touched your skin you were pleased to notice it didn’t bother you too much. What did start to concern you however, was the cord of the gun, which had settled between your legs, and was vibrating.

The strength of the vibration wasn’t very high, definitely not as high as your vibrator could get, but it was just enough to keep you on a very low level of arousal. It didn’t help that you had a very good view of your tattoo artist’s ridiculously attractive face, not to mention his bare arms working on you since he’d taken his jacket off. You couldn’t help but admire the ink on his neck, but the arousal you were feeling took those thoughts to unholy levels. You wanted to know what it felt like to taste him, to suck on his neck and add some bluish-purplish marks to that ink. You admired the way his white t-shirt hugged his broad shoulders, and you wondered what it would be like to hang onto them while he fucked you. The muscles in his arms flexed as he worked, and you imagined what it would be like to be held up by them, or maybe pinned against the wall.

“What do you think so far?” he asked, breaking you from your fantasies. You could barely look at what he’d done, your eyes already starting to glaze over, so you just nodded weakly. He went back to work, the vibrations continuing, and you could definitely feel your underwear dampening. You shut your eyes and bit your lip, trying not to think any more dirty thoughts about your tattoo artist, but the cord had settled directly over your clit, and now you knew you were in trouble. You imagined it was him working on your clit, thumbing it, or licking it harshly with his tongue, and you could actually feel the knot in the pit of your stomach forming. Your hands gripped the seat as you felt your orgasm building, your heart beating out of your chest as you tried your hardest to keep still. Just as the knot was about to burst, the gun turned off.

“Are you okay?”

You opened your eyes to see Jaehyun staring at you, one eyebrow raised. You hadn’t realized you were panting, your chest heaving, and you tried your best to calm your breathing. The cord, even though it was off, still rested over your clit and you were still very sensitive, so you reached down and pushed it off. He watched your action curiously but it wasn’t long before he put two and two together.

“Hmm,” he said, that smirk coming back to his face, “what was this naughty cord doing to you,” he mused, taking a hold of the cord and tracing it down to where it lay between your legs. He must have spotted something interesting because the smirk on his face turned into a full on grin, a naughty one.

“Y/N, are you making a mess of my chair?”

Horrified, you looked between your legs to see the huge damp spot on your leggings, the moisture having transferred to the vinyl of the chair. You wanted to disappear, covering your face with your hands, but he only chuckled, getting up from his stool and standing over you, putting his hands on the armrests of your chair so that his body was caging you in.

“I don’t normally charge clients for damages like this,” he started, his tone serious but his voice low, “but for you I might have to make an exception.” His eyes raked over your body, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. You got even wetter as you watched him, his face so close to yours, his scent overpowering your senses.

“How much do I owe?” you stuttered, your breath coming out in short gasps. He watched your chest heave, shaking his head in awe at how aroused you were.

“You owe me a touch,” he said, and you nodded. His hand then went to your thigh and moved upwards, and you inhaled sharply when his thumb got very close to your heat. “And a kiss,” he continued, staring at your lips. You nodded again and he moved in, crashing his lips against yours. You moaned into his mouth, his lips were like heaven, and when he added his tongue you pulled him down so that he was on top of you, craving the friction and the feeling of his body on yours.

His hand moved to cup your pussy and he groaned, breaking from your lips to suck on your neck. “You’re so fucking wet,” he breathed against your neck, “I’m gonna have to charge you extra.”

“Yes! Anything!” you moaned, you wanted him so bad you were ready to sell your soul.

You could feel him smiling against your neck as he reached down and pulled your leggings off, then he rubbed your slit over your soaked panties, making you grip his shoulders and moan loudly.

“So fucking wet,” he whispered to himself, before he took a hold of your panties and tore them off your body. You yelped in shock, but then his hand was back, on your bare pussy now, just holding it there, while he brought his face very close to yours, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked at you.

“Ready to pay up?” he asked, breath fanning your face as his eyes scanned your form, half-naked underneath him.

“Fuck, yes!” you cried out, and your hands went to his leather pants, fumbling to undo them. When you got them down you tugged at his boxers, and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his cock, springing back up against his abdomen as you released it. You looked up at him and he smiled before he pushed your shoulders back against the chair, pulling your legs towards him so that your ass was perched on the very edge.

“I think this is a fair price to pay,” he whispered in your ear, and then his cock was sliding into you. He went slow at first, the initial stretch making you gasp out loud.

“Holy shit, so fucking tight,” he groaned, his hands grabbing onto your hips so he could pace himself. You could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, as he tried desperately not to just ram into you. When he was all the way in he gave you a moment to adjust to his size, then he made one experimental thrust.

“Fuck!” you screamed, unable to hold back anymore, fisting your hands into his t-shirt and pulling him down for a heated kiss. He started to fuck into you then, encouraged by your tongue in his mouth and how you moved your hips to match him thrust for thrust. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoed throughout the shop, drowning out the sound of the water fountain, only serving to heighten your arousal. The bruising pace he’d set was pushing you towards your climax, and you ran your hands under his shirt to dig your fingernails into his back.

“You ready to come, baby?” he growled, digging his fingers into your hips and thrusting even harder,  “Give it to me then.”

The coil in your stomach snapped and you let out a hoarse cry as your orgasm washed over you, your pussy squeezing his cock.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he groaned, releasing into you. He pumped once into your pussy, and then pulled back until only his tip was inside you, grabbing a hold of his cock and pumping the rest of his cum so that it filled you and then spilled out, mixing with your own slick and dripping down, right onto the seat below you.

“Shit, baby, you made another mess,” he grinned, looking down and admiring what he’d done, “you owe me another one now.”

[skepticbeliever-bookclub]

Hello everyone! 

We are back with yet another read! Our call for nominations this week was for enemies to lovers, and boy did the book club deliver. Our choice ended up being 4.26.86 by szandor. This tightly written AU reads like the 80s spy thrillers from your dad’s bookshelf, and is set within the confines of the Chernobyl Incident and it’s immediate fall out. The author wove in language and mood and the tense oppression of living under the shadow of an authoritarian regime while also telling a sweet story about two people finding each other against the odds, and falling in love in the face of a horrifying tragedy. 

It’s not an easy read, and doesn’t shy away from the brutality of it’s subject matter, but it ends on a hopeful, if bittersweet, note. 

Rating: M

Summary: 

It's April of 1986 in the USSR. Bureaucrat Shane Madej and Professor Ryan Bergara have a chance meeting at a table to discuss the 'Chernobyl Incident.' Ryan Bergara believes there was more to said incident than a simple water tank explosion. Shane disagrees. The two are sent against their own will to the Chernobyl site just outside of Pripyat where they discover a much more dire situation than anticipated.

Book Club Thoughts

This was a great mix of stuff. Terrifying disaster, intrigue, science, hidden romance

I have a particular soft spot for plotty AUs where the world is so vastly different from the one I'm familiar with and it feels more like you're diving into a real fictional piece.

i think the author did a really good job giving us a lot of information about what was happening around them without it feeling like they were just doing exposition forever

It's a lot but I also like how the author didn't just write them into the era but gave them both a mood and a speech pattern that felt very immersed

the era's verbiage was brought in very well, too! 'trust but verify' and a couple others I know I've forgotten

maybe this was just my own interpretation layering on top but one touch i really liked was that the "we can't" of it all was so unspoken and it felt as much (if not more) like it was related to their relative positions in society than them both being me

i was craving enemies to lovers but I didn't know I needed 80's spy novel queer romance behind the iron curtain

I really loved Ryan’s characterization in this, it managed to be totally true to the real Ryan while transporting him into a different time and life

i really enjoyed the way steven was utilized as a pivotal character in ryan’s development

i loved steven's compassion and conviction. i think he felt the truest to character to me.

even the moment when he's talking to Steven and knows he trusts him but doesn't think he trusts him, that is absolutely queer culture right there

I have to applaud the author for writing Steven so passionate, acting as a sounding board for morality when Ryan wasn't sure what he was going to do and Shane, fully entrenched in keeping himself and Ryan safe the whole time in his own cynical way, bursting out that he loves Ryan like that

i'm incredibly weak for two characters who push themselves together under agonizing external circumstances

I really liked how the author handled the delicacy of Ryan n Shane's relationship as contrasted to the larger plot of the Everything in the fic.

I just can’t get over how they constantly sought quiet physical comfort in each other. The knee touches, the brushing pinkies

i really enjoyed the overwhelming dread throughout it contrasted with this little hopeful relationship yknow

this fic absolutely BROKE ME, the way they were so cautious with their relationship because everything around them is crumbling, the hesitancy and yet the certainty in which they care for each other, the absolutely bittersweet and DEVASTATING ending...

WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN US FOR OUR NEXT DISCUSSION? CHECK OUT THE FAQ, AND SEND US AN ASK! IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR FIC RECS, PLEASE CHECK OUT OUR READS, NOMINEES AND BOOK CLUB REC LISTS!

[samendipityy]

my vice || pjm

park jimin x reader

TW: mentions of self harm(in detail); anxiety; & depression

| angst ☔️| fluff 💕| comfort ☁️| est. relationship | | jimin is the boyfriend we all need |

summary: your biggest fear manifests; he sees you in your worst state.

[totally self-indulgent :/ hope someone else can find comfort in this too]

hiding it was the hardest part; masking the anxiety became tiring and the waves of sadness are never easy to predict. you adopted vices to aid in copping with the overwhelming thoughts and emotions that filled your mind. one vice, in the form of a blade ripping through your skin, became borderline addicting. as the sharp edge leaves behind red droplets your anxieties flow out of your mind. an act only used in dire circumstances quickly became a part of your nightly routine and even the brightest of days could not distract you from your darkest need.

your skin itched for the release and you found it difficult to sleep without it, which is why you were hesitant when your boyfriend asked to sleep over. your relationship was relatively new, having only been dating for a few months and you have yet to tell him about your history with anxiety and depression in fear of being seen as weak or a burden.

jimin always made you feel special and he made you want strive to become stronger, even if it was difficult. but sadly that was not enough for you to quit, and you were filled with shame at the thought. his admiration could not pull you away from the addicting sensation.

once you are alone in the bathroom you turn on the shower and quickly locate the tiny razor hidden in your medicine cabinet. you adjust your clothes and set the blade onto your scarred hip and let the feeling of shameful bliss wash over you.

during the third cut the door swings open and you jerk your head up, watching his body enter the room through the mirror. you are instantly hit with a pang of anger towards yourself for forgetting to lock the door, a habit you adopted from living alone.

“hey babe, i know you’re in the shower right now but can you tell me where the pain medicine is.”

as he finishes his sentence he lifts his head from his phone, expecting your body to be behind the shower curtain but instead he is met with your horrified expression staring back at him in the mirror. you hold each other’s stare until the mirror fogs and your ears are filled with a deafening silence despite the running water.

finally his eyes travel down to your now shaking hand gripping the razor and the trails of blood racing down your hip onto your thigh. your body stays frozen as he comes up behind you and gently removes the blade from you hand and sets it on the counter. too ashamed to face him, you lower you head as he rests his hands on your shoulders to turn you around. he softly cups your cheeks and raises your head, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

the moment your eyes meet his glossy ones you choke back a sob and once you register the small smile he forces you lose complete control. as tears dampen your face you try to maneuver out of his grip due to embarrassment. he drops his hands from your face, only to wrap your body in a tight hug and you feel your body tremble with sobs.

as your cries subside, jimin silently reaches for a towel, squats down level with your hips, and gently dabs away the blood. suddenly you hear a small whimper and as you look down your eyes are met with your boyfriend desperately trying to hold back his tears.

your voice is hoarse as you call out his name, “jimin, baby-“

he cuts you off saying, “shit, i’m sorry i didn’t wanna cry i just- fuck, babe why didn’t you tell me.”

jimin stands back up and turns off the shower, giving you a second to gather your thoughts. he turns back towards you, wiping his eyes only for more tears to silently fall.

he takes his place in front of you and your eyes are glued on the floor, hands still shaking from the shock, eyes still damp from the tears, cheeks still red from embarrassment.

“babe, please look at me. i’m not angry, i just want to see your face.”

reluctantly you pull your chin up and meet his eyes and as you struggle to answer his previous question your glance finds purchase back on the ground.

as you speak your words become rushed and your breath quickens, “i’m sorry i didn’t want to burden you. i know it’s stupid and childish i have tried to stop but i always come back to it and i didn’t want to tell you in fear that you may expect me to get better and what if i don’t. i don’t want to disappoint you and i don’t want you to think that you are not a good enough reason to stop, it’s just my mind doesn’t work like that-“

jimin cups your face and gently rubs your cheeks with his thumbs, cutting you off saying, “hey, it’s okay. i understand that your reasonings are complicated and i don’t expect you to magically heal just because i love you. but i hope we can work towards you healing.”

you lay your head on his chest and quietly thank him for being so understanding.

“babe, your still shaking,” jimin observes, “is there anything i can do?”

“ah sorry, i’m just anxious.” you hesitate before asking, “can you hold me?”

“of course love.” he gently says and he wraps his arms around you.

you both stand there quietly in each other’s embrace as minutes pass, until your body has stopped shaking and your breaths are even. jimin pulls away just enough to face you and gives you a small smile before placing a soft peck onto your lips.

“lets get you in the shower, yeah? and then we can lay down and cuddle and you could help me understand how you feel. or if you’re too tired we can wait to talk tomorrow.”

a tear slips out of your eye as you murmur a “thank you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 2

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia, blood, gore, and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your stalker gets closer.

Note: Alright, things are ramping up. As always, mind the warnings and take care of yourselves.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You didn't sleep much. Shallow spurts laced with fear. Your dreams when they came were vague but horrifying. A shadow, a voice, the feeling of being watched. Always.

You were roused by a creak. You'd left your door half-open last night. 

You sat up, the curtains drawn, and looked around. You rubbed your temple and pushed the covers away from you. You pulled down the hem of your tee and dragged your feet across the room. You elbowed the door open and stepped into the hall.

You looked around the corner into the living room. Bucky sat on the couch where you’d left him the night before. He cradled the tablet on his thigh as he yawned and flicked the screen. 

“Did you sleep at all?” You asked, your throat dry and scratchy. 

“You?” He asked as he looked up. “I just sent the audio into forensics for review. We might be able to run analysis on his voice and they’re working on tracing the call.”

“And what do I do?” You crossed your arms.

“What you’ve been doing,” he set the tablet on the coffee table and stood. He stretched his arms above him, the metal plates of his left contracting as he lowered it. “As far as we know, he has no idea about us. I came in the back and to be honest, as a civilian, you react before you think. He called you to make sure you were still here. To reassure himself that not all was lost.”

“How do you know this? Do you deal with this often?”

“Well, no, I deal with assassins and spies more often but… well, I can’t divulge the extent of our intelligence. I can only say that what we found sets him on par with my usual work.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer if I actually knew what was going on?” You prodded.

“No, trust me. You know what you need to.” He said staunchly.

You poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue and shrugged. “You want a coffee?”

“If you’re making some,” he rubbed his nose as he watched you cross the room, “I’ll leave before you but… I’ll be around.”

“Like last night?” You challenged.

“That’s on me. I shouldn’t have been so careless but the next time he calls, you won’t be alone.”

“Apparently I haven’t been for a while,” you said. “If he has my number, what else does he have?”

“Think about what you have. You have me and the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. behind you,” he reproached. “And let me tell you, when I’m given a mission, I complete it.”

“I want to believe you,” you said as you took out the canister of coffee, “I really do.”

👁️

You were distracted on your way to work. The voice lingered in your head, the words. The necklace bouncing over the collar of your coat was barely a comfort. What would Bucky do if the killer appeared right then? Could he get to your fast enough? He said he’d be close, watching, but was he closer than your stalker?

You picked a ball of lint from your glove as you ran up the station steps and onto the street. Once you were at work you could forget. You’d be surrounded by people; co-workers, clients, and the occasional messenger. For once, the ringing phone welcomed you. You knew what awaited you on the other end; an appointment to be made or a transfer to another part of the office. Simple.

Your boss, Mr. Drousseau, was often first to the office. He was unlocking the door as you rounded the corner. He cradled a vase of flowers against him, his briefcase clutched in his hand, as he twisted the key and tried to open the door with his other arm. You rushed forward as the door threatened to fall shut again.

“Here,” you grabbed the door and he blinked at you in surprise. “I got it.”

He grunted and wrenched his key out before stepping inside. You followed as he crossed to your desk and plunked the vase down. He flicked a petal from his shoulder as he turned back to you.

“What are those?” You looked at the long-stemmed tulips; out of season and no doubt expensive. “Is your wife--?”

“Some carrier just handed them off,” He set his briefcase on a chair in the waiting area and took off his long jacket. “They’ve got your name on them?”

“What?” You neared the desk and took the card. Your name was scrawled in slanted letters on the front. You placed your bag beside the vase and carefully opened the card. “I don’t know who--”

You almost dropped the cardstock but instead closed it again. Your cheek twitched as you looked up at Drousseau and tapped the card with your fingernail. 

“A surprise from my father,” you lied. “He lives so far away…”

“Mmm,” Drousseau nodded as he hung his jacket. “Well, next time, tell him to have them sent to you directly.”

“Sure. Yeah, sorry,” you kept the card between two fingers as you unzipped your coat. “I’ll send you a copy of today’s roster.”

He grumbled as he grabbed his briefcase and jingled his keys as he went to his office door. He paused as he unlocked the door. “Coffee.” He said. “Espresso if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

You smiled at his back and let out a sigh only when his door closed behind him. He saw you as a glorified barista and didn’t seem to realise that you organised the chaos of his own success. Without you, he wouldn’t know which way was up. Well, he might learn that soon enough.

You slipped out of your coat and hung it. You pinched the card and shuddered as you carefully opened it again. There were no words on the inside. Only a stark, red splotch. You ran your thumb over it and the edge flaked away. It couldn’t be… blood. 

But what else would it be? Who else would send them?

You closed the card and crumpled it in your hand. Panic squeezed your heart and you raced to the paper shredder hidden behind the copier. You flicked the switch and fed the card into the machine. The grind of the blade echoed your stomach. You hadn’t eaten that morning; you couldn’t.

You looked down at the flower dangling from your neck. You spoke to it quietly. “He sent flowers,” you felt crazy, like you were talking to yourself, “What does that mean?”

Your phone vibe in your bag on the desk and you stepped past your chair. You fished around for your cell and pulled it out.

‘It means he’s trying to scare you,’ Bucky’s text flashed across the screen, quickly followed by another. ‘Don’t let him. I’m here.’

You shook your hand and didn’t reply. You put your phone face down on your desk and touched your temples. You weren’t sure that anyone, even Bucky, could keep you safe.

👁️

It was only the flowers that day. You spent much of your working hours watching the door. You watched over your shoulder on your way home, convinced that every fellow pedestrian and passenger was a monster. When you got to your apartment, you locked the door and checked every inch of your apartment. 

As you paced, your phone shook. You stared at it until it stilled and then it began again. You answered it shakily and let out a long breath as Bucky’s voice rose from the speaker.

“You’re not responding to me. You can’t do that. I need to make certain you’re safe at all times. That’s my job. You understand?” He chided.

“You have the bug, don’t you? You can hear everything.” You sat and fidgeted on the couch. “And you’re close. You’d know if anyone… if anyone…”

“Yes, but you’re cooperation only helps, alright?” He said. “I know you’re scared but right now he’s just playing games. He’s trying to make you do something stupid so don’t do that. You’re doing exactly what he wants; you’re panicking.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you hissed, “That’s the point.”

“Go to your window. The one away from the street in your bedroom.” He said.

“What?”

“Just do it and look up a few floors.”

You sniffed and stood up. You went to your room and rounded the bed. You pulled aside the curtain and searched the brick building just across the alley. A small glint came through a window only three floors up. You heard a tap on the other end; the sound of metal on glass.

“See. I’m close. You’re safe. He won’t get any closer than me. I promise.” He said.

“Oh, uh,” you stepped back from the window. “Okay. I… thank you.”

“It’s my job,” he said, “And yours is to get some rest. You’re no good exhausted. That’s what he wants.”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

The line clicked and you sat on the foot of your bed. You dropped your phone to the mattress and took a breath. You got up slowly and went to the bathroom. You closed the door and looked at yourself in the mirror. You unclasped the necklace and hung it from the cabinet handle to keep from losing it. You undressed blindly and let your clothes heap on the floor.

The rings of the shower curtain chimed as you pulled it open and placed the stopper in the drain. You turned the faucet until it steam and stepped into the rising flood. You stretched before you lowered yourself down into the tub. Your stiff muscles loosened and you felt the day float away.

Just a moment of peace before it would all come back. Just a moment to yourself.

👁️

The next morning was unusually sunny though the night had been little different. Despite your fatigue, sleep was still elusive. Even when you did manage to dose, it was shallow and unsatisfying. You woke with a weight in the back of your head and finished two cups of coffee before you readied for your last day of work before the weekend.

The tulips remained on your desk. You’d forgotten about them even with the stream of compliments on the bouquet. You’d offered it to several coworkers but had met only with polite refusal. You sat and set yourself up as Drousseau shuffled around in his office. 

Your first call of the day was easy enough. One of Drousseau’s oldest clients needed to be patched through. You hit transfer but before you could put the phone down, it rang again. You hit answer and gave your usual greeting.

“You like the flowers?” The same, eerie voice as two nights before. “They made me think of you.”

“What?” You breathed as you pushed yourself away from the desk and your chair rolled back until the spiral cord was taut. “What do you--”

“You’re not the rose type. You’re so sweet. So pure, baby girl.” He continued as your stomach plummeted. You looked around at the flurry of activity around you; the whir of the copier, the clacking of keys, the quiet chatter of employees. It was surreal. “Someone like you in a world like this is made to be used.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I’m at work. You can’t call here--” Your cell vibed beside your keyboard as you tried to keep your voice down.

“I can do whatever I want, baby girl. I have done everything I want when I want… except you… no, you need to wait. It has to be the right way.” He snarled. “Yes, soon. You will be ready soon.”

“Please--”

The line went dead as your cell began to buzz incessantly. You slammed down the receiver and grabbed your mobile as it shook. You stood and looked around. No one seemed to notice your distress. You stormed off to the restroom and closed yourself in. You slid your finger across the screen and held it to your ear.

“Bucky?” You croaked.

“It’s me.” He confirmed. “You alright? That him?”

“Y-yes,” you trembled as you braced the sink. “He said… he said soon. Bucky, he’s going to kill me. I know it.”

“Shhhh, please, take a breath.” He coaxed. “And count, like I showed you.”

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you whined. “Please, I can’t do this.”

“Breathe,” he ordered, “One…” He began to count as you stared in the mirror. You nodded in time until your breaths evened out and you huffed into the phone. “Good, good. Now, you have to act like everything is alright. Stay at work. You’re safe there.”

“And… after?”

“You know I’ll be there. I already am, alright? I know everyone who walks through that door, honey. You trust me?”

Your lashes fluttered and you let go of the sink. ‘Honey.’ Your mind lingered on that word but you quickly shrugged it off.

“I do,” you said, “You’ll protect me.”

“I will,” he assured you. “This creep is no match for me.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “Okay. I’m alright. I gotta go back.”

“Alright,” he said softly. “I’ll be here.”

👁️

When work was done, you didn’t go directly to the subway. You needed to sleep and you needed to forget. There was one way to do both; alcohol. Just down the block was a liquor store. You’d grab a bottle of wine and be on your way. A brief detour before you could hide once more in your boxlike apartment.

You crossed the street and a figure caught in the corner of your eye. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone as you turned down the sidewalk. You held up the cell and angled it so you could see the reflection over your shoulder. There was a man a few feet behind; he was tall but walking slowly with his head down, a hood casting shadows over his face. You slowly lowered your phone and squeezed until you thought it would break.

You neared the door of the shop. You knew he was still there. You dipped through the door and the chirp of the sensor made your flinch. You quickly flitted to the back aisle of scotch and whiskey and peered back to the front. The man in the hoodie passed the window but peered back at you as he did.

“A man,” you pulled out the necklace from beneath your jacket, “There’s a man following me. I saw him.”

Your phone quaked and you dropped the necklace. You fumbled with your cell and pretended to browse the aged malts. 

“I see him but I can’t see his face.” Bucky said. 

“I didn’t either. What do I do?”

“Stay calm. What are you even doing?”

“I was… gonna get some wine.” You went to the aisle of imports and scanned the shelves. “That’s all.”

“Well, get whatever and go home. Don’t worry about this creep. I’ll deal with him.” Bucky said. “He’s probably not even our guy, just another dirtbag.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just buy your wine and get to the train.” He hung up bluntly and you sighed.

You grabbed a cabernet and went to the counter. You paid and hid the bottle in your bucket bag. You reluctantly pushed through the door and swiftly turned down the street. The man was behind you. You checked again with your phone, this time with your camera on. You snapped a pic over your shoulder and quickly tucked it into your sleeve.

You looked up and saw another hooded man heading towards you. You almost tripped as he passed you and recognized Bucky’s short stubble poking out. You didn’t stop as a commotion rose behind you.

“Watch it,” Bucky growled. No response and you ran across the street. 

You hurried on and stopped at the corner to look back. Bucky stood with arms crossed against the front of a convenience store and the other man was gone. He nodded and pushed himself away from the chipped brick. You turned back and raced to the subway.

Home, home, home. Just get home.

👁️

Your apartment was already dark when you got home. The days grew shorter and shorter as the winter threatened to storm down on the city. You plopped your bottle of wine on the counter and kicked off your shoes. You hung your bag and coat from the rack and checked your phone.

‘Text when home.’ Bucky’s message seared into your vision.

You sent your response and uncorked the bottle. You poured yourself a glass and carried it to the living room with your cell. You left them on the coffee table as you went to change. You dumped your blouse, skirt, and thick stockings into the hamper along with your bra and panties. You took the necklace off and set it on your night table.

You pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and an old tee. You scooped up the necklace and took it with you into the front room. You hung it from the lamp beside the couch and took a gulp of wine as you searched for something to watch. The alcohol burned your hungry stomach.

A knock came at the door and you nearly choked as you set your glass down. You peered through the hole. It was Bucky. You unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“What are you doing here?”

“That was pretty creepy,” he said as he stepped past you without welcome. “Wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve cased the entire building. Didn’t see him around.”

“You think he would’ve followed me here? You said it was likely not him.”

“Maybe not but the guy was leery enough to follow you to the store,” Bucky went to the window and looked out. “You need to tell me when you change your plans.”

“Sorry, I-- It wasn’t far so I thought--”

“If you’re as scared as you’re acting, you’ll get your shit together and listen to me.” He closed the blinds. “You take a detour like that and that’s trouble for both of us.”

He rounded the armchair and neared the coffee table. He ran a metal finger around the rim of your glass. “Hope it was worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, “I didn’t mean to--”

“You need something, you tell me. I’ll take care of it.” He interrupted. “You go anywhere, you clear it with me. We’re not fucking around anymore.”

“Bucky, I…” you pouted. “I didn’t--”

“Look, I’m not mad but I have to be strict. We don’t have room for mistakes.” He neared you and his face softened. “It’s for your own good, honey.”

You stared at him and reached to the collar of his jacket. He unzipped it and backed away to hang it over your own. You frowned.

“I already sent in an incident report. The Director said I should keep close watch tonight. Just in case.”

“Oh,” you watched him unlace his boots. “I… Okay?”

“I don’t mean to crowd you but better safe than sorry.” He stood.

“Right,” you sidled past him, “You want any wine?”

“Nah,” he waved you off, “Stuff doesn’t really do anything for me.”

You nodded and went back to the couch. You sat and hit continue watching. You picked at your fingernail anxiously. Bucky sat on the other side of the couch and groaned. He stretched his fingers and they cracked loudly.

“You hungry? I can order something? I don’t feel much like cooking.” You offered.

“If you’re hungry,” he shrugged. “You must be.”

You played with your phone and set it down to take another drink. “You like Chinese?”

“Sure,” he said, “Whatever you want, honey.”

You grabbed your phone and tried to hide your discomfort. Were you just rattled from the hooded creep? Paranoid because your life had turned into a murder mystery? Or was this man crossing a line?

You opened up the app and scrolled to the meal for two. You confirmed the order and put your phone on the arm of the couch. “About half an hour,” you said.

You looked over as Bucky reached up to the lamp and played with the necklace. He slowly retracted his hand and chuckled.

“You know, you talk in your sleep,” he chuckled. “Necklace picks it up sometimes.”

“I do?” You wondered.

“Nothing really. Doesn’t really make sense.” He smirked. “But… it’s kinda funny.”

“Oh,” you sat back. You wanted another mouthful of wine but you were already almost done your first glass. “Weird.”

You crossed your arms and looked at the television. Everything was weird. The murders, your stalker, and even this man they sent to protect you. It was all just a little off and that scared you even more.

👁️

When the food arrived, Bucky got up to answer the door. You ate at the coffee table and finished your second glass of wine. The alcohol helped your appetite and for the first time in days, you managed to eat more than a few bites. Bucky didn’t need any help as he threw back fried rice and back ribs.

You cleaned up after and tossed the containers in the trash. You were a little tipsy as you flopped onto the couch and rated your meal on the app. Bucky filled your glass for you and returned the bottle to the kitchen before taking his place once more. You thanked him and took a sip.

“Thought you weren’t exactly happy about this,” you raised the glass.

“I can’t blame you. Hell, if I could get anything out of it, I’d have a glass of my own.” He mused. “So, the phone call, we need to go over what he said to you. Obviously, I couldn’t hear it.”

“Right now?” You set your glass down.

“Before I forget,” he reached into his pocket and took out his own phone. He opened up the notepad. “Doesn’t have to be exact.”

“He didn’t say… much…” You began and you regretted the two glasses of wine. “He said I… I was pure… and that…” Your cheeks burned and you felt the flutter of nerves, “He wants to use me and…” You swallowed as your lips quivered, “He said soon. That he would do something soon.”

You grabbed your wine and drank deeply. 

“That’s all. That’s all he said.” You put the glass down and held your head. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing all you can,” his hand settled gently on your back and you winced. He rubbed lightly as he shifted closer and placed his phone on the table. “And you got me.”

“Yeah, but I-- I don’t know if you can stop him.” You looked at him as tears blurred your vision. “And I don’t know what I did to make him do all this. He’s killed others because of me and… And how am I supposed to live with that?”

“He did that, not you,” Bucky insisted, “It’s not your fault--”

Your phone slipped from the arm of the couch suddenly as it vibrated. Bucky’s hand dropped away as you took your cell. You held up the flashing screen. There was no number, not even ‘Private’ or ‘Unknown’. Just the two icons; answer or ignore.

You hovered your thumb over the latter and Bucky stopped you. He shook his head as you looked at him. “Answer it.”

You grimaced and he let you go. He moved away from you and you hesitated. You hit answer and the screen lit up. It was a video call. You saw a white ceiling and heard the muffled sobbing of a woman. Goosebumps rose on your skin as the camera moved erratically and the colours blurred together and cleared to form the image of a woman’s face.

She had a gag in her mouth, tied in place by a black piece of fabric. Tears stained her cheeks as she squirmed. 

“Baby girl,” the voice spoke from offscreen as a gloved hand appeared holding a knife. It dragged the edge down the woman’s cheek as she squealed. “She’s nothing. Nothing compared to you.”

You were frozen, weighed down with dread and fear as you sat gaping at the screen.

“I’ll show you…” He turned the knife. “Show you that she can never be you. That there is only you.”

The hand moved so fast and drew a sudden line of red across the woman’s throat. The cut gushed as the woman choked on the gag and her own blood. The sickening noise of her death filled your ears and the man moaned your name. The screen went black and you dropped your phone.

“Oh my god,” you gasped as you shook violently and the alcohol bubbled in your stomach, “Oh my god, oh my god.” 

You stood dizzily and fell back on the couch. Bucky touched your arm and you pulled away as you bent over the side of the couch at the sudden revolt inside of you. You wretched onto the hardwood as tears spilled from your eyes. Your body contracted as you were overwhelmed in fear and revulsion.

“Oh my god,” you cried, “Oh my god…” 

Bucky pulled you back to him and stretched his arm over your shoulders. He hushed you as he hugged you to him and rocked you back and forth.

“You’re okay, honey. There was nothing you could do,” he said, “Shh, calm down. Breathe…” He caressed your head as he held you, “Just breathe. I’m here.”

[harryhandstan]

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry​ and @bopbopstyles​ for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha 

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :) 

final word count: 7.1k

//

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

//

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.  

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

//

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

//

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

//

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them,  "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

//

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

//

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Eleven: Street Fighter

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read previous chapters here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Angel, I didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” Magenta greets her, stealing a quick hug.

“I took one more day off, but I was getting bored so I thought I’d come say hi,” Mila replies.

Her hair is down, chin length with yellow bleached tips against the jet-black regrowth; a pixie cut several months grown-out. Her face is bare, her eyes appearing smaller without the heavy lashes and liner, her face rounder without all the contour and blush.

Scully can’t stop staring. She can’t stop the hammering of her heart that seems to be saying Angel. Is. Mila. You. Fucking. Idiot. Mila meanders across the room, stopping to greet people before she finally makes her way to Scully, smiling sheepishly.

“Hey, Desi. You don’t look super stoked to see me.”

Scully shakes her head, her lips rooting for words. “No, I am,” she finally stammers, “I am happy to see you. I just...you look so different.”

Mila chuffs a nervous laugh. “They don’t call it catfishing for nothin’,” she jokes, tucking her silky locks behind her ear.

“Are your eyes a different color?” Scully asks dumbly.

“Yeah, contacts. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” It’s clear that Mila is growing increasingly perturbed by Scully’s response to her appearance.

“M- Angel,” Scully starts, looking at her intensely. “Can we talk, someplace private?”

Mila’s eyebrows furrow in concern and a little confusion, but she nods. Scully stands and takes her hand, guiding her down the hall and out onto the floor. The evening is in full swing now and it’s noisy and dark as she pulls Mila into a VIP room, snapping the curtain shut. She tries not to notice that this is the same one she spent time in with Mulder last night.

Mila stands near the coffee table, eyeing Scully skeptically. “Look, Desi, if you regret what happened that’s fine, we don’t ever have to talk about it again. But you’re acting really fucking weird right now.”

“Are you Mila Chamberlain?” Scully asks, her body postured for a whisper though she’s shouting to be heard over the music.

Mila’s face drains of color as she sucks in a startled breath. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before her lips begin to tremble and tears well in her eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” she spits back at Scully, her body tensing as though she’s preparing for a fight.

Scully holds up her hands in defense. “I’m not here to hurt you, Mila. I’m here to help you. I’m with the FBI.”

Mila’s fear gives way to confusion. “Help me do what?” she asks, wiping the back of her hand across her nose.

“Get out of here, out of Damsels,” Scully offers, but this only seems to confuse Mila more. “Okay, let me start at the beginning. Your parents requested help from the FBI because they believe you’re being held against your will. I was sent here undercover to locate you so we can get you out.”

Mila’s eyes narrow. “My parents?” she asks dubiously, and Scully nods. “My parents, who I told you are awful people, who raised me to hate myself?” Her tone is growing increasingly angry.

Scully’s face falls as she finally pieces it all together. M.C. The conversion therapy. Their kiss. Mila was never being held captive. She was trying to escape.

“Do you know they tried to have me involuntarily committed?” Mila says angrily, nostrils flaring. “If they find me, they’re going to have me locked away. Better a crazy daughter than a gay one, as far as they’re concerned.”

Scully can’t find the right words to say. She doesn’t know what the right thing to do is. She’s found Mila; that’s why she’s here. But Mila doesn’t want to be found.

After watching Scully try and fail to speak for a full minute, Mila scoffs and moves past her towards the opening in the curtain. Before she leaves she turns back and speaks again, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you, so much, for your help, Desi. Or whoever the fuck you are.” And then she’s gone.

Scully scrambles for the right next step. This isn’t in any of her FBI handbooks. What do you do when it turns out the victim wasn’t a victim at all? Or that they are, but not of whom you had thought? She needs to talk to Mila again, to understand the situation. She rushes out of the VIP room and looks around, unsure if Mila returned to the back or left out the front. She’s headed towards the bar to ask Queenie if she saw Angel leave when she runs smack into Mulder.

“Sc-Desiree,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders, “I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, Mulder,” she hisses, looking around for any sign of Mila.

“Please, it’s important. Can we go to a private room?”

She raises her arms and pulls his hands down, moving to pass him. “Get the hell out of here, Mulder, I’m working,” she growls.

He catches her wrist, pulling her back to him. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead lets loose a yelp as Denny’s fist closes around his forearm with a vice grip.

“Time to go,” Denny says in that funny flat affect she’s come to enjoy. As Mulder releases his grip on her, Denny guides him towards the door.

“Desiree! He calls over his shoulder, “tell him it’s okay!”

“Go home,” Scully says with a glare, then heads to the bar as Denny pushes Mulder outside.

“Queenie, did you see Angel go by in street clothes?” she shouts across the rail, and Queenie shakes her head.

Scully is about to go check in the back when a stricken look falls over Queenie’s face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Scully follows her gaze to the stage, where a moment ago Lexie was doing her set. Lexie is still up there, but so is a tall, muscled man. Lexie is cowering at the base of the pole, her hands covering the back of her head as the man kicks her repeatedly.

Scully instinctively reaches for her weapon, which is decidedly not holstered to her panties, and then scans the room for her bird dogs. Denny hasn’t yet come back from eighty-sixing Mulder. The other bird dog working tonight is nowhere to be seen. She suddenly remembers something Tibet had told her.

“Queenie!” she shouts, and it takes a couple attempts before the woman peels her eyes away from the stage and looks at her. “You have a baseball bat back there, right? Give it to me.”

Queenie lifts a wooden baseball bat from behind the bar and hands it to her with a horrified look on her face. “Don’t do something stupid, Desi. I’m calling the cops.” She turns and picks up the phone as Scully stalks away from the bar, muttering to herself “I think they’re already here.”

As she weaves through the crowd, she sees the other bird dog lying on the floor; his head is bleeding and he appears to be unconscious. She moves to the side of the stage, approaching from behind the man who is assaulting Lexie. Lexie isn’t moving anymore, but that doesn’t seem to deter him as he delivers swift, sharp kicks to her rib cage. In a room full of men, you’d think someone would have stepped up to protect this woman. Instead they all stand around gape-mouthed, looking at one another as though holding a silent vote for who should intervene. Rage swells in her chest as she steps forward and lifts the bat high over her head, bringing it down against the back of his skull with a crack .

He stumbles forward, falling over the tip rail and onto the floor in front of the stage. Ben seems to have finally realized something is going on and the music cuts out abruptly, her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

Scully wants to go to Lexie, but she knows her perpetrator has not been neutralized. She jumps down from the stage and the circle that has formed around the man expands to include her. With the bat in her hand and this outfit, she feels a bit like she’s been teleported into Street Fighter. He is attempting to push up onto his knees and she holds her weapon ready in a batter’s stance. If only Mulder were snuggled up behind her instead of outside in the parking lot, this may be a more fair fight.

“Freeze!” she commands, “federal agent!”

He lifts his head to look at her and laughs derisively before lowering it again.

She realizes how absurd she must look. All five foot three of her, four inch plastic heels and purple underwear, looking like she’s ready to make a run for first base, no badge to flash. Really intimidating, she’s sure.

“I assure you, sir, I am a federal agent and you are under arrest,” she repeats in her most authoritative voice.

He rises quickly, clearly having been exaggerating the degree of his injury, and as soon as she sees him reaching into his jacket she swings again, making contact with his jaw and sending a spray of blood and spit across the gawkers. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t knock him off his feet, and only momentarily delays him drawing his gun and leveling it on Scully. She hears him disengage the safety and she closes her eyes.

Mulder puts up a decent fight, though admittedly more of a verbal one. He’s obstinate, but not stupid, and Denny is probably twice his weight.

“You know the rules, no touching,” Denny is explaining again, blocking Mulder from re-entering the club.

“Look, I understand that, but I know her. She doesn’t care if I touch her. Ask her! Go ask her!”

Denny is unmoved, emotionally and physically. Finally, Mulder accepts defeat and trudges towards his car at the back of the lot. Once he’s pulled the door open, he sees Denny go back inside. He sits heavily, one leg hanging out the open door, and drops his head against the headrest with an exasperated sigh. He’s about to give up and head back to Alexandria when he hears the distinctive crack of a gunshot.

His feet kick up gravel like buckshot as he flies back to the doors of the club, drawing his weapon on the way. His pounding heart is a metronome, keeping time in slow motion as it carries him towards her. As he nears the club, people start pouring out. A steady stream of terrified men scramble haphazardly from the small doorway, and he elbows his way past them, the wrong way, the right way, towards her. He makes his way to the floor, a cacophony of screams and shouts. Gunpowder and whiskey permeate the air and he pushes through the mele, towards her.

Continue Reading Here

[violetwolfraven]

Modern!Wormsies Headcanons because I’m terrified wormsies is going to die before 2021 gets here

Tw for mild horror. I don’t think this is that bad but read at your own risk. I don’t l know why I created it I just felt compelled to but don’t read it unless you’re as insane as I am and are fully prepared to read the most cursed thing I have ever created. Seriously. This is by far the most cursed thing I have ever written. Good luck. 💜

So anyway they’re not selling to survive obviously since it’s modern au.

In my modern au they’re all theatre nerds cause why not.

So they’re backstage one day and Race finds this blue thing behind an old set that has probably been there for several years.

Lo and behold, it is a worm on a string.

And Race is kinda weirded out and wondering who left it there but he’s like aight guess I’m keeping this thing.

He ties it to a strap on his backpack and forgets about it for the rest of rehearsal.

Then Romeo (one of Race’s 3 adoptive brothers, the others being Jack and Crutchie) notices it and f l i p s o u t.

Romeo drags over Specs and Jack and Crutchie to show them the worm Race found and they’re all like omg this is the best thing we’ve ever seen.

Race is still kinda confused but like hey whatever this might as well happen and he just figures if his brothers and his little brother’s boyfriend are gonna obsess over worms, why not join in?

They all get worms somehow. Romeo gets a green one, Specs gets a purple one, Jack gets a dark blue one, and Crutchie gets a yellow one.

When they all show up to rehearsal a few days later with worms, a few others pick up on it and are like lmao let’s join in on the insanity.

So anyway Albert gets a red one, Smalls gets a green one, Mike gets a purple one, Ike gets a yellow one cause it’s the opposite of purple, and Elmer gets a green one.

All the others are all kinda just whatever do what you want don’t involve us in your insanity.

BUT THEN

Over the course of the next couple weeks, only a couple more people join in on getting worms.

Sniper gets a purple one and Finch gets an orange one.

But what’s strange is that everybody starts noticing...

The kids with worms pick up choreography...

Faster and Better...

Than the kids without worms...

They’re stretchier and more agile...

...almost like..?

Almost like...

They...

don’t...

have...

spines..?

They wiggle just like their worms wiggle wiggle wiggle.

And Specs is the most logical of the ones with worms but even he fully believes his worm gives him special powers.

They spend their snack breaks talking about this and a few more people decide to get in on it.

Jojo gets a yellow one, Mush gets a dark blue one, and Blink gets a light blue one.

Davey, Spot, and Katherine still refuse to believe in this.

Sarah got a pink worm and they were all terribly disappointed in her.

But anyway they hold out their lack of belief despite how the kids with worms continue to perform better in dance numbers than the few left without.

Kenny caves and gets a dark blue one somewhere in here.

There are now a lot more kids with worms than kids without and the holidays are rolling around.

Ike gets Hotshot a red worm and Hotshot in turn gets red worms for all his crowd on the stage crew (Bart, Rafaela, Joey, Hildy, York, and Vince).

Hell, even the crew kids perform better with worms, it turns out.

Cause they can run fast to get places they need to be and squeeze through spaces they shouldn’t be able to squeeze through.

But anyway Katherine and Davey and Spot are starting to get a little creeped out.

Cause their friends and partners are starting to act more and more like they’re in a cult, even more than the cult that they’re already in (the drama club).

They pretend their worms have fucking personalities and make tiny hats for them and stuff.

And the ones left without worms are dropping like flies and getting assimilated to the other side.

Buttons gets a light blue one, Tommy Boy gets a pink one, Henry gets an orange one, and

And Sarah gets Les a green worm.

That’s kinda the last straw for Davey.

He fucking waits until his siblings are asleep and he throws their worms in the trash.

But mysteriously

They both have their worms back in time for rehearsal.

And Davey gets home that night and there’s a light blue worm waiting on his pillow.

He throws it away but it’s tied to his backpack strap the next day.

He flushes it down the toilet and it shows up in his favorite hoodie pocket.

He tells Katherine and Spot, super freaked out, but they don’t really believe him cause there’s no such thing as magic worms... right?

Then Katherine finds a purple worm on the seat she usually sits in during breaks.

She’s moderately creeped out so she leaves it there and goes to a different seat but the next break the worm is on that seat.

She can’t remember seeing anyone move it.

Meanwhile Spot is making out with Race behind a curtain (obviously) and Race

Race fucking pulls a red worm out of his sleeve like a scarf trick and gives it to him.

Spot is super weirded out by this and wants to just throw the dumb thing away the minute he and Race are done making out, but he just...

He can’t.

He can’t get rid of the worm, so he ties it to his backpack.

Katherine and Davey are mildly horrified that Spot has given in and won’t give up his worm even though you’re encouraging their cult-like behavior, Spot, come on.

Spot insists that he could throw away his worm if he wanted to, he just... doesn’t want to. And besides, he can keep up with the others on theatre stuff now, so why would he?

So Kath and Davey are

The

Last

Ones

Left

Without worms.

Davey’s worm is still following him around but he refuses to give in and he always gets rid of it as soon as he finds it but it always pops up again.

Katherine’s shows up less frequently, but it starts getting more and more frequent and she starts getting more and more freaked out as one night, she goes into her room and that fucking purple worm is on her pillow.

None of her friends have been to her house in the last 24 hours so this development is fucking terrifying.

She calls Davey and flips out on the phone to him about it and he’s trying to calm her down but Sarah ends up stealing his phone after a few minutes because she’s my girlfriend, Davey, not yours.

When Davey gets the phone back, Katherine is significantly calmer. He asks her if she threw the worm away.

She

Didn’t

Throw the worm away.

She claims it’s fine, that they might as well give in, Davey, we’re the last ones left without worms, just out of stubbornness. And anyway our friends with worms are doing fine; look at your siblings if you need proof.

Sarah and Les are having a tea party with their worms and Davey is getting pretty scared at this point.

He’s the last one left without a worm, though that blue one still always seems to show up wherever he is.

Until

Opening night

Of

Their

Show

Afterwards everybody’s pumped up and ready to go to Applebee’s to celebrate and Davey is relieved because no one has mentioned worms in the last 24 hours or even really looked at the ones still tied to their backpacks.

He thinks maybe the others got bored with it and this thing is finally dying, especially since that damn light blue worm hasn’t showed up today either.

But then Davey is just sharing a nice coffee alone with Jack backstage (which he hasn’t done since the worm thing started because honestly his boyfriend was creeping him out).

Jack suddenly starts crying, and Davey’s all like hey what is it? Babe look at me what’s wrong?

And Jack just goes I’m sorry love I know it hurts now but it’s better in the long run trust me.

That’s when Elmer, Specs, Sarah, and Mush burst in behind them and grab Davey, shoving a bag over his head and dragging him somewhere.

When the bag is taken off of Davey’s head, he’s tied to a chair in the middle of a choir room that all his friends have somehow squeezed into.

They’re all holding their worms.

And Davey is like guys if this is an elaborate prank it wasn’t even that funny to begin with but now it is very very much not funny.

But Sarah just goes in a sad tone it’s not a prank Davey.

Les not looking like he’s trying not to laugh is what makes Davey believe it’s not a prank.

And Davey is legitimately terrified at this point because even Spot and Katherine are looking at him with a solemn kind of pity and when he asks them for help they just shake their heads and tell him everything will be okay.

He turns to Jack and is still clinging to that last little bit of hope that one of the people he loves might not have gone off the deep end.

That last little bit of hope that the boy he loves is still the boy I fell for. I know you’re still in there so please just untie me Jackie.

Jack looks like he’s trying not to cry but he doesn’t move.

Instead he says I love you Davey. It’ll all be over soon.

Do it, Race.

Race steps forward and Davey just about has a heart attack because

He’s

Holding

That

Goddamn

Light blue

Worm

And he takes some rainbow duct tape out of his pocket and tapes it to Davey’s shirt.

And the others all start chanting one of us one of us one of us as Davey can practically feel the spine leave his body and travel to another dimension where there’s a man who collects them.

It turns out the others were right that he should just give in.

Now it’s time for them to get the rest of the school.

Edit: here is my attempt to justify myself for this. 💜

[the-record]

And they said, speak now.

Summary: Spencer is getting married, but to the wrong person.

Speak Now, Taylor Swift.

A/N: I would totally do this ngl. Also enjoy this while I work on some (new) fics! (SR x reader coming to my wattpad and here after “The city of romance”)

I am not the kind of girl Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion But you are not the kind of boy Who should be marrying the wrong girl

Let’s get some things straight. You were not the kind of girl to ruin someone's big day. Especially not the love of your life’s  your best friend’s. But you couldn’t let him do this. His fiancé was a total bitch and she was a brat. She was spoiled from daddy’s money and way to privileged for her own good. One time you had invited the team over for dinner. Spencer brought her like the kind person he was, and she insulted you for not having a bar. In your house. You drank a lot that night because you never got drunk and it had been a rough week. She blackmailed you with a video from that night. If she doesn’t get what she wants, there's a fight. 

I sneak in and see your friends And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel And she is yelling at a bridesmaid Somewhere back inside a room

Wearing a gown shaped like a pastry This is surely not what you thought it would be I lose myself in a daydream

“JJ!” She spins around to see you standing by her car. 

“Y/N?” She walks back over, leaving Will with Henry. “What’re you doing here?”

“JJ, come on. We both know he can’t marry her. She stuck up and spoiled. And she’s a total bitch.” 

“Okay, just be careful.” You both hear screaming and look to see the bride yelling at a bridesmaid outside. Her dress is huge. Too big for a wedding. “Yeah, okay. You got this.” She winks at you before going to catch up with the team inside.  

You see Spencer outside and make your way over to him, making sure bridezilla doesn’t see you.

“Spence.” He turns around as Derek claps him on the back and winks at you before walking away. Everyone on the team knew she wasn’t the one for him. It was obvious. Spencer appreciated words and time spent with people. She enjoys materialistic objects and ideas.

“Y/N? What’re you doing here?”

Where I stand and say Don't say yes, run away now I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door Don't wait, or say a single vow You need to hear me out

“You might think I’m a horrible person after this, but I need you to hear me out.” He nodded. “You can’t marry bridezilla in there. She’s not good for you. She is materialistic and rude. She sets people up for failure and blackmails them. Hell, she tried to blackmail me. Look, if you really think that you two were meant to be, than ignore me. Go get married and have the life you always wanted. But, she’s not the one for you Spence. I love you and I’m not gonna hide that anymore because I’m not losing you now.” You take a deep breath and look him in the eyes. “Don’t say a single vow. Don’t say I do. I’ll be waiting for you in the back of the church. We can run away and be together Spence. I love you.” You smiled and kissed his cheek before walking away to your car in the back. 

You waited and waited, letting JJ update you on what’s going on. The moment was about to come. 

And they said speak now Fond gestures are exchanged And the organ starts to play A song that sounds like a death march

You could hear the song playing from out here. It was taunting you. The slow song as the bride would be walking down the aisle. The bride who was doing what you were supposed to do.

It was horrible. That song was horrible. Why do people play it? It’s boring and sad.

And I am hiding in the curtains It seems that I was uninvited by your lovely bride to be She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen But I know you wish it was me

I couldn’t take the anticipation anymore and snuck in. I hid by the window, Spencer noticing me and smiling a little bit more. I remember when he told me I couldn’t come anymore.

“Hey, Y/N. Can I talk to you?” You smiled and looked up from your chair.

“Of course Spence. What’s up?” 

“I, uh, Hailey doesn’t want you at the wedding.”

 Maybe, one day I would be like her walking down the aisle. Maybe one day I would have Aaron by my side walking me down the aisle, the love of my life at the end of it. 

You wish it was me Don't you? Don't say yes, run away now I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door Don't wait, or say a single vow

And they said speak now Don't say yes, run away now I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door Don't wait, or say a single vow

As she stands by Spencer, I move closer and closer to the back door before slipping out around it. You stood, listening the best you could to what the officiant was saying. 

Your time is running out And they said speak now I hear the preacher say speak now or forever hold your peace There's the silence, there's my last chance stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me

Horrified looks from everyone in the room But I'm only looking at you

“If you object to this marriage, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You emerged from the behind the doors and cleared your throat loud enough for everyone to look at you. Some smiled, some frowned. Some had large creases between their eyebrows from disgust.

“You!” Hailey growled.

“I love you Spencer. Don’t waste your life with her. She doesn’t even want kids and I think we can all agree that you would be the best dad in the entire world.” You smiled at the thought of Spencer being a dad. “Run away with me and we can be happy. Please.” 

His smile was huge watching you now. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He dropped her hands and ran out, not listening to her calling out his name. You stood outside the door as he ran and scooped you up in his arms, placing a long sweet kiss on your lips. You heard the team cheering at you before screaming to get out as the bride came your way. He put you back on the ground before picking you up bridal style and carrying you around the church.

I am not the kind of girl Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion But you are not the kind of boy Who should be marrying the wrong girl So don't say yes, run away now I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door Don't wait, or say a single vow You need to hear me out And they said speak now

“Let’s run away together.” 

“I love you Spencer Reid.”

“Let’s get married. I mean I’m already in my tux, let’s just go do it. We can rings at a jewelry store around here and live together forever.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t say my vows. You’re right, your the phone for me. Not her. She’s the wrong girl.”

And you'll say let's run away now I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door Baby, I didn't say my vows So glad you were around When they said speak now

[blog4snape]

What if I meant it? (1)

~~~~

Genre: General but with a bit of fluff, romance, drama, a hint of angst, and hurt/comfort if you squint. 

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape x Reader

Summary: You (22) ask Snape (18) if he’s going to graduation. 

Rating: Citrus (completely and utterly safe for work with some soft fluff and a hint of angst and drama)

Warnings: Anxiety attack, Panic, Unwanted physical contact, Ignoring boundaries and personal space,  Mention of child neglect, Hints of child abuse,  *spoilers and jokes onward* Reader/Teacher probably projects but you didn’t hear it from me, Teacher tries their best to be professional but it sure won’t last long lol, Snape being tsundere if you squint, Snape being a bit of a drama queen in year 7.

Word Count: ~1.8K

Date Written: 09/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

The half-moon windows were open, letting a nice summer breeze dance with the curtains. You sat at your desk, your quill scratching away at the parchment beneath you. Your student, Severus Snape, was laying on his back among the pillows and cushions in the pit, flipping through yellowed pages in an old book.

“Are you going to be at graduation?” You asked, not looking up from your paperwork.

“No. My dorm-mates aren’t going. And she’s not even going to be there, so why should I?” He responded, shifting slightly among the soft fabrics.

“Who’s she?” You raised a curious brow, glancing up at him for a moment.

He rolled onto his stomach and looked down. He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

You took a moment to scratch your arm, confused at the sudden change in his demeanor. “It sounds like it matters a lot to you.” You prodded.

He rolled his eyes and pressed his face into the center of the scuffed book.

You sighed after a few moments of silence. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” You assured calmly, dipping your quill into the ink well as you continued writing.

There was a beat of silence. He sighed, pulling the book away from his hooked nose. “It’s my mother.” He explained.

You stopped scratching your quill at the parchment and you looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, or even anything in the room. His eyes were unfocused and distant as his fingers fiddled with the corners of forgotten pages. 

“Do you want her to be there?” You asked softly.

“No… I don’t know why I even said that.” He muttered, turning onto his side and facing away from you. 

“Does she matter a lot to you?” You asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not like I matter to her.” 

Your heart cracked. You stood up from your desk and sat on the floor, cross-legged behind him. You reached out a hand and rubbed his back in gentle circles. You looked at your lap and exhaled. “Why do you say that?” You asked, evenly.

You felt his back rise under your hand before falling as he sighed deeply. “She wasn’t there… She hasn’t been there. She doesn’t even write ‘me. Not even for the holidays.” 

You swallowed the woeful lump in your throat. “Do you want her to come to your graduation?” You asked, twirling a dark lock of his hair that had draped across his shoulder blade.

“I don’t even know what I’d do if I saw her.” He murmured.  “Like… would I be happy? Would I be disappointed? Would I be mad that she shows up all of a sudden after ignoring me my whole life?” His voice raised as he kept speaking, a sharpened edge embedding his final words. 

Your teeth grated down on your lips further as he continued talking. You had known his home life was bad, but you never knew he was outright neglected. “You don’t deserve that,” You hissed, squaring your shoulders. You stopped rubbing his shoulder and dug your nails into your lap instead.

He peered at your hardened features from over his shoulder. “Deserve what?” He questioned, his eyes scanning up and down your face.

You stopped chewing your lip, your mouth catching his eyes' attention. “You don’t deserve that. A mother who has neglected you and only bothers to pay attention when you’ve achieved something? When you’ve finished something?” Your tone laced with pure venom. “Where’s the love in that?” Tears pricked your eyes as you stared at your flexed fingers.

He licked his lips, still focusing on yours. “There is none.”

Your shoulders fell as well as your face and breath. “Has she ever… shown you any love?” You nearly whispered, your fingertips barely relaxing their assault on your thighs.

He sat up, stretching his long legs out. He sucked his upper teeth and looked at his knees. “Maybe she has, once or twice. I can’t remember anymore.” He stared at the fingers gripping your lap tightly. 

You stared at the same fingers, your eyes glistening in sorrow. “How could she not love you? How could she not pay any attention to you?” You mourned. “You’re respectful, you’re brilliant. You’re a lovely boy that any mother should be proud of and would be more than lucky to have.” 

His stained fingers wrapped around your wrist, his nimble thumb tracing alien shapes into your skin. Your head snapped up to look at him. He glanced up from your lips to look into your eyes. His eyes were swirling with something you couldn’t quite place. 

“You really think so?” He whispered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I know so-” You began, confidently. 

You never did get to finish that sentence. 

Severus quickly closed the space between you two, his mouth firm on yours.

You didn’t kiss back. You were frozen solid as if you were trapped in cursed ice. 

He was pressing further into your lips, trying to deepen the kiss. His other hand reached up to your cheek. He stroked a scarred finger across your skin before you snapped back into reality. 

You gasped loudly and pulled away from him as quickly as possible. Your hands caught you before you fell on your back. “What in Merlin just happened-” You sputtered, with a red face and tears that you didn’t realize had fallen. Your knees pressed into your chest, kicking off of the ground and scooting you closer to the desk you considered safe as you clutched desperately behind you. 

His hands were suspended in the air. He looked horrified. His countenance rivaled the giant squid’s- it turned white, then pink, then red, then blue. As he turned purple he quickly sucked in a large breath, his face turning back to red. “Prof-professor, I’m- I’m so- I’m so sorry-” He stuttered. 

You continued to stare at him incredulously, your chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. 

He avoided your face. “I don’t- I didn’t- I have no idea what- what came over me!” He stammered, wringing his hands together.

You shifted, sitting on your knees and facing him. “Why did you-”

“I don’t know!” He blurted, before slapping his hands to his treacherous mouth.

You jumped, your hands further gripping the wood behind you as your back pressed against the solid surface. 

  “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to yell! N-not at you!” He apologized, holding his hands out placatingly. He started to breathe heavily, moving his hands to the emerald striped tie that was currently too tight around his neck. He started wringing it, wrinkling the fabric and trying to pull it away from his neck. He made a choking sound.

“Stop, stop!” You intervened, grabbing his fidgeting hands. “You’re going to hurt yourself!” You warned.

He nodded, still breathing heavily. His hands ran down his face instead, pulling at his skin and any stray hairs unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire. 

You loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his white collar. “Okay, now deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Hold a moment before release.” You demonstrated, putting your hands on his trembling shoulders.

After some moments of patience, he followed your lead. His breathing calmed, and so did his self-destructive fidgeting, but the burning crimson hue of his cheeks didn’t. His head dropped and he let out an elongated sigh. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured. “I don’t know what came over me, kissing a teacher-” He buried his searing face into his stuttering hands.

You patted his head awkwardly. “There, there.” You grimaced. “It was an accident… although a weird one. Please never talk about this to anyone.” 

He inhaled deeply, nodding his head. “I’m just- I’m just going to go back to my common room.” He thought aloud, standing up. 

“Maybe that would be for the best…” You followed his lead, patting his back. “See you in class tomorrow.” You took your seat at your desk and tried to focus enough to continue doing paperwork. 

You didn’t realize Severus was still in your classroom until he cleared his throat. You looked up at him. 

“Yes?” You asked.

“Professor-” He began, wringing his tie and standing in front of the closed door. “What if- what if it wasn’t an accident?” 

You stared up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

His voice faltered as his mouth opened and closed. With a quick shake of his head, he crossed the room with urgency and stopped at your desk. He leaned over, his hands on opposite sides of your paperwork. He was in your personal space, but you didn’t move, still staring at him with wide and confused eyes. He breathed deeply, the warm air fanning across your face. “What if I meant it? To kiss you?”

Your mouth opened slightly, before closing again. You set your quill in its well and folded your hands on top of the desk. “W-what?” 

“Please,” He urged. “Tell me- tell me you care. Tell me you feel the same-” His voice rasped, “the- the same about me.” 

“Severus-” You began, blinking your eyes and shaking your head. “I can’t. You’re my student- I can’t just-” You lost your voice. “It’s unprofessional.” You muttered, holding your head down.

“What if I wasn’t?” He pressed. 

“If you weren’t-?”

“If I wasn’t your student.” He dug his nails into the desk, his knuckles turning white.

“You are though-” You furrowed your eyebrows and grimaced. “Severus, I cannot have this conversation with a student.” 

His words spilled out at a rapid pace, “I’m graduating this week. I’ll be there. I’ll be there if you’re there. I’ll show up so you can have me as I am-” He implored desperately, trying to grab your hands. 

“Severus Snape!” You pulled your hands away and stood up, your chair screeching in protest as its curled legs scraped across the floor. “That is enough! Leave my office at once.” 

He stared at you for a while, still breathing heavily. You held your ground, eyes set harshly on his. He pushed himself up off of your desk and stormed out of your office, his emerald robes following behind him in a flourish. He ripped open the door and turned around for a moment to glare at you. He slammed it shut with a scowl on his face. For a few moments, it was silent. You stayed standing, staring at the door as your harsh eyes dissipated. You heard him sigh behind your door before his heavy steps echoed unevenly down the hall. 

You crumbled into your seat and held your face in your hands, knowing the stack of paperwork sitting before you won’t get done in this lifetime.

~~~

A/N: This was my first attempt at drama, I hope it worked out well! Thank you for reading <3 This work is a part of my larger series, Afterimages of You. You can read it here on my Tumblr Masterlist or on my AO3!

[minipliny]

2 for Pliny himself, Ovid and Catullus, please :D

I read this and instinctively, reflexively thought "I would fistfight Ovid". For carmen et error, meet me at the Denny's parking lot at 3am &c. I think this is probably because I was set the Metamorphoses and the Amores in my high school years, and I have painful memories of translating Ovid's "creative" "word" "order". Also, like, I realise that the Amores are written under a poetic persona AND all Romans were like this but having to do line for line translations of his poem where the speaker scratches his girlfriend's face and the anti-abortion one.....got wearing. FINALLY, OVID HIMSELF WAS LIKE "GO AT MY FACE WITH YOUR NAILS STRAIGHT AWAY, DON'T SPARE MY HAIR OR MY EYES". I think of all the people on this list he would be most likely to enjoy the fistfight particularly with a tiny barbarian woman. Oh god. This was probably his kink wasn't it? This is totally one of his many kinks.

Moving on. I am absolutely getting drunk with Catullus. This would require me finding a sober, non pre-gamed Catullus in the first place if we are to become inebriated together, but given I've been up at 6am recently to smear nappy rash cream over my cat's nipples, I'm ready to catch him before the wine time really starts, throw pebbles at his window, and go to town. I'm ready to hear all that Late Republican gossip. I'm ready to start cry-laughing and hiccup into my fermented fish sauce. Critique my meter, add more sex to and remove the pretension from my poetry, make weird nose jokes. I was never assigned you in high school so there's no baggage here.

Finally, I think Pliny would probably be, of the people on this list, the least horrifying flatmate? I'm having flashbacks of his letter where he talks about having a study inside a room inside a room in his villa so that when Saturnalia is happening everyone else can celebrate without disturbing his constant reading time. No, he has no idea how to do even the simplest of chores, he's a terrible Roman aristocrat like everyone and has a small army of slaves for those, yes, he thinks a great feature in a wife is for her to sit, adoringly, behind a curtain while he entertains his friends, hanging onto his every word....but.....he was a great believer in Buttering People Up When Needed. A diplomat! A caller-in-of-favours! Negotiation is possible here. Who knows, the sort of man who could even talk round a landlord into fixing a broken tap by promising the landlord's second cousin a quaestorship in Alba Longa.

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter One: Miles]

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Mount Massive Asylum was a silhouette ahead of the setting sun. Against the red and orange and white in the sky, Mount Massive was all dark brick and covered windows. Half of the building had flickering light peeking out from slats and cracked curtains, and the rest was pitch black. 

    Miles opened the car door and planted one boot on the dirt, brows furrowed. He came with only his camcorder, a few spare batteries, a notebook, and the email he was sent: 

     You don’t know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring. 

     I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems’ facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA’s I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys. 

     Certainly enough to grab Miles’ attention. When most people heard he was an investigative reporter, they treated him with what they thought was respect. All talking in circles and stepping over eggshells. This person emailing him—they had something to say and they were going to make sure Miles was listening. 

     Terrible things happening there. Don’t understand it. Don’t believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountains. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money. 

     It needs to be exposed. 

     A fall breeze brushed by, making Miles shiver under his brown jacket. He flipped the collar up. 

    He was prepared for a facility up and running, for patients and orderlies to interview. This place looked abandoned. 

    Miles poked around the empty building where someone should be there to open the gate from, but the computer was frozen and there was nothing. 

    The gate—for humans, not cars—creaked as it opened. Securing his notebook and the hard copy of his email in the inside pocket of his jacket, he raised his camera and headed inside. Mount Massive loomed over him as he stalked towards the front entrance. Military trucks lined the walkway. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a stream of consciousness: 

     I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than a lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards. 

     The front entrance was locked. He blew out a frustrated breath and looked around to find another spot in the fence, allowing him into a tiny courtyard with a fence and scaffolding up along the walls. He looked through his camera and zoomed in—there was an open window. He grimaced. 

    He didn’t want to go back to when he was a teenager, sneaking into empty buildings through crumbling walls and broken windows, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He had to get inside. 

    He got the same thrill he always had when he was younger to climb and leap over the scaffolding until he reached the window. The second his feet hit the ground, the light exploded. He gasped and covered his head as glass rained on the carpet. 

    Raising the camcorder, he flicked on the nightvision, then winced. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    The room was empty, the furniture all turned over and piled up. Miles strained his ears, but the asylum was silent. He crept his way over to the door and peeked inside the hallway. Both sides were barricaded, giving way only to the room across the hall. This room was a bit more normal, lit up by the light streaming through the hall and the thin curtains. He looked around for any clue of what happened here, but nothing. There was a second door letting him into the hall past the barricade. 

    He was about to squeeze through a gap between the next barricade, when he faltered. 

    Is that fucking blood? 

    He pulled up his camcorder and zoomed in. Sure enough, blood splattered the wall and stained the carpet. There was no sign of a body. He swallowed and pushed forward. I have to find out what happened here. 

    In one of the rooms, he found a status report for a patient named Billy. Most of the words Miles didn’t understand most of the words, but he could connect it to the email; ‘lucid dream states,’ ‘the blood dreams of Doctor Trager,’ and something called a ‘MORPHOGENIC ENGINE.’ 

    Something Miles found interesting, part of an interview with the patient: 

        Billy asked about the status of his mother’s lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum...catastrophic breach in security...all orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved…

        Signed ‘MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

    MOUNT MASSIVE CO’ 

     The first sign of life Miles was given was a bathroom door shutting as he approached. He hesitated, then rapped on the wood. 

    “Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    No answer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… okay then. I’ll be around if you change your mind.” 

    The next door was locked, but across the hall there was a small kitchen. He did a quick once-over, then stopped at the counter by the fridge—is that a fucking— is that an organ— is that a fucking organ on a tray? Right next to a fucking soda can. Miles’ stomach lurched. It was long and thin, flesh coloured, veins of blood smearing onto the silver tray. 

    I have to find out what’s going on here. I have to expose it. 

    The only way was up, into a ventilation shaft. As soon as he got inside, someone burst into the room, looked around frantically, and ran out. Miles barely caught them with his camera. His heart was ready to beat right out of his chest. 

    “Fuck,” he whispered, panting. “Fuck this.” 

    He got to the end of the shaft and paused. It dropped too far for him to get back up if he decided he had to leave. With the blood, the fucking soda organ, was it worth it? Was this worth risking his life? 

    What if he didn’t have enough evidence? What if he couldn’t convince the police to come? What if the public thought it was a joke? 

    Closing his eyes, he jumped down. 

    Creeping along to the first door, he threw it open and a body hung from the ceiling. He stumbled back with a gasp. It was bloodied and pale, and Miles watched, horrified, as it smacked to the floor. He covered his mouth and forced himself into the library, eyes burning. 

    Keep your camera raised. No matter what you do, keep your camera raised. 

    The library was a maze of pushed over bookcases, the righted ones holding decapitated heads. Their mouths were gaped open, eyes blank and bloodshot. He crept forward. In the light of a window, a body sat impaled on a pole, still slowing sliding down. Blood caked the metal. It smelled of rust and decaying meat, and Miles was quickly losing his resolve. He stepped forward and the body, the man, gasped and reached out, choking on his own blood. 

    “They killed us,” he gasped. “They got out. The… Variants.” 

    Miles watched with wide eyes. A few tears ran down his face, but he kept recording. 

    “You can’t… fight them. You have to hide… can unlock the main doors… from Security Control.” He desperately tried to crawl himself up the pipe. “You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place. Stay away from the north, it’s… it’s chaos.” 

    Miles dropped the camera and leapt forward to help pull him off, but the moment he pushed up, the man lurched, screamed, and fell dead. Miles stumbled back with shaking hands, his palms red and sticky. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

    He pulled out his notebook. 

     I’m inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, Dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceiling; their badges say “Murkoff Advanced Research Systems.” Murkoff’s longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. 

     How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of the mentally ill? 

     There’s some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came. 

     He lowered the notebook. His chest was tight, tight, too tight, he couldn’t breathe. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t had panic attacks since he was a teenager, but he couldn’t blame himself, not this time. 

    He slid his notebook in his pocket and picked up his camera. 

    He left the library. The second floor of the Administration Block was an atrium, one floor wrapped around the carved out middle where reception was below. He got to the ground. He was not safe here. He couldn’t be seen. He switched out his battery and recorded himself moving forward. Another barricade blocked the hall, but there was a gap he could squeeze through if he could just… 

    “Little pig!” 

    A thick hand grabbed the back of his neck like someone picking up the scruff of a kitten. Burning pain ripped through his skin as a hulking figure yanked him out of the gap. Miles barely got a glimpse, but at first, he did not register it as human. His nose was smashed in, and there was a giant chunk ripped out of his forehead. He bared his teeth, a huge row of shark fangs, then threw Miles through the glass atrium. He smacked against the reception floor, and blacked out. 

    xxx 

    “And who are you, then?” 

    He blinked his eyes open, his head pounding, his entire body throbbing. A bald man in vestments stared at him, a flashlight blinding him. His face was full of wrinkles, with full cupid lips and wide set eyes. Miles groaned and dropped his head back to the ground. 

    “I… I see.” The man held Miles’ camera. “Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle. Guard your life, son, you have a calling.” 

    xxx 

    When he woke up again, the man was gone. 

    He tried hard to remember what happened between his blackout, but it was hard, like a dream he couldn’t quite get a hold of. He gripped his throbbing head. All he knew was he had to get to Security Control. 

    There was more carnage in the reception area. A handful of dead bodies absolutely eviscerated, their guts painting the ground. The smell was something worse than Miles had ever witnessed in his life. Some cops had told him you’d never smell anything worse than a dead body, or anything close to it. Miles knew now that was right. 

    It wasn’t until he had explored a little bit that he noticed the big letters written at the base of the atrium, over Miles’ head—Proclaim the Gospel. He hoped it was red chalk. At the receptionist’s desk, he found a document: 

     You are hereby required to grant M.H.S full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to its agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relatives) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or its subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S. or the circumstances which required their actions, regardless of responsibility. 

     A status report in one of the storage rooms, about a patient named Chris Walker, observed by Dr. Rudolph Wenicke. It mentioned more of the rumoured Morphogenic Engine. From the interview notes: 

     Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint have had to be altered to accommodate his enourmous size...he claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing...his predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. 

     It took Miles a minute to realize that was the big fucker who threw him through the window—Chris Walker, an abused patient. The rage in his stomach muted. Did he even know what he was doing? Miles shook his head. It didn’t matter. 

    Coming into the hallway, he stopped. A Variant sat in a wheelchair, staring at the floor. Miles cleared his throat and hesitated, before stepping forward. 

    “H-Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    The Variant’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted. Miles’ brows furrowed as he came closer. Like Chris Walker, this patient looked horribly unhealthy, and deformed. How many patients came into Mount Massive this way? Could this be a coincidence? 

    The man didn’t respond, so Miles moved forward. He came into a room with three Variants, all bald men, staring with dead eyes at a static television screen splattered with blood. Miles introduced himself again, and nobody answered. He pulled out his notebook. 

     A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody’s home. 

     He carried through the room and cautiously explored the Administration Block until he found the keycard for Security Control. He passed the Variant in the wheelchair, only to find his back smacking to the floor, reawakening the pain in his spine, the Variant screaming, “GET THEM OUT! PLEASE! THE DOCTOR IS DEAD! RIP THEM CLEAN! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” 

    Miles gasped and shoved at the fucker’s chest, until he finally flew off and hit the ground. The man curled into a fetal position and sobbed into his arms. Miles panted, the anger in his stomach slowly subsiding. 

    “It’ll be okay.” He swallowed. “I’m here to help. Which doctor are you talking about? Rip what clean? How can I help you?”

    Miles raised his camera. The man refused to respond. Miles stepped back, covered in sweat. He hesitantly left as the man crawled away. 

    He made it to the hallway with Security Control, and as he stood at the edge, a Variant at the end of the hall ran forward and pounded into a door until it opened, then slammed it behind him. Miles sucked in panicked breaths. He thought of approaching, of seeing if he could get some information, but shook his head. Maybe it was better to leave the Variants alone, when he could. 

    He couldn’t help himself—he explored what rooms he could. He found several dead bodies, blood splattered almost excessively, and managed to scrounge up some batteries. In the bathroom, a clothed man sat on the toilet, dead and hunched over, with the word ‘WITNESS’ written in blood above him. His abdomen burning with anger, Miles hands trembled over his notebook. 

     I’m already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, coupole cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious. 

        I wake up and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. 

        There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I’m getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the priest is writing them, and for my benefit. 

     He kept exploring, looking for anything that could bring this place down, and grinned as he read through a document. 

     The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high...four fatalities...PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative...certainly be further casualties...family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing as the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets closer to producing working models…

     He pocketed the document and headed for Security Control. This is enough. I’m going to bring down Murkoff Corporation. 

    The reader beeped as Miles scanned the keycard and headed for the control panel. A security guard laid crumpled, dead in the corner. He ignored it the best he could and got on the keyboard, only for the priest to appear on screen. Miles watched with wide eyes, his heart racing in his fingertips, as the father yanked down a lever and the lights went out. 

    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

    The screens had said basement. If he could get down there and restart the generator, he could get out. 

    He stood and headed for the door. His hand on the handle, he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

    A familiar voice. “We have to contain it.” 

    Miles whipped around and looked in any place he could possibly hide in the tiny room. His heart raced, his breath short, his eyes landed on the locker. He sprinted over and crammed himself inside, slamming the door closed just in time for the room’s door to burst open. 

    Bringing his camcorder up, Miles pressed his free hand to his mouth to hide his breathing. Chris Walker’s own breathing filled the air, short and rabid, as he mumbled to himself. Walker looked around for around, checking the desk, circling the room, mumbling. “You were here, little pig, weren’t you…?” 

    The locker beside Miles creaked open. He bit back a whimper. 

    What do I do? What the fuck do I do? 

    Miles placed his hand on the cold metal, and prepared himself to run.

bls let me know what you think! and reblog <3 critiqued by @dib-leo-pard

[tiramisiyu]

【恋与制作人】 MLQC: Chapter 34 “Night Curtain” Summary

Translation Masterlist

Summarized Chapters: [to be updated]

Spoiler alert: Please note that all content in this post is content that has not yet been released in the global server.

34-2

Despite it being afternoon, it’s dark and thundering outside

In Shaw’s call, he also had MC bring her father’s notebook when she goes to the orphanage

Before heading out, MC hears a sound, goes onto her balcony, and sees Lucien on his balcony

They talk about the dark, gloomy weather; MC says it feels like an apocalyptic movie and asks if Lucien knows what’s behind it. Unfortunately, he doesn’t, though he says that maybe her power can light up this night

MC suddenly receives messages from Shaw, noticing key phrases “Leto”, “orphanage”, “copying Evol”, “Ares”, the last of which makes MC look at Lucien

Suddenly, the clouds split and the moonlight shines through, lighting half of Lucien’s face

MC asks about Lucien’s Evol

Lucien: After the ball ended, someone broke into Ultima Bioresearch Centre and took something away.

MC: Your Evol?!

Lucien: That was something I discarded, to begin with. As a half-finished product, it’s currently finishing its last mission.

MC: But Leto used your Evol to kidnap the children in the orphanage!

MC then apologizes for getting too agitated

Lucien: Nothing bad will happen. Aren’t you going to the orphanage now? So, nothing bad will happen. I believe in you, and you should also believe in your own power.

MC begins to head off

Lucien: It’s about to rain. I hope that when we meet again, you won’t be too drenched.

 34-4

As MC tries to catch a cab on the empty, rainy streets, Gavin calls – and MC notices he’s standing at the end of the road, so she runs to him

They talk about the orphanage matter

MC: I heard that Leto kidnapped the orphanage and installed a bomb, and he threatened the STF, requiring to see the Queen.

Gavin: Will you really go see him?

MC: Yes, I can’t leave the kids to be frightened the whole time. Plus… You called me because you knew I was planning to do so, right? No matter what Leto wants to see me for, I won’t be scared. Plus, with you here, nothing will happen.

Gavin: Don’t worry. I will protect you well.

They then drive off in Gavin’s car

MC expresses her surprise at Gavin’s new role as STF commander

Gavin: It’s not sudden. Some things are things I need to personally change.

MC notes that public view of STF has been changing a lot under Gavin’s new leadership

Gavin says that Leto must not have much time, as his copy Evol’s appearing is strange and he’s rushing to see MC – possibly because he can’t control or maintain the evol

An STF member calls in on walkie-talkie, saying that there’s a car accident in front; Gavin says to call an ambulance, leave two STF people on the bridge, and for the rest to head to the orphanage on another path

MC notes the change in him, from a sharp blade of the STF to the mature commander

Gavin asks a motorcyclist if he can exchange the car for the motorcycle, and the guy very readily agrees

(I must ask, MC why did you go out in only that dress when it’s raining…)

As they head off on the motorcycle, Gavin uses his Evol to block off the rain, and MC is reminded of when on another rainy day when he tugged her into the rain, dispelling her worries (don’t remember what this refers to)

“Right now, I was no longer weak, no longer crying, no longer needing his comfort to go forward. I could become… someone who could give him power and walk with him.”

34-5

STF people meet up with Gavin at the orphanage, confirming that their assault preparations are set and positions of controlled STF people are confirmed

MC is shocked, remembering that Leto’s request was for the Queen to come in alone; Gavin says that it’s Leto’s request, but he doesn’t agree with it

MC convinces Gavin to let her go in alone since they don’t know Leto’s intentions and he has the children

Gavin relays the change in plans to the team, saying for one portion of the team to cover MC, and another portion to prioritize saving the kids

MC enters the building – with Leto not showing himself, she can only holler that she’s here

--

Lighting flashes as the rain batters nonstop

After some violin music, someone called “Zero” tells Victor that it’s almost time; Victor says he knows

34-7

MC is surprised when Shaw appears. He complains about her slowness and tells her to give him the notebook after everything is over

When MC asks about why he’s here:

Shaw: Right now, there isn’t a single person who can stay out of this. If I don’t intervene, this world is done for.

(To which MC says he’s exaggerating)

MC explains the STF’s role when Shaw asks if they’re using her to draw fire

Shaw confirms that he knows where the children are, and regarding the bomb, there are others who are more concerned about keeping this building together

Shaw hands MC a flashlight when they hear something, and MC sees STF people standing at the end of the light beam, their eyes mindless

Shaw tells MC how to get to the children and to not mind the other stuff – for Leto, wait until he (Shaw) gets her first

--

MC sees two identical rooms at the place Shaw indicated, and heads for the one where whimpering sounds are coming from

--

Ares walks into a room where Helios is, triggering discussion all around

Hephaistos looks at Helios, then says, “Ares, welcome back.”

Ares: How is it?

Helios: It’s almost done.

Helios then heads off to “deal with a small issue”

 34-9

MC finds a boy curled in fear in the corner and convinces him to go with her

The boy says that if they head out, they’ll run into the “uniformed people”. MC thinks it should be fine since Shaw’s there

The boy points out a second door in the room and says to go out from there, as the other kids are enclosed over there

MC notes that there has been no communication from Gavin on the microcommunicator he gave her, and is a little worried

The boy says that he thinks that all Evolvers are bad people because their powers can make them arrogant and selfish, to MC’s surprise

MC explains that aside from their powers, Evolvers are no different from normal people. The boy lets go of MC’s hand, then mutters about why Evolvers killed his family if this is the case

The boy’s body starts changing as he sinks into a crawling position, turning into Leto

Leto: Don’t bother with your fake mercy. Hand your Evol to me… I will tell you exactly how horrifying this power is.

 34-10

Leto says he called MC here to kill her and get her Evol; MC says it’s impossible to get an Evol from that way

Leto says that with the black box, he can get anyone’s power – MC wonders if he’s talking about the “pyramid black box” that she saw with Helios at STF, then at the evolution acceleration cabin

MC suddenly finds that she can’t move, and everything is quiet – Leto has stopped time

Leto then aims a sharp wind with ice at MC’s eyes when a white ripple spreads and stops Leto’s attack – MC’s power

Leto’s right eye becomes black, and attempts to command MC, and MC shuts her eyes in response as he continues his wind attack

A crack appears on MC’s barrier

Leto commands MC to hand her Evol to him as her barrier breaks, and MC feels like her power is draining away (and is shook by the powers that once protected her, being turned against her)

Leto prepares one more ice attack, when MC is able to get out one more attack that appears as a white wave, reducing the ice to powder

Leto is knocked out and MC gradually falls unconscious, the notebook falling to the floor

 34-12

MC has a dream about when her father was alive, where he hopes for her to meet someone she loves

--

Shaw: … A space Evol? He really is willing to steal anything.

Shaw finds the children and has them go with him

--

Gavin walks into the building and gives the command to look for the hostages’ positions, then says he will go find MC

--

Helios taps away on the keyboard, dismantling the last of four bombs

He looks on the wall where a green light flashes faster, then becomes red, then is extinguished

--

Goldman takes a stack of documents from Victor

When Goldman asks about MC, Victor says he (Goldman) doesn’t need to worry about that

--

Lucien regards a line that has already calmed down on a sensor

Lucien: This night truly does seem to be very long… Wake up soon.

 34-13

MC dreams of a long night with a rainstorm, freezing wind, and earthquakes, then wakes up

Leto picks up the notebook and reads it. Seeing MC wake, he expresses surprise that she’s not dead, then tosses the notebook and walks to her

Leto suddenly collapses, looking agonized and convulsing, and MC remembers Gavin’s words from before – that Leto got MC here because he couldn’t use the Evol that didn’t belong to him

MC says that what he’s done to Evolvers has no difference from Evolvers of back then (presumably those that killed his family), and even if he kills all Evolvers, he won’t get back what he lost

A black barrier forms over Leto’s body, blocking MC’s attacks, and he attacks with black wind

Leto: The Queen’s power will only wasted by you, so you’re better off handing it to me. I will use it to stand at the top of this world.

MC: Use? My power is born from love and becomes strong due to love. Love is a better method of resistance than hate, and it can attain a level of resistance that hate cannot. It’s useless even if you get the Queen’s power. Because your narrow-mindedness cannot bear this strength, just like how you can’t bear this copy Evol! Evols aren’t tools for you to gain power. You, who only aims for power, will forever only be ignorant and lamentable.

Leto continues with the ice attack

MC remembers when her father said that humans are weak, but love will make one strong and that this might be the greatest power of humans, and thinks of Kiro, Victor, Gavin, Lucien

MC dthat she won’t let the power born from love be used by him, and a white light wraps her up and attacks Leto

The black box tumbles to the floor, and the sky lightens

34-14

MC gets up; the black box has shattered; Leto is on the ground, his looks becoming old and wrinkled

Leto grasp at the box, going from surprise, to confusion, to relief, then laughing madly, seeing like he understood something

Black Queen MC and Anole appear; Anole gives the notebook to Black Queen

Black Queen mocks Leto for trying to get the Queen’s power; MC prepares to attack her, but Black Queen says that she’ll only hurt herself

Black Queen then attacks Leto with a black light ball, shocking MC, and Leto is gone, leaving just the black box

Black Queen: Why so agitated? I didn’t kill him. He will just exist forever in this world in an unliving form. In some ways, that could also be considered immortality, right?

Black Queen forms the black ball again, saying that it is the endpoint of degeneration, asking if she wants to try it

MC says Black Queen won’t kill her, since they’re one person

Black Queen: Do your best in struggling, for our futures. Soon, you will understand that I am the person who will save this world.

MC: The one who needs to struggle is you. This world doesn’t need people like you to save it!

Black Queen walks off indifferently, and MC collapses in exhaustion, seeing a rainbow outside. As she falls unconscious, she hears footsteps approach

 34-15

Two days since the events above

As MC cleans up her balcony, she glances towards Lucien’s balcony while children cheer about seeing seagulls

MC wonders why there are seagulls in the middle of the city

Victor calls, saying that he’ll go find MC; MC asks to meet at the café downstairs instead. Victor agrees succinctly, making MC feel like he’s a bit off today

 --

MC arrives at the café in advance, taking out the copy of her dad’s notebook she’d made before and wondering about its secrets. She notes that Shaw had told her before to give him the notebook after the events of that day, but in the end, he himself vanished. Plus, Black Queen wanted it too

MC wonders about how the STF didn’t seal up that old building after Gavin took the kids to other orphanages

MC flips through the notebook, finds nothing of note, and decides to take a nap

Victor looks at MC through the window of the café, not wanting to disturb her rest

Violin suddenly sounds, and Zero says “it’s time to set out”

Victor asks the staff to hand the paper bag he has to MC

Zero: You won’t say farewell to her?

Victor: No need for farewells. I will return very soon.

--

MC wakes up and opens the paper bag, finding pudding and realizing it’s from Victor. She looks around but (obviously) doesn’t see him

[nightshade-minho]

3021:Starless

-(2)-

Warnings: mentions of knives, mentions of prostitutes, shirtless Hyunjin, mentions of family death, violence etc.

Word Count: 3.3k

Minho sighed as he walked home, his hands in his pockets...all his thoughts were filled with you.

He'd followed you secretly, knowing you were too stubborn to let him walk with you and make sure you were safe. He'd watched from an alley as you reached the workshop, greeted by a boy around your age that he couldn't quite recognize. Could it be possible that he was your boyfriend?

Jealousy rose up in him as he shook his head, not wanting to think about it. One of these days, he'd have the courage to ask you out. 

He wondered if you liked him. You didn't really know much about him, but your interactions with him, though filled with sarcasm and plenty of comebacks, told him you didn't hate his presence. He had a feeling you were just acting tough, pretending like he was nothing but a nuisance to you- especially because he saw the way your cheeks would slightly heat up whenever he flirted with you.

He first met you at the coffee shop you worked at, almost a year ago. It was one of the few cafés in this part of town, and hence it was always packed. You'd caught his eye immediately and he was smitten at first glance. He found himself to be a regular at the café ever since. He'd be lying if he said the coffee was the reason he stuck around.

Minho stopped walking for a second, his human leg aching. He balanced his weight on his bionic foot as he rested for a second. He had a long way to travel, considering his house was located closer to the city. Walking back and forth so often was tiring, sometimes.

He went back to thinking of you. Your smile, your hair...the way you walked, and the way you always knew just what to say. He tried to keep the lovesick smile at bay, but was clearly unsuccessful, if his reflection in the car window opposite him was any indication. Straightening up a little, he started walking again, reliving all his interactions with you in his head. 

He reached home sooner than he thought.

Walking up the driveway, he nodded at the guards, who gave him a nod before opening up the gates. They never asked him what he was doing out so late, and he appreciated them for it. 

Minho sneaked around the back of the mansion, sighing as he prepared himself to scale the tree right next to his bedroom window. 

Carefully, he climbed the tree as discreetly as he could, stepping into his room with a light thud. 

Looking around, he closed the window, dusting off his shirt- but when he turned around, his father was standing right there.

Minho yelped, stumbling backwards a little. "What the fuck-" Was this karma or something?

"Language, young man. Now, what were you doing out so late?"

"Nothing! I needed to um...shop for parts."

"What? Why would you do that when you could order any prostheses you want from the comfort of your own home?" The man's eyes narrowed as his eyes roved over the dust clinging to Minho's clothes. 

"Why are you dressed like that? Did you..." He gasped, trailing off. "You went to that side of town, didn't you?"

"What? Dad, no, I-"

"Don't lie to me." He glared, pinching his forehead. "I don't want to know what you were doing there. You're an adult, if you want to see hookers, I don't mind. But we have a reputation to uphold. You do realize I can acquire you a sex android if you really-"

"What the fuck, Dad?! Just-" Minho's horrified expression grew as he fully absorbed his father's words. "That's not what I was doing. I was-"

He put up a finger, silencing him. "You don't have to explain yourself. Just tell your assistant what you need." He exhaled, turning around and leaving the room.

Minho watched him leave, his head boiling with anger. He was thankful he didn't ask any more questions- it was revolting the way his father thought the rural areas offered nothing more than strip clubs, but at least it saved his ass this time. He couldn't come up with any excuses.

He got rid of his clothes, throwing them on the floor in frustration. After all, there was a maid to clean it all up. So, who gave a shit if he messed up his whole room? His whole life, he'd be waited on. He was 22 years old, and yet he still lived in his father's house. Granted, he did have an entire floor to himself...it still felt pathetic, though. Life wasn't going the way he wanted it to.

Being the Viceroy's son had its perks. But he'd always known there was more to life. Minho had most everything he ever wanted...except freedom.

He took the cable beside his bed and plugged himself in, adjusting the overnight power settings. He got into his bed, turning around and sighing as he hugged his pillow, imagining it was you. He allowed himself to smile, letting the image of you drive out the negative energy his dad had left behind. 

Soon, he felt sleep take over his senses.

"Is he awake?" Jisung asked, holding a glass of water as he came back into the room through the curtain that separated his home from the workshop.

"No...not yet." You tilted your head as you looked at the man that was sprawled out on the reclining chair you'd sat on not long ago. He had the same troubled expression on his face from before.

"Y/n, we have to contact the palace."

You frowned, eyes still fixed on the man in front of you- the legendary H88, The Royal Android. You flexed your arms, still aching from helping Jisung carry the android home.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Jisung. He seemed distressed, and shouldn't he already be at the palace by now, at least, according to the news? Something's off. I don't want us to be connected to something so convoluted, at least not before tomorrow's trials. Maybe after that, we can decide what to do."

Jisung sighed, going over to the android's side and lifting his hair out of the way. "Low charge." He plugged the android in, turning to you. "If anyone finds out we're hiding the Royal Android...you do realize we could be put in jail, right? Besides, maybe turning it in would put you in their good graces. You'd get your Phantom license in a snap."

"Ha. We both know that's not what would happen. They like to twist stories...make them work in their favor. I feel like they'd just find a way to put all the blame on us-"

"Not this again..."

It was no secret that you weren't the biggest fan of the Royal family. In a world as advanced as yours, monarchies weren't that common. Xale was one of the three countries in the world that still had a royal family. 

The King had rushed into countless scandals ever since he ascended the throne, most of which were hastily covered up.

However, his reach didn't extend all the way to the poorer areas of Neos. Out here, there were people who knew. And you were one of them.

Whenever you talked about it though, Jisung was always quick to shut you up. He chalked it all up to controversies. However, you knew deep down he was aware of it all, too. He was just too scared to admit it. And why wouldn't he be? King Bang was almost a dictator, his opinions and decisions bordering on terrible. Monitorship, curfews, laws...all of it was designed to make it impossible for the have-nots to survive. The richer citizens of Neos lived oblivious to it all, unfortunately.

His son was to take the throne soon. You'd heard that he was a lot more lenient and good-hearted than his father...but you knew as long as the King was alive, he would have his influence over his son and the way he ruled...and thus, over the country.

"Y/n! He's awake..."

You snapped out of your thoughts at Jisung's shaky voice, eyes widening as you saw the android in front of you blink, eyes open as he assessed the two of you.

There was silence for a while as the three of you glanced at each other, wondering who would speak first. A few seconds later, Jisung broke the silence. 

"Are you okay?" 

The android turned to look at him, eyes narrowing a little. "Do you know who I am?"

"H88."

"Hyunjin. That's my name." He snarled. "And good, so you do know. Why would you ask such a question then? I'm clearly not okay. I'm supposed to be living in the Palace. But I'm not. Do you want to know why?"

Jisung raised an eyebrow at his angry tone. "Why?"

"Because I escaped." He muttered under his breath. 

You opened your mouth, slightly confused and ready to ask another question, but Jisung grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside a little. 

"We can't do this, Y/n. We should return him as soon as we can. This isn't just any android- it's The Royal Android, and it's been dominating the news for the last few months. Hiding him is obviously not going to be fucking easy."

"I know, but...I've just got a gut feeling about this."

"This isn't the time to rely on intuition! We could get seriously-"

"I'm right here, you know. I can hear everything." The android mumbled. The two of you turned to look at him. He glanced between you both and let out a long sigh, lip trembling. 

"Please...just don't take me back to the P-palace. I'm begging you." He said, his voice glitching again.

Jisung frowned, opening his mouth. You interrupted him before he could say anything. 

"Why are you scared of the Palace? Why don't you want to go there?" You probed gently, as you sat back down in front of him, not wanting to overwhelm him.

He pressed his lips together, looking conflicted. "It's...It's a long story. I can tell you later, when I feel more up to it." He sighed. "I'm not asking you to hide me forever...just for a few weeks, maybe? Until I figure out what to do."

Jisung held a hand up, his expression incredulous. "Hold up, dude, we can’t just do something like this without thinking. Don't you understand the risk this poses for us? And for you?"

"I know...but I have information. Very sensitive information. I'll answer all your questions and tell you what I know..." he looks at you meaningfully, as if he knew this would catch your attention. "As long as you hide me for a little while."

You narrowed your eyes at his words. Information. He had information, presumably against the royal family. This interested you considerably.

"Fine. You can stay." 

He smiled widely. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he did so. You'd never met an android so advanced, an android so breathtakingly beautiful. 

Jisung cleared his throat, making you look at him. "This is such a bad idea, on so many levels. First off, he can't stay here- there are regular check-ins."

"Yeah I know. Hmm...he could always stay at my apartment."

Jisung looked up at you, cheeks turning red a little. "Um, is that a good idea? Isn't your apartment...small..."

"It's alright! It'll fit two people fine." You glanced at Hyunjin. "Besides, I don't think he gets to be picky."

"I'm okay with it. I just want to be safe."

Jisung felt his heart slowly sink as you and the android shared a grin, both extremely satisfied with their ends of the deal. Meanwhile, Jisung didn't have anything to gain...except the realization that for the next few weeks, you'd be living in close quarters with this Adonis of an android. 

Why did he have to have such rotten luck?

Hyunjin took off the hood of his cloak as you finally opened the door to the apartment, running a hand through his hair as he immediately went over to crash on the couch.

You stared at him pointedly as you removed your own cloak. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Androids don't get hungry." He yawned, stretching. 

"But they do get tired?" You raised an eyebrow as he blinked at you sleepily, not answering you. You rolled your eyes.

"Don't ask me. I didn't invent them." He said finally. "Is there something wrong with my sensors or is it hot as balls in here?" He swore, grabbing his shirt and pulling it off, discarding it on the floor as he leaned back once more. "Much better."

Maybe for him. You stood there, a little shocked and unable to tear your eyes away from his bare chest.

"Like what you see, hm?" He winked, yawning again. "Come on." He patted the spot next to him. "I'll tell you everything you need to know. I promised, remember?"

"Right..." you hesitantly walked over to sit next to him, focusing on his eyes that were backlit with blue. 

"Go ahead. Ask me whatever you want to."

"Okay." You thought for a bit, sifting through all the questions in your head as you finally settled on one. "How did you escape the Palace? It's so heavily guarded."

"I haven't been to the Palace yet, actually. I escaped on my way there. I was being transported from Dr Isamu's mansion, but I panicked in the car. So I killed the driver and then left."

"You- you killed someone-"

"Yes. Move on, it's no big deal." He rolled his eyes. "I got a little scratched up in the fight, though. He was a very bulky man."

You nodded. The faded scars on his arms were apparent.

"Anyway, I stumbled through the streets and somehow found myself in the subway- I don't even know how I got there. I don't remember much. I knew I was close to shutting down. Then I saw you two, and then....well, you know." 

You sighed and leaned back against the couch, trying to make sense of what you had just rushed into.

"You committed a murder. The cops are going to investigate- both the murder and your disappearance. The fact that you're royal property makes it even less likely for you to stay here long without being caught. And when you do, I'll go down as well." You groaned. Was this a bad idea, after all?

"Yeah, I know. But you're just going to have to trust me. I know...things. Most of them, I overheard when I was in Isamu's lab. I know your parents were rebels, Y/n. This information will be valuable to you."

You frowned. "How do you know that?"

"My scanning system is advanced. I have the details of nearly every Neos citizen embedded in me. Your file says you're an orphan, that you work in a coffee shop despite having a well above average IQ. Your parents were the leaders of the 3012 rebellion, and were executed. Till you were 18, you were raised by the owner of the workshop down the street, whose son I just met. Not a fan of him, by the way. Want me to keep going?"

"Wow. So you do know everything." You pressed your lips together. "Well, you're right...what you know is valuable to me." You played with your fingers as the memories from that day replayed in your head, your chest tightening. You remembered the pain you'd felt as you saw your parents die right in front of you, mercilessly humiliated and tortured in front of the hundreds that had gathered to watch. It was a terrible thing for a 10 year old to have to witness. 

You also remembered how Mr Han brought you back to his house that day, raising you as his own alongside Jisung. He'd always been kind to you, caring for you and educating you. Despite losing your family at the age of 10, you found yourself still loved. And now...you were on the verge of losing him as well.

"...All I've ever wanted to do is finish what they started. I...want revenge. Don't get me wrong, I do want this country to be free as well. We would all be so much better off without the King. But I know a small part of me wants to do this for them." You sighed. "It's always just been a fantasy, though." Until you came into my life today.

His gaze softened as he watched you blink back tears. Hesitantly, Hyunjin moved a little closer, putting a hand on your back and patting you once. 

You'd always tried to be strong, tried to not let your emotions get the better of you. As much as you loved Jisung, and maybe even Minho...you always tried to keep your tough exterior intact in front of them, as best as you could. 

Yet here was this guy, someone you'd never seen the face of until today, other than on the front page of all the news articles. And despite barely knowing him, you felt something connecting the two of you. Something you couldn't quite explain. 

He stroked your hair as you gave up, dropping your walls in front of this complete stranger.

You let him pull you in, holding you as you cried, letting out emotions that had been pent up for years. Hyunjin didn't pry. He stayed silent, letting you cry into his chest.

It felt a little pitiful, but you couldn't care less at this point. It was difficult pretending to be strong when you knew you were anything but. 

"Your parents...were great people, Y/n. They inspired a lot of people. Their efforts weren't useless, and I know yours won't be, either."

"Wait...what are you suggesting?" You sniffed, looking up at him with a confused expression. 

"That you finish what they started. It'll be tricky...but we can do it. You let me stay here, and in exchange I'll help." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"For now, just cry it out all out. I'll tell you everything I know tomorrow, and we'll discuss after your trials. You're signing up to be a Phantom, correct?"

"Um, yeah." You said, wiping your cheek, feeling a familiar fire burn in your chest. Could you believe him? It sounded too good to be true. The idea of renewing the revolution your parents had ignited all those years ago...bringing the country together in the name of justice...it was a little far-fetched, but an idea that sparked excitement in you.

"Good. That'd be helpful, actually. We need an in, after all. Now...you need to rest, if you want to succeed tomorrow."

You sighed, nodding. Hyunjin smiled at you and pulled you into him again, adjusting himself in a more comfortable position. He hummed under his breath, and you blinked sleepily. His skin was so soft, his voice so calming...

You felt drowsy the more he sang, eyes closing.

Hyunjin continued petting your head. He closed his own eyes, flashes of what had happened to him over the past few months shooting across him, making him shiver. He would do anything to avoid going back there...including lie.

He hoped what he knew would be enough for you to get what you wanted, but deep down he knew he needed more...hopefully you wouldn't be too angry when you realized he knew less than what he'd made it seem like. 

Another rebellion. It would take some time, but from what he'd seen, you were resourceful enough to make it happen. And even though his knowledge was limited, he hoped he'd be able to find out more for you. Hyunjin knew he was equipped with millions of special talents - a lot of which he himself hadn't explored yet. He'd be a powerful ally.

He trusted you, and he hoped you did too. 

(None of the art used in this series belongs to me. Credit to the respective owners.)

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Day 11

 Prompt: Pick your favorite soulmate AU and write about it. For this, I’ve chosen to do: ‘Everyone is born with a ring on their finger that changes color with your soulmate’s mood, turning pink when you touch for the first time. When they die, the ring turns black and falls off, turning to dust.’ Combined with a Reincarnation AU.

Word Count: 4,186

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01, @spoopy-turtle, @lizluvscupcakes, @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo, @the-sympathetic-villain, @8-writes, @lizzy-lineart, @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun Soulmate taglist:(Send an ask to be added or removed!) @elizabutgayer, @melodiread, @tsshipmonth2020, @mikalya12, @8-writes, @lizzy-lineart

He sat on his mat, legs curled beneath him. His eyes strained to see in the dim light provided by the moon. Even so, he was only looking for one thing and he knew exactly where it should be. Staring at his hands, he used one to gently feel around the other, desperate to know it was a dream. The searching hand found what it wanted and it flew to his mouth, stifling the horrified gasp that surely would have woken his sister if he’d let it out. 

Carefully, he stood and made his way to stand by the window, the ashes of his soul ring cupped in his palm. He felt the tears rolling down his cheeks but he did nothing to wipe them away, instead focusing on keeping his grief quiet. His sister would learn in the morning but this was his burden to carry, not hers. 

Even so, he stood there, staring at the remnants of his soulmate and mourning for a person he never got to meet nor love, long enough for the sun to come up. His sister shifted in her sleep before waking, rolling to find a warmth that wasn’t there. ‘Brother?’ She called out, voice heavy with sleep.

He turned back to the room, a smile breaking behind the tears. ‘It’s alright, I’m here.’

She nodded, curling back into the warmth of the mat. ‘Cows need to be milked.’

‘I’ll do that.’ He walked to the table and grabbed a cheese cloth, gently laying the ashes in the center and folding it up, storing it in his pocket before he went to milk the cows while the dew was still wet on the grass and the air was still heavy with mist. That night, he took some leftover fabric and sewed a pocket into the inside of his shirt. There, he stored the ashes close to his heart, living with them and the memory until his own death.”

~

“She sat on the throne, looking out over the court. Glancing down at her soul ring, she saw it turn a seething red of anger. In this instant, she was inclined to agree with the soulmate she’d never met. In her youth, she’d dreamed of adventuring and meeting him, knowing he was out there somewhere. She’d always been excited to travel to other kingdoms, even if it meant pretending to look for suitors. She’d always glanced around every corner, hoping that was the one he’d be behind. 

That was her youth. She’d wasted it searching for someone who was outside her range of travel. She’d thrown it away for the silly notion of love and soulmates, not realizing that that was something only the common folk got to have. So, she’d eventually settled down with a nice, if dull, prince that made a strong alliance with the vulnerable kingdom next door. It had been a happy life, if as dull as her husband.

She looked out over the crowd, the soldiers standing in her court, the foreigners who had the audacity to invade her kingdom and slaughter her husband right in front of her. Suddenly, her trusted lady-in-waiting came up beside her, leaning to speak in her ear. ‘A word, my queen?’

She looked at her for a moment, trusting with her life. Bowing her head, she rose and stepped behind the curtain that led to a small room off to the side. Her lady-in-waiting’s smile was tinged with sadness as she adjusted her spectacles before smoothing out the queen’s pale blue dress. ‘I have something to confess, my queen.’ She was startled but nodded for her to continue. ‘My soul ring turned pink the first time we met. I suspect yours did too but it was hidden under your gloves.’

Before she could fully process that her soulmate was her lady-in-waiting, her best friend, her closest confidant, the door was ripped open and the men were forcing their way in. The next instant, red met blue as life faded from one set of eyes while tears sprang to another set. Soon, black was fluttering to the ground to mix with the red, purple pooling beneath knees as sharp cries of anguish wrent the air.”

~~

“He pulled on the back of a shirt, saving the man from slipping on the ground slick with drink. The war was over and many were celebrating, but not him. After all, he had nothing to celebrate. There would always be more hate, more violence, more bloodshed in the world. So, he did his best to help where he could but he mainly just stayed out of the way. 

The man smiled and sat opposite him, not talking but looking at his hands. Looking back up, he looked into his eyes and smiled again. ‘I guess I should say hello, soulmate.’

He shushed him, hunching in on himself and trying to keep his hands hidden. ‘Are you really trying to get us arrested?’

The joy in his eyes faded. ‘Right. Those stupid laws are still in effect.’

He nodded. ‘I guess we should say goodbye.’

His soulmate reached out, hands brushing. ‘Does it have to be so soon? Are we not allowed to at least enjoy each other’s company for a few minutes?’

He looked at him, cynicism in his eyes. ‘Is it better to have gotten to know each other, to have loved and lost, to carry that ache across the years until age or circumstances rids the earth of us? Or is it better to have met, to have known the other existed, and gone on our separate ways before getting attached?’

His soulmate looked down into his drink, his hand retreating.’“You’re right, of course. I just thought it’d be nice. To have memories to hang onto, to know something about the person made for you. I’ve only gotten to know you in one other life and you already seem so different. Forgive me for being excited to know you in this life.’

It was his turn to reach out, to take his hand, to gently brush his thumb over the back of his hand. ‘I know. I wish that were possible too. But we both know it’s not. We both know that society and circumstances have not made it to be so. All we can do is wait for our next lives and hope they are better than this one.’

He nodded, giving his hand a tender squeeze before standing and disappearing into the crowds. They never met again in that life but he looked back on that conversation fondly and wept when his ring turned to ash.”

~~~

“The boy in front of him glared, not backing down. ‘No! You leave him alone, you big bully!’

He looked to the larger, older boy in front of his protector. This one was mean looking and was clearly not going to leave them alone until he got what he wanted. So, he pulled on his protector’s sleeve, gaining his attention. As he did so, he could feel the memories of three other lives settle into place, memories of this boy as a stately handmaiden and as a grizzled soldier sitting next to the memory of mourning someone he had yet to meet and never had in that life. 

He stumbled slightly, his protector and soulmate catching him. The older boy pushed past them, grabbing the thing he wanted and leaving them there. He curled into his soulmate, clinging tightly. ‘Don’t leave! Please, don’t leave me!’ He cried, knowing what it meant to be alone.

His soulmate shushed him gently, pulling him closer. ‘Of course not. I’ll always be here for you.’

His soulmate couldn’t have possibly known that he would get adopted the very next week, leaving him alone once again. Another life went by, longingly staring at the shifting colors on his ring and hoping to see his face in the streets. He never did see him again in that life.” 

~~~~

“He walked across the busy road, shoes slapping against the cobblestones in his haste to get to the other side. He glanced back to see someone crossing just behind him. Looking back up, a large carriage with a mean-looking driver came straight at the intersection. 

On instinct, he turned back, pushing the man behind him out of the way. He had just enough time to see their soul rings turn pink, tears gathering in his soulmate’s eyes, before he was trampled under the horses hooves.

He lay staring at the sky, his whole body aching as he struggled to breath. Someone knelt next to him, hands coming to either side of his face. ‘What’s your name?’ His soulmate asked desperately.

He didn’t have time to respond, his hand curling into his soulmate’s shirt as the light slipped from his eyes.”

~~~~~

“She stood at the stove, feeling the heat on her skin with her mind elsewhere. It was across the street, with the pretty housewife that looked so nice in pale purple, the one that made her ring turn pink. She’d known what that’d meant when they’d met, everyone knew what that meant. That didn’t mean anything in this world, where fate was cruel but society was crueler. So, there she stood, staring at the liquid bubbling on the stove while she thought of the smile that should have been for her, the laughter that always rang out the loudest when she told a joke. 

The front door opened and she knew her husband was home. The one her parents had said she’d have to marry, the one who’d asked for her hand for the prestige and children. She glanced at the knife beside her, head running wild with thoughts of taking the meat cleaver to her husband’s skull and running off with her soulmate. 

Instead, she picked up the ladle and sampled the soup, knowing the whim would never work. So, she lived her life, looking at her love over the garden gate, so close but too far.”

~~~~~~

“He set his bag down, looking around at the boarding school. He saw a lone boy, sitting off to the side. Thinking this was a good opportunity to make a friend, he walked over and tried to introduce himself. ‘Hi! I’m new here!’

The boy looked up at him, barely taking his attention from the book in his hands. ‘That’s nice.’

He was undeterred. ‘I’m-’

The boy shut the book with a snap. ‘I’m not interested in knowing anyone. I’m not here to make friends, and I don’t care what your name is.’ With that, he stood and walked away.

He didn’t get the chance to talk to him again until graduation. Even then, it was only briefly as the upperclassman shook his hand. He watched as their rings turned pink. Soon, the ceremony was over and he was running after the boy. ‘Wait!’ 

He sighed but did as asked, turning in his path to allow him to catch up. When he did, the older boy spoke first. ‘So, we’re soulmates. Do you think that changes anything?’

He shook his head, having grown from the naive boy he’d been. ‘No, I know it doesn’t. All I ask is that you give me a call if you do change your mind.’ He handed him a card with the number to his father’s law office that he was set to inherit.

The boy nodded and took the card. ‘Fine, I can make that deal. Don’t be disappointed if you never get a call from me.’

He waited for that phone to ring but knew it was useless the second his ring turned to ash in the middle of a courtroom. He had to excuse himself to wrap the ashes in a handkerchief, storing it near his heart and wiping tears away for the boy he’d never gotten to love.”

~~~~~~~

“She’d been going about her evening as usual, preparing a cup of tea, when a frantic knocking could be heard at her door. She put her mug down, pulling a shawl around her shoulders as she approached the door. ‘Who is it?’ She called.

Looking at her soul ring, she recognized the pale gray of desperation and hurried to yank it open, knowing what had happened. She’d met her soulmate a few years ago and knew just by looking at her that it was a clearly platonic relationship. The old woman held her arms out for the young teen that soon buried herself in her arms. ‘It’s storming again, Auntie.’

She laughed softly, petting the skittish girl’s hair as she ushered her inside. ‘I know dear. I’m sorry I didn’t expect you to be coming over. Would you like a cup of tea?’

The teen finally pulled away, curling around a pillow on the sofa. ‘That’d be nice, thank you.’

She nodded and moved to make another cup, her thoughts wandering. This was their ninth time together but the only one they’d ever known each other for besides their second life. She would never know if any of those were meant to be platonic or romantic but they sure were treasured. 

She finished making the cup and came to sit beside her soulmate. The teen uncurled slightly, the blanket around her shoulders staying in place but the pillow in her lap sliding down a bit. ‘I used to love thunderstorms you know?’

‘Was that in a past life or in this one?’ The older woman sat in her rocker, pulling a blanket over her lap and picking up the knitting from the basket. 

‘The first life. The rain never really got that intense in the mountains, so we only really saw the lightning from afar. It felt like a treat every time that happened.’

She hummed. ‘That must have been nice.’ She’d been indifferent to thunderstorms in all but one life and that was for a reason unrelated to the soul before her.

Their evening progressed as usual. The teen sipped her tea and calmed her nerves before picking up the book she’d been reading to the older woman, quickly flipping to where they’d stopped last and picking up from there. It was a quiet night, one of peace and little excitement. Then again, that was how she preferred it.”

~~~~~~~~

“He was looking through books, eyes scanning the spines. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he knew he’d know it when he found it. He looked with a fervor few would understand, as if he were drowning and the next book to catch his attention would be the air he needed. So, his finger trailed along the spines, checking how each book made him feel before he moved onto the next one, desperate for a book to catch his attention long enough for him to decide to check it out of the library.

He didn’t see the person until he’d run into her. Backing away quickly, he apologized. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.’ 

She just shrugged, bending to pick up the book she’d dropped. Her eyes paused on her hand. Looking down, he saw the pink soul ring. He smiled, bending down to help. ‘I guess I should be saying hello too.’

She giggled, a bubbling laugh that was sweet as sugar. ‘There’s no need for that.’ They both straightened up and she tucked her short hair behind her ear. ‘How about you just tell me what you’re looking so desperately for instead?’

He nodded. ‘I was simply looking for something to touch my very soul. Something so mind provoking or heart wrenching that it would surely evoke some sort of reaction from me.’

‘You use awfully big words there.’ Her hand bunched in her skirt as she stood, as if she didn’t want it there and would have much preferred trousers. 

‘There are times where large words are needed to convey large or complex ideas.’ He’d gotten into using the largest words he could whenever he could as it kept his family from pulling him out of a book to ask a question. 

She smiled. ‘That is true. There are many concepts that are easier to grasp using the harder words. However, it is also easier to use smaller words in order to fully engage with an audience. Do you concur?’

Thus, they spent the rest of the day getting to know each other. Sadly, he never saw her again when she left. A few weeks later, his soul ring turned to ash. The next day’s paper spoke of a woman going about in men’s clothes and being killed for it. He remembered the way his soulmate held himself in the skirt, the way he kept his hair as short as he was allowed and knew that his soulmate’s fate had just been told to him.”

~~~~~~~~~

Virgil closed the book and had to sit back in his chair. “Oh, shit.” He muttered.

Remus looked up from his drawing. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. This book just described my past life in complete detail as far as my soulmate knew.”

Remus nodded, pausing his search for the perfect red. “That sounds like your soulmate wrote it. Do you remember anything from the other lives?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, I’m lucky I remember that one. After all, most people don’t remember their past lives until they’ve met their soulmate.”

“That’s true. Do you know who wrote it?”

“Yeah.” Virgil flipped the book over to look at the author’s name. “Logan Ackroyd.”

Remus pulled his phone out and did a simple search, pulling up a video first. He moved from his spot on the floor to come sit beside his friend. He pressed play on the video, an interview with the author after his most recent book came out. 

“Tell me, Mr. Ackroyd, how do you come up with your stories?”

The man in the blue suit that Virgil would not admit was incredibly handsome laughed. “I actually get some scenes from my dreams. Most of my stories started as a scene midway through the plot that I then had to scramble to come up with the rest of the story for.”

“What do you do with the idea once you have it?”

“I generally will write it down as soon as I can so as not to lose it. Then, I’ll try to figure out what led the characters there and where they would go from it. Using that as a jumping point, I’ll then plan out the whole novel with a messy outline. That outline gets cleaned up before I start working on the actual piece of literature.”

“So you do think your work counts as literature?”

He sighed. “Literature is a word used to describe anything that has been written down. The word is generally used today to refer to great works of writing but the original usage of the word is still in effect today. Nevertheless, my writing has merit and is not to be discounted simply due to it being primarily same sex romance.”

The interviewer nodded. “Of course. My apologies, Mr. Ackroyd.”

The video ended and Remus went back to the previous tab, scrolling through the search. “It says here he’s having a book signing at the local bookstore in a few days. It’s a walk in kind of thing. He also doesn't seem  to be a big name just yet so it’s a good chance you’ll be able to meet him.”

Virgil bobbed his head side to side as he thought. “Yeah, or it could turn out to be a major coincidence and I embarrass myself in front of a bunch of people.”

Remus sighed. “Best case scenario?”

“We’ll be soulmates and we can live a life together.”

“Worst case scenario?”

“He’s not my soulmate and I get mocked and humiliated in front of a large crowd.”

“Most likely to happen?”

Virgil scrunched his nose. “I’ll wimp out and just get a book signed, not even mentioning soulmates.”

Remus nodded. “Good. Shoot for the best case, understand most likely could happen, don’t think about the worst case.”

Virgil emptied his lungs in one long breath before sucking air back in. “Okay. I can do this.” He shook his head once before he opened the book back to the front cover. “Time to reread this whole thing in two days.”

“Dude! That’s a really thick book!”

Virgil smiled. “I used to be able to go through books twice this size in that same time span. It’ll be fine.”

True to his word, Virgil finished the book in time for the signing. He went to the bookstore cafe combo and watched the staff set up the book signing area. The line wasn’t too long as it was so he finished his drink before joining it.

As he stood there, his eyes were drawn to his soul ring. He’d never paid much attention to it in his life but now he was trying desperately to take his mind off his anxiety. So, he put his feet on autopilot and let his mind rattle around trying to remember the meaning for the soul ring colors. His ring was blue, which meant that his soulmate was calm.

He got to the front of the line and moved to place his book on the table, only for Logan to reach for it at the same time. Their hands brushed and their eyes locked as the object passed between them. In that one moment, Virgil remembered all his past lives, from the city boy who’d died too early to a trans man whose life was taken from him. 

Logan was the first one to pull back, a small gasp escaping his lips at the rush of memories, each lining up with a book he’d written. He blinked, shaking his head as he tried to reorient himself. “May I know who I’m signing this to?” He asked as he opened the book to the front page.

“Virgil Dolle.” His hands twisted together as he tried to stop himself from being too overwhelmed by the rush of memories.

Logan nodded, writing something on a pair of notecards as well as signing the book. One notecard was stuck into the book, the other going into the pocket designed to hold the soul ring ashes. “Alright, Virgil, have a great day.” He handed the book back with a smile.

Virgil walked off, still dazed. Having been here before, the feet that had yet to be taken off autopilot took him to his favorite nook for reading. He curled up in it and looked at the autograph and notecard. The autograph read, ‘To my soulmate, Virgil Dolle. May you have as much joy reading this as I did writing it, Logan Ackroyd.’

His handwriting was strong and sure, no ink blots to show hesitance. Virgil decided he liked it. Picking up the notecard, he read that too. ‘I’m sorry I took so long to find you. It’s almost silly that you were right under my nose the whole time. I hope you can stay long enough for me to finish this and we can have a proper talk.’

Virgil smiled as he put the notecard back in the book. He decided to stay as he scanned the shelves to his left, looking for anything that caught his eye. He remembered that he’d found Logan’s book on this very shelf and a fondness filled his heart. He waited there for a few hours, playing games on his phone, browsing books, and getting up occasionally to order a drink or snack and silently let Logan know he was still there.

He was back in his nook, scrolling through a fanfiction and eating a honey-glazed bun when Logan appeared in his line of sight. He sat down beside him and stretched, his arms reaching above his head. Virgil giggled. “Long day?” He asked, his earlier nerves nowhere to be found as he was perfectly content in this space with someone he’d known for a thousand years.

Logan groaned. “The longest.” He laid his head on Virgil’s shoulder as Virgil turned off his phone and placed his snack on a napkin. They stayed like that for a minute, just soaking in the company neither had known they’d missed until they’d found it again.

Finally, Logan sat up. “Tell me about yourself.”

Virgil smiled. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything you’re willing to share. I want to know you and be known by you, I want to see what I’ve been missing the whole time we’ve been apart. I want to love you the way I was never allowed to love you. I want to know everything you have to say about a topic, your opinions on things, I want to know how your brain works.” Logan shrugged. “I want to know about you.”

Virgil smiled. “Well, I guess my birth is a good place to start.” 

So, they stayed in that bookstore café for a few more hours, telling each other their life stories and how they’d been caused to meet. They exchanged numbers and talked for hours on end about anything and everything, trying to make up for lost time.

[jordanstrophe]

This One is Mine, Part 1

Hi, this is part one of hopefully a very enjoyable series MOSTLY filled with fluff.  I prioritizes the comfort in the hurt/comfort, but there’s still going to be some hurt <3 katastrophe may strike

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CW: Pet whump, Blood, abuse, minor wounds, threatening, implied beating

“Why this of all the places...” Charles sighed.

“Short run, It’ll be as quick as all the others, sir.” Miles said.

“This place gives me the chills more than all the other businesses I’ve toured. That says something in our line of work.” He crossed his arms

Charles was at the top of the top when it comes to power. One of the 7 so called “rulers” of the business that ran things like the black-market, assassinations, high-end blackmail, anything illegal, ran like a business away from prying eyes. Unfortunately, some of those prying eyes are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyone who stumbles upon the operations from FBI to a random pedestrian, is immediately caught and hauled off to Malcolm Morfran, a powerful man who uses them as slaves, or “Pets” and sells them to other people in the business. Charles Mendrix ran the blackmail business, clawed his way to the top with a large loyal family that could get dirt on anything.

“Lets get this over with.” Charles sighed, pulling down a pair of sunglasses as Miles shut the car door for him behind him.  

The building looked like a factory, tall, dim, muted grey and white colors. They entered and was immediately greeted by a way too happy well dressed older man.

“Sir Mendrix! We’ve been anxiously expecting you! We’re ever so honored to have you here, please allow me to make you comfortable.” The man was practically bowing as he slipped behind Charles and slid his long coat off his shoulders. The air in the building had a twisted chilled feeling to it. It was clear this man was trying a bit too hard.

“I’m only here for the tour, no need to be all formal.. Please.” Charles sighed, as the man held his coat in his arms with precious delicacy, as if it were a fragile object.

“No no sir, I insist! It’s not often the Founders all tour each other's sections, we strive to impress in hopes you find favor in our little business. In fact, our Founder is in the house today! You can meet him face to face.”

“Oh marvelous...” Charles mutters under his breath.

“Now, as courtesy of our business, we would like to offer you one free product of your choice, no question asked, anyone that catches your eye, no matter the qualit-”Charles hand shot up to silence the man.

“I’m not interested in slaves. I’m just here for the mandatory tour. I hardly care about your business as much as you do mine. Just take me to Malcolm” Charles huffed. The man shut his mouth and took a moment too long to put his thoughts together.

“Err.. Mister Morfran is in his office... Sir. Please allow me to accompany you to him.” He muttered with a toned voice, opening a door for him.

They entered a long dim hallway, the man shuffled his feet as he slowly made his way down the hall while Charles and Miles trailing behind. There were dozens of metal bars of cages filling the walls down the hallway, inside some was muffled scratching or crying.

“Sure you’re not interested? Any one of these pretties for free.” He hummed in a musical tone, his head back to him with a creepy smile.

“No, I’m quite sane, thank you.” Charles sighed. He turned his head towards the cages, and was horrified. Uncountable numbers of people locked in the cages, huddled in the deepest furthest corner, practically cowering.  

“Sir, are you sure we shouldn’t have brought more security? I really don’t trust Sir Morfran after last time..” Miles muttered.  “More security will rub him the wrong way, I have to still stay in the good graces with the other Founders, besides, I have you, don’t I?” He smirked, playfully nudging Miles shoulder, who couldn’t help but let out a smirk himself.

The man held open a door for them, as they entered a well lit, beautifully decorated office. All the furniture was golden trimmed, with red material with buttons, marble floors, and massive glass chandeliers. Red curtains draped from the ceiling to the floor framing the tall slim windows down the room. At the end was a large wooden desk, sat at it was a heavy set man dressed in a purple suit and greased back hair.

“Charles!’ Malcolm praised, raising arms in the air. His chair was almost fully reclined, as he struggled to worm his way out of it, before dashing over to him. Miles pushed his shoulder forward so he was in front of him in a protective stance, only backing down when Charles placed a hand on his shoulder beckoning him back.

“Gah! There you are, it’s been too long, friend! Really, we should set up a dinner, I don’t get to talk to you much.” He smiled with a chipped toothy grin, then quickly turned to admire his own reflection in a giant mirror on the wall.

“Business aside, I don’t have all the time in the world, unlike you do, it seems.” Charles laughed, motioning towards a huge table with scattered puzzle pieces half way done.

“Pssshh! Nonsense! I work just as hard as all you lugs do, I just enjoy a good long project. Speaking of which, did you get the tour done? See anything you like? Eh? Eehh?” He playfully nudged him with his elbow. Charles face went stern.

“As interesting as your “gift” was, I’m not interesting.” Charles said

“Really? Still have that mood? Come ooon buddy, they are so nice to have! You have something pretty to show off, they can do things, they make noises when you beat them, they can even smart sometimes!” Malcolm laughed. “Take this baby for instance.” He joyfully frolicked back to his desk and bent over, trying to grab something. Charles sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

“Listen, I’m here to drop off some papers I need you to sign, just the usual signature saying we’re not at war and al-”

He was cut off by a high pitch yelp. Malcolm dragged a young man out from under the desk by his hair, and threw him to the ground. He had his arms tied behind him with heavy restraints, a blindfold on his face and bruises down his arm. He was thin, and wore a pair of ripped bloodied jeans and huddled low on the floor on his knees, Charles could just make out the slashes covering the man's back as he was bent on the floor.

“Caught this beauty a while ago, he was hiding in the back of his cell for far too long before I noticed him. Dragged him out and now he’s my favorite.” Malcolm said, ripping the blindfold off and forcibly holding his face up to show him off. He had dark hair, and bright ice cold eyes that stared at him fearfully. He whimpered as he glanced up at the bright chandelier stinging his eyes. Malcom held his head up and gently stroked a hand down his face, then rested his fingers firmly in his hair.

“Malcolm, this is messed up! Just look at him! That kid looks mangled!” He hissed.

“Messed up, hmm? Says the blackmail owner. I heard you sold information to sabotage a court and got an innocent man imprisoned this weekend.” Malcolm smirked.

He wrenched the man’s face higher, forcing him to look at him.

“He says this is messed up, when he’s running around bending everything to his will, and selling dirt like hotcakes!” He laughed, the man only whimpered in response. Charles ripped a file out from a bag Miles was carrying.

“Just sign the papers so I can leave. I can hardly look at this.” He growled.

“Naha! No so fast mister! You haven’t done a formal tour yet.” He said, letting the man go, and gleefully clapping his hands together. The man at his feet jumped at the sudden noise. Malcolm waved the papers away that were being outstretched to him. The door slammed open, and the old man staggered in.

“There’s a-an outbreak! R-Rebellion!” He gurgled, throwing his hands in the air.

“The new ones that came in yesterday! They teamed up and broke the latch on the cell!” He yelled, trying to catch his breath, his hair dripping with sweat.

“Those rodents!” He hissed, fastening the blindfold back on his Pet before running down the hallway calling out for security, and something about a rod.

Charles couldn’t decide if he should be concerned or amused at the situation. He looked behind him at the young man shackled at his feet, breathing heavy with his head down with a messy blindfold.

“Hey.” He said, gently.

The man jolted, and scampered back, hitting his head on the desk. He fell still, holding his breath, all the could do was endure whatever happened. Hopeless. Charles knelt down in front of him as the man cringed lower to the ground, feeling his presence looming. 

“Hey, It’s okay.” He soothed. Gently with his fingertips, he touched the young man’s face below the blindfold. He felt a sting of relief when the man huffed and started breathing again, even if it was heavy. He slid his fingers underneath the blindfold and off his face. Large fearful blue eyes squinted up at him.

“Who are you, little one?” Charles whispered, not entirely expecting an answer.

“..... P.. le-” He stuttered. Before any other noise could escape, the door slammed open, then entered the fuming Malcolm.

“Those rats! After all I’ve done for them!” He hissed, furiously throwing a bodied metal rod to the side.

“YOU!” He shrieked, charging through and grabbing the young man by his hair.

“Did you speak to him!? I swear if you spoke a single word!” He screamed at the man, who cowered and cringed while being pulled up off his knees.

“He didn’t say anything, calm down Malcolm!” Charles raised his voice angerly.

Malcolm fell deadly silent, not even his breathing could be heard. He slowly turned around towards him, face as red as blood, expressions twisted into rage that could make anyone's blood run cold.

“I.  did not.  ask you.” He growled, quietly. He turned his attention back to the young man, who had a single tear streaking down his face, huffing for air. He let go of his hair, as he collapsed back onto the ground with a thud. He scampered as he tried to get his knees back under him.

Malcolm walked over to his desk, and pulled out a long whip from his drawer. The man let out a panicked cry as he pressed his chest to the floor.

“Come on Malcolm! I said he didn’t speak!” Charles yelled. “Sir I think this is going too far!” Miles chipped in.

“You know Charles, there’s a good reason all the furniture in this house is red. This is MY house, and this here, is MY favorite. He has strict rules regarding what he does, that includes not speaking to ANYONE but me.” He said. Walking over to the man. He was sobbing on the floor, muttering “please... please... please.. not again” over and over again.

“When I’m done with you, you won’t even think to look at another soul who isn’t me, you hear?! I own you! You have an obligation to have eyes only for me!” He hollered, grabbing he man's thin arm, and half dragging him over to a chair. He threw him over the chair face first, so his back was too him. Charles could make out just how badly conditioned the man was from there. Malcolm ripped the shackles off his wrists as he cried out.

“Don’t you move an inch. This will put you in your place!” He hissed, pressing the man's head by the back of his neck into the chair. The man remained as obedient as he could, as Malcolm drew back the whip as far as his arm could go. Just before his arm picked up speed, someone snatched his wrist in mid air.

It was Miles.

“I’ll take him!” Charles exclaimed.

“W.. W-what!?” He yelled. “Shut up! And tell your stupid body guard to get his hands off me! I could have him killed for that!!” He shrieked, wrenching his arm out of miles grasp.

“I said, I’ll take him.” He repeated, keeping a cold stare fixated on him.

“I.. How.. Y-You! Who do you think you are? He’s mine! MINE!” Malcolm stomped.

“I have a free pass to any “product” I like of my choosing, no questions asked, correct?” He asked  

“Well.. Y-yes. Bu-”  “Then I’ll take that one.” Charles pointed at the man, sobbing hysterically, half clinging to the red chair like his life depended on it, hardly even listening to what was happening.

“You can’t have him! He’s my personal property! He’s my favorite!” He stuttered.

“So that means you have paperwork with your name?”

The color drained from Malcolm's face when he came to the realization. Since he runs a factory filled with Pets, he didn’t assume if he picked one for himself, he would still have to file proper paperwork. The paperwork he himself put in as a law to anyone owning one.

“I’ll take that as a no, old friend.” Charles smiled, Miles however, wasn’t even hiding the evil look on his face.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Miles whispered. “Nope.” He whispered back.

He grabbed the file, and slapped it on his desk. “Can’t go back on your own word now, can you?” He asked, walking past Malcolm. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, who gripped the chair tighter and cried out as if he had already been struck.

”Because this one is mine.” Charles whispered. The young man jerked up and looked at him. If anything, the first spark of life in his eyes was at least noticeable. As carefully as he could, he coaxed the man off the chair into his feet. He gently put his arm around the young man’s shoulders, with another hand gripping his upper arm, and steered him out of the room, keeping himself in between him and Malcolm who held out both hands towards the young man’s neck in a longing fashion. Either to strangle him, or hug him. Who knows?

“But... He was my favorite.”