#that give him next level deja vu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonchildstyles · 1 year ago

Text

rêvasser

élan part two: harry was too observant. y/n worried he could see the cracks in her walls.

wourdcount: 12.8k+

—————

Fran🫧

send me a pic of your nails when ur done!!!!

After answering with an agreeable response, (Y/N) flicked to an email from her stylist. Details were being rehashed over what she wanted to wear to the 132 Gala coming in the next few weeks, Dom again trying to push her in the direction of a darker outfit while she gravitated towards her usual palette of softer hues. Outside the window, glimmering buildings swept by with too many cars on the street and too many people, not paying attention, trying to cross the pavement.

Harry was a silent wall beside her, quiet and stiff. Just like usual. This was the first she'd seen him since the pilates incident. Though he was in a substantially better mood than that last meeting, even giving her a slight smile when she climbed into the SUV beside him, (Y/N) still heard the round of reprimanding he doled out for her.

She'd happily take Harry over her father, though. Now that, for the first time ever, he'd followed through on a threat (i.e. getting a bodyguard for her), there was a level of worry tied to any contact involving her dad. But, he hadn't called at all this week—not even a passive-aggressive text sent her way. When she had texted him that she finally RSVP'd to the upcoming Gala like he'd been hounding her to do just a week prior, he'd left her on read. While she much rather preferred this limited contact, she had a brewing worry that something worse was in the works if he was willing to ignore whatever information Harry had relayed or anything he'd read in the press.

But, she'd take what she could get. Focusing on the Gala with prepping and planning was something she'd happily let take her attention, even if the whole bodyguard/handler/professional babysitter thing was going to be hard to ignore given that Harry would have to accompany her to any and all events surrounding the event.

Though there was one thing her mother did instill in her before she divorced her husband and began jaunting around the world with (Y/N) left at home: Nothing could ruin a good nail appointment. Not even the presence of a bodyguard was an exception to that rule as far as (Y/N) was concerned.

"Thank you, Sully," she chirped, stepping out of the SUV with a wave over her shoulder. Harry predictably followed right after her, the soles of his shoes patting against the concrete. "You don't have to come with me, if you don't want," she told him, stopping him before he could close the door behind and prompt Sully to leave, "It's kind of a long appointment, so if you wanted Sully to take you to get something to eat or whatever, I'm sure he'd be okay with that."

While she couldn't imagine Harry taking her up on the offer, at least not after the clear line he made earlier in the week, she still felt it was something she should give as an option. Nail appointments weren't very exciting if you weren’t the one in the chair.

"No, thank you," Harry answered without a lag, closing the door behind him with a slam. He didn't even look at her as he spoke.

Turning on her heel, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and moved on. Stepping through the front door held a moment of deja vu with the way Harry trailed behind her silently. The women manning the front gave her the same curious looks as the waitstaff at the brunch shop though they all treated her with more familiarity after coming to her regular appointments for almost two years now.

"Hi! Welcome in, (Y/N)!" the same blonde woman that always greeted her said, her eyes floating above her shoulder to find Harry, "How are you?"

The shining smile that earned her a top spot in the rumor mill bloomed on (Y/N)'s lips, "I'm doing perfect, thank you! You?"

"Same as always," she chirped back, the same answer she always gave despite never detailing what the same even entailed. "You're in with Carlotta this morning, right?"

"I am," (Y/N) beamed, stopping at the front podium with her designer purse hanging from the crook of her elbow.

"She'll be right with you," the girl started, pointing in the direction of Carlotta's usual station over her shoulder, "You can take a seat at her station while you wait."

"Got it, thank you," (Y/N) said, voice ever-pleasant and rehearsed.

Taking the first step towards her chair, she saw the way the eyes of the other woman reached around and spotted Harry. He'd been seen at her side enough times to be recognizable to the right people, unfortunately. "Are we checking in for two appointments today or do we just have a friend tagging along?"

"Just a friend," (Y/N) answered quickly. Hopefully the word friend would work through the media circuits just as well as everything else being said.

Taking her seat at her usual station, (Y/N) made herself at home with a cross of her legs and her purse hanging from the hook drilled into the table. Harry pulled a vacant seat to sit beside her, taking the outermost side to leave her bookended by the wall and his body. Protector instincts, she figured.

It wasn't long for him to begin to squirm, a fidget to his fingers.

"Sorry," she whispered to him, pulling her phone from her bag to find the photo she was using for inspiration.

A pinch appeared in Harry's brows. "What do you mean?"

Keeping her voice low, she left her attention on her phone while she spoke, "I know it takes a bit to get used to knowing people are watching you, so..."

It wasn't a surprise to feel others' eyes on her though it had been a while since her presence was notable to the staff here at her nail shop. The addition of a friend at her side was surely something that was garnering her more attention than usual, but Harry clearly wasn't used to it with the way he couldn't settle where he sat. While she was sure there were times that Camila and Monroe, his previous employers, were photographed with eyes on them, she couldn't imagine it was at the same level as she was currently going through.

He'd get used to it. Maybe.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry swept his gaze around the room. "It's a little different, but I can handle it."

She didn't doubt that. She couldn't imagine there was much Harry couldn't handle.

Soon enough, Carlotta came out from the back with a fresh pair of pink gloves on, her usual smile, and big bouncy hair.

"Good morning, honey! How are you?" she asked, brown eyes glimmering in the bright sunlight streaming through the sweeping windows. (Y/N) saw the second she seemed to register the extra guest at her side.

"I'm good, thank you," (Y/N) greeted, stretching her hands out for Carlotta to have a look once she took her seat across. "How are you?"

"Good," Carlotta sang, prying her eyes away from Harry to glance at (Y/N)'s nails, "What are we thinking for this set?"

As much as (Y/N) was sure Carlotta wanted to ask about Harry, and why he was the first extra to ever come with her to an appointment like this, she kept her focus. She listened as (Y/N) went through and showed her the simple inspiration photos she had in mind from grazing through instagram. Glossy nudes with a sparkling French tip was the request at the moment, something easy before the elaborate set she would be getting right before the Gala night.

The appointment went on as normal, Carlotta keeping her conversation to (Y/N) and the rapport they've built over the years. She was sure her tech was waiting for her to bring Harry into the flow, but (Y/N) didn't deviate from the route they'd already embarked on. Besides, Harry was much too involved in his brain and his job to be answering any kind of questions Carlotta may have wanted to ask.

Despite Harry's perfect patrolling and the perfect distraction Carlotta was being, it wasn't long after she had started filing and shaping (Y/N)'s acrylics that there were titters and hushed whispers to be heard across the studio. Harry stiffened beside her, his jaw hardening as he scoped out the sound.

Peeking around him, she saw a group of teenaged girls giggling around a single station as if they were waiting for their own tech to arrive. Two of them had eyes on her while the third was looking at her phone that had the camera conveniently facing towards where she and Harry were sat. The second they realized they were caught, the trio clammed up and looked away, phone disappearing under the lip of the table. Rushed whispers were exchanged between them though none of them dared to return her gaze.

While (Y/N) was used to the treatment, something inside her ticked. It was another set of photos taken without her consent that would build towards another narrative that was anything but true. She was more than accustomed to that, this week had been enough already. More photos of herself was the last thing she wanted.

Nonetheless, there was no way she could react other than with a smile and brushing off the moment. Still, she won't be called "kind" or "warm", she'll be called stiff. At least it wasn't "bitch", though.

When the girls caught her smiling, they gave her a small wave before erupting into more giggles in their corner of the studio. Harry barely held back his scoff as he watched the scene.

Carlotta had gone quiet the second (Y/N)'s attention had shifted. They both saw as Harry shot a stiff look towards the girls, even when they were too caught up in themselves and whatever was going on in their phones to notice.

"Sorry," (Y/N) whispered, leaning towards Harry. She was hyper aware of Carlotta's quiet presence, but she couldn't forgo addressing the moment with the way Harry was reacting. "They'll be over it soon, it's okay."

Harry only shook his head.

She wished she knew what was going on in his head. She wanted to know what he thought of that moment, what he collected from the way she reacted, or how much he was beginning to regret taking this job now that so many eyes scrutinized him.

"Do you like this, or were you thinking a little bit sharper on the edges?"

Carlotta's question pulled (Y/N)'s attention back to her nails, right where it needed to be.

—————

"I'll be right back," Harry murmured, standing from his spot as he scoped out the bathroom.

(Y/N) sent him off with a quiet okay, her attention placed on the sweeps of the small brush going across her nails.

"So," Carlotta nonchalantly mused, her gaze stuck on her work, "you know I don't believe everything I read, but I have to ask... Is that the guy?" Guiding (Y/N)'s hands under the lamp, Carlotta flicked her gaze up to look at her client through the fan of her dark lashes.

With her back stiffening and lips thinning, (Y/N) didn't know what to say. Despite the conspiratorial smile on Carlotta's face, (Y/N) didn't feel like she was in on the joke. Her nail tech was one of the closest people to her in a funny way (nail appointments sometimes felt like therapy after a long week, and too many times had (Y/N) shown up hungover beyond repair), so it cracked at her shell just a bit to know that random stories could wriggle into the mind of someone who actually knew her.

Shaking her head, (Y/N) gave her a mild smile. "It's not like that." She paused before offering up the rest of the story. "He's my new security actually."

"Like a bodyguard?" Carlotta bubbled, taken aback as she paused in her line work of the French tip she was making. She seemed to mull over the possibility before nodding her head some. "I guess the stories have gotten a little out of hand, recently."

"Yeah," (Y/N) offered lamely, "He'll at least make it sound a little bit more intimidating when I need photographers to get out of my way when I'm trying to get to my car."

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) suddenly found it hard to speak about it all. Other than Francesca, most people didn't want to hear about how "hard" her life was; it was a joke, as if there was no way she could have anything negative happening. While in many ways that was true—she had a home, income that she never had to worry about, and the kind of time to indulge in herself that she knew many others didn't—but that didn't negate the fact that there were unique challenges in her life that wore on her. She hated to think about Carlotta listening to this and talking to her coworkers later about her spoiled client.

Lighthearted as always, Carlotta's features lit up with a smile as she guided her hand in for the final round of drying. "I'm sure he will with those shoulders."

Just in time, Harry returned with the conversation quieting then. Only a round or so more of drying with her hands under the lamp was needed before Carlotta was doing her ending spiel of how best to take care of the acrylics despite the fact (Y/N) was a longtime client with some of the best retention she'd ever seen (at least that's what Carlotta told her).

"I love them!" she bubbled to her tech, standing up from her spot with her hands spread out to catch the clean lines of the French and crisp edges in the shaping. "Thank you so much."

"Of course," Carlotta said, rounding her station to offer (Y/N) a loose hug, "I'll see you soon for your Gala nails, right?"

"Right—hopefully, I'll have an idea ready then." A round of pleasant, albeit a bit forced laughter sounded between them.

Goodbyes were shared before Carlotta went about cleaning up her station and (Y/N) and Harry were silently heading up to pay for the service. Only, (Y/N) was stopped with a rushed call of her name, the voice high-pitched and jittery.

Stopping where she stood, Harry beside her ready to step in at a moment's notice, she turned to see that trio of girls, their own nails glimmering with paint and artificial length. They all looked at her with hopeful eyes and flushed cheeks. They were young—as young as (Y/N) was when she started traipsing around town by herself. She hoped they were being careful and looking out for one another.

"Yes?" she pleasantly chirped, lashes fluttering in a quick blink.

One of them dared to shuffle forward in her Prada sandals, sparkling iPhone clutched in her hand. "Can we get a picture with you?"

Without a second thought, (Y/N) answered with an "Of course! What are your guys' names?"

High on her attention, they flushed and giggled, hands shaking as they took turns to introduce themselves. The one with the phone in her hand—Izzy—was the ringleader it seemed, the most fearless of the trio though she seems just as incredulous to the fact (Y/N) was actually speaking to them.

"You're, like, my favorite person on Instagram, bestie," Izzy chattered off, too-white smile beaming, "My parents hate that I follow you, but I don't care—I think your outfits are cute, and I can't wait until I'm old enough to dress like that without them telling me no."

While the girls laughed and giggled, getting into position for the photo, (Y/N) tried to play along with a bubbling smile. It was more than uncomfortable to hear that these girls' families hated her, as well as hear about how much they couldn't wait to wear the same ensembles as she. At least, they were being nice.

Honestly, (Y/N) hadn't even thought that the outfits she posed in were something that should be reprimanded. She dressed in a way that made her feel pretty. She hadn't thought that the summer dresses she'd favored these last three months would be a subject of debate in households she didn't even know existed.

Suddenly the off-the-shoulder bodysuit and pair of high waisted jeans she was wearing weren't enough. She wished she had pulled on a sweater despite the heat outside.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) just laughed along, playing the part long enough to keep them happy before retreating for the day. Taking the offered phone, she turned towards Harry with it stretched out towards him.

"Will you take a picture of us, Harry?" she asked, acknowledging him for the first time since he grew stiff when the girls had initially spotted them.

"Sure," he answered gruffly, his gaze on her intense as usual though there was more curiosity than scrutiny this time around.

The girls posed around her, arms around her waist and beaming smiles directed at the camera. Harry tapped the screen a couple of times while the girls giggled at her sides. The breakaway was seamless afterwards, Harry passing back the borrowed phone and (Y/N) slipping away from where she was swaddled between them.

"It was so nice to meet you guys," she beamed, "But, we really need to head out. I'm sorry!"

"Totally fine, thank you," Izzy spoke for them, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "Maybe we'll see you at our next appointment."

"Maybe," (Y/N) laughed just before offering a wave as a final goodbye.

Her smile stayed stiff on her cheeks as they walked away, though the girls must not have gauged their volume very well with the way she could hear them clearly over the growing distance.

"That's her new boyfriend, Sydney! The one that she left Damien before, remember? He's the one in those pics from the other day," Izzy chattered off, much too loud to be appropriate in a place that would be considered a spa. And, because the subject of her gossip was within hearing range.

It was an interesting thing to be a few teenaged girls' favorite villain. Even with the way they seemed to like her, they still would believe that she'd lie and cheat and fight like that.

Harry was a solid, silent pillar beside her. He was a brick wall following wherever she went, only giving out a curl of his lips when he was acknowledged and he knew it was polite to do so. He stayed quiet up until he was escorting her through the plaza to meet up with Sully.

"Do y'ever get used to that?" he asked, voice just a hair louder than the click of her heels over the bricks under her feet.

"Hm?" she sounded, paying a little too much extra attention to the photo she was trying to take of her nails to send to Francesca.

"Having people watch you all the time and take photos of you. Do you ever get used to that?" he detailed, casting his eyes around to where Sully could be waiting along the curb.

Shrugging, (Y/N) tossed her phone into her purse. "I mean, kind of? It's been happening since I was in high school, but it's definitely been a little different lately just with... everything being posted about me and all." A beat passed once Harry spotted their car, the route changing as she followed after him. "I think I get it on the easier side, though, compared to others. At least people aren't attacking me or anything, right?"

Harry's lips thinned at her words, jaw tight. "Right."

Definitely the wrong thing to have said.

Replaying her words with Harry's icy reaction, (Y/N) wanted to cringe. Why did she even say that? Of course he wouldn't think that was funny or even lighthearted when his entire job was to keep her out of harm's way.

For a split second, she wanted to tell him about the letters and the photos she received. She wanted him to know that she knew that facet of her existence was serious—that she took his job seriously. But, that topic was more than off limits—something that would no doubt end in a phone call from her father and a one-way ticket to a Swedish cabin with no internet or link to the outside world for a minimum of six months.

(Y/N) followed Harry to the SUV, silent as ever as there was no way to really recover from her slip. He held the door for her to slide inside before he came in next to her.

Sully, the perfect breath of fresh air, twisted in his seat when they filed in. A broad smile could be seen under his moustache. "Let me see," he told (Y/N) offering a hand out for her.

Happy to show off her nails, she gave her hand to him. "They're a different shape than normal, but I thought they would look nice with the French tip."

"They're amazing," he smiled at her, the same response he always gave her when coming back from a nail appointment. "My daughter is going to want some just like that when she sees them on her phone."

Settling back into her seat, (Y/N) smiled. "Let me know, and I can set up an appointment for her and everything. She'll just need to take care of them."

"I'll tell her you said that," he told her before twisting back to face forward in his seat, "Anywhere else for the day?"

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry observing the moment. Just like usual.

She could go and start some prep for her Gala night outfit, take a look at Vivienne Westwood and Dior, but the idea of Harry being her only companion after her misplaced joke wasn't something she had much interest in. She, at least, needed Francesca for something like that.

"Just home today, Sully. Thank you."

Sitting in the back of the SUV, bench seat shared with Harry, (Y/N) felt exposed. She just hoped she was making the right moves under those watchful eyes.

—————

Heaving a sigh, (Y/N) listened to Francesca with her phone pressed to her ear, her gaze cast across the New York skyline.

"I'm sorry," Fran pouted through the line, (Y/N) practically able to hear the flutter of her lash extensions through the receiver. "If I had known, I wouldn't have promised I could make it."

"It's okay, it's not your fault," (Y/N) soothed, chewing her bottom lip, "I can move my fittings to later in the afternoon, maybe? Would that work?"

"You know how my mom gets when she comes into the city," Francesca sighed, sounding exhausted before the day had even started, "Her and her husband are back on that thing about me being a gallery owner, so you know they're planning on taking all day to make me realize how much of a dream it is for me—I just don't know it yet."

(Y/N) couldn't help the itty, bitty smile that touched the corner of her lips. How silly the two of them were; Francesca's worst problem is her mother wanting to gift a gallery to her, while (Y/N) squirmed at the thought of having a personal security guard follow her to keep her safe.

Nonetheless, she did feel her heart deflate a bit knowing that her best friend wouldn't be accompanying her to something they both loved doing. As a bonus, Francesca would have also been acting like a buffer between she and Harry. Now she was going to be left with him sitting and brooding in the corner with his criticizing gaze while she twisted and turned in a multitude of mirrors.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," Francesca said again.

"It's okay, don't worry, okay?" (Y/N) repeated, hearing the sounds of the city from her free ear as the morning rush began and wouldn't stop until late at night. "Tell them I said hi, and I'll send you pictures of my favorites. Maybe we can still do our alterations together if everything matches up?"

"Yes, definitely! I'll see you tomorrow night and we can talk about it more then."

"See you tomorrow," (Y/N) settled, sinking into her lounger, "Love you."

"Love you, too, bestie!"

With that, (Y/N) pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. Out on her balcony, the morning chill touched at the bare slashes of skin revealed by the open, crochet knit of her cardigan. Despite growing up with a fear of heights, sitting up in the balcony of her high-rise apartment, it was easy for (Y/N) to luxuriate in the thin air and clear out her brain for even a moment.

She was going to get through today. Even if she is photographed today, if she receives an intrusive letter, if another story is spun dragging her name through the rain and mud, she was going to make it through. Besides, she loved going to Fifth Ave; the fashion houses were her second home in the city. She couldn't back out on them now, not when her stylist pulled rank and ensured she would have a private fitting at Vivienne Westwood and a tour across an archive of Dior jewelry just for her.

(Y/N) was just going to have to trust the opinion of sales people who worked on commission and were too scared to look her in the eye half the time. To be fair, they hadn't steered her wrong just yet, even if they never really looked at the way the garments fit her, just because that would require a longer than a single second glance at her.

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) reminded herself: she was going to get through today.

A buzz in her hand alerted her, taking her from the skyline and back to her phone.

Sully👑

I'm here and ready whenever you are.

At least she would get to see Sully this morning. It was always a good day when he was there to ground her.

Trekking through the building, (Y/N) gave her usual smile to the uninterested doormen and avoided eye contact with the man who was tapping away aimlessly on his phone, another person waiting to be buzzed up, she was sure.

Peering through the glass doors, she saw the SUV on the curb, Sully having made his way to sit just outside the entrance. He was stationed outside the car, his hand poised on the door handle to help her in. Even with the deep tint on the windows, she was sure Harry was waiting inside. A silhouette with too nice of a profile to be wasted on a security detail.

Sully's features softened into a grin when he saw her step outside of her building, his usual all black attire just as immaculately pressed as always. "Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted, hand on the door to pull it open for her.

"Morning, Sully," (Y/N) reciprocated, the long form of her cardigan fluttering behind her.

Just as she suspected, Harry was waiting patiently on the bench seat of the SUV when Sully pulled the door open. He didn't look up as she slipped inside, crossing her legs once the seatbelt was secured across her form.

"Good morning, Harry," she murmured in the quiet of the leather interior.

Glancing up at her from where he had been tapping away on his phone, Harry took her in in a brief sweep over her form. He brought his knuckle up to his nose, brushing underneath the tip. "Good morning."

The sound of Sully's door slamming shut brought (Y/N)'s attention forward from where she was stuck on the flickering green of Harry's eyes. "Now to Ms. Francesca's apartment?"

"No, actually," (Y/N) clarified, shifting in her seat, "Franny's mom is coming into the city today so she had to cancel."

"Oh no," Sully genuinely pouted at her through the rearview mirror, eyes meeting hers, "I'm sorry, (Y/N). Straight to Fifth Ave, then?"

"Yes, that's perfect," (Y/N) chirped, feeling Harry's gaze on her through the interaction, never once did the shift to Sully. "Vivienne first, please. Dior after."

"Got it."

Pulling away from the curb, Sully was the expert driver he always was, slipping them seamlessly into the traffic without so much as a jostle over the pavement. Cars were slow moving at this time in the morning, but she knew he would make quick work of the distance.

"Jus' us today?" Harry piped up, his voice a low gravel that had (Y/N) pulling her gaze on her nails to land on him.

Swallowing, she nodded. "Yeah. If you don't want to sit through all the dress stuff, though, I'm sure Sully can take you elsewhere while I'm busy. I can just let you know when I'm ready to move to the next spot."

No hesitation before he spoke again: "No, thank you. I'll be staying with you."

She didn't expect any other answer if she was being honest, but it was the polite thing to ask.

With no room to argue, (Y/N) fell silent, leaving just the sound of distant car honks and the light radio melodies playing. The route to the Vivienne Westwood location on Fifth Ave was a familiar one, even with the traffic and swerving drivers it didn't seem so long from where (Y/N) sat. She gazed out the tinted windows, the world looking just a little bit blue. People in too high of heels to be walking on the crumbling sidewalks with brand name shopping bags tucked under their arms were blurs beside her as Sully toured them through the city,

The car slowed when the storefront came into view, the elegant font of Vivienne's name bold over the crystal windows.

Sully sent them off after helping (Y/N) onto the concrete, promising to return as soon as he received word that she was ready to move on. Harry was her silent shadow as she stepped over the sidewalk like a runway. The mannequins in the windows were corseted and perfect, standing on thick platforms with sparkling jewelry. An effortless smile stretched across her lips as she pushed the door open, the brassy golden handle warm under her palm from the New York heat.

Her heels were muffled as she stepped over the eccentric carpet. (Y/N) swore she could breathe just a bit easier in here. Many of the shops along this Avenue were the closest thing to being at home, especially when she was growing up and itching to do anything but be at home with her parents. She had an abundance of nice memories tied to these stores and brands; summers spent with Francesca and a credit card, impromptu fashion shows with pieces that wouldn't go together on a runway. While there were more than a couple of workers that became annoyed with them after only a few minutes of the duo walking into the shops, these places were the easiest escape.

Sweeping her gaze across the shop, she took in the elaborately dressed mannequins and clean shelving. Everything was lit up on display, highlighting the contrasting colors and the punk-inspired pieces that gave Ms. Westwood her name. Racks and displays were scattered throughout, leading the walkways like a twirling river of black and white streaks. (Y/N) gravitated towards the racks with the signature structured corsets of the Westwood brand, draping fabrics and glimmering pearls.

The entire space was quiet, her stylist—Dom—having made his calls and ensured the space would be free of any other shoppers while (Y/N) was getting her fitting done. (He was a little paranoid when it came to others leaking looks and style choices when it came to events like this Gala. It had happened once a few years earlier with a different client, and he seemed to have never forgotten). That left the entire morning free for (Y/N) to try on all of the imported pieces they had picked from the archives and Harry to brood around her like a temperamental potted plant.

It didn't take long for a familiar head of coiffed blonde hair to appear around the corner of a jewelry case. A too-white, too-straight, too-perfect smile was plastered across his face—the kind of smile (Y/N) was halfway sure was fake, but that was just commission-based customer service.

"Will!" (Y/N) greeted with a matching smile, breaking the ice as she turned on her heel to face him fully.

"(Y/N)! How are you, my love?" Will bubbled, posh accent wrapping around her name. He was adorned in his usual all black suit, velvet accents lined throughout. The length of the flared pants made him look that much taller, long limbs strong. The classic Vivienne Westwood pendant had been refashioned into a broach he pinned to his lapel, chains falling from around the Saturn that glimmered like the gunmetal manicure on his fingers. Something shimmery rained over his eyelids, just punk enough to fit Vivienne but high class enough to please those that guarded Fifth Ave like a dragon's treasure.

When Will approached her, hands delicately held out with his lips puckered, she didn't hesitate to turn her cheek and indulge in the air kisses he always made a fuss about. Though it made her cringe, like one of those girls she knew in private school that spent the summer abroad and suddenly started speaking in an accent and bringing up their travels at any given moment, she enthusiastically partook in the greeting.

Best behavior was required in shops like this, the associates tending to be some of the worst gossips and best storytellings in the city. If she was anything but perfect, with the way the media was already latched onto her, it wouldn't take much convincing for someone like Will to sell a story to any publication.

"I'm doing so well now! I was hoping I'd be paired with you for my appointment."

He waved her off with an incredulous face. "Well, of course they'd pick me. They only give you the best, hunny!"

A round of laughter erupted between them, something that sounded just as fake as it felt in her throat. Harry was notably quiet, watching everything unfold. He didn't bother to try and step in to introduce himself, observing as always.

"Come, come," Will gestured, inching towards the grand fitting room plotted in the back of the shop, "All of these gorgeous archive pieces made it in last night, just for you! I shouldn't be surprised, you and Dom have such wonderful taste, but I just love to see it, really."

Will chattered to her as he escorted them through, bubbling about how excited he was to show her the garments as well as see them on her. While she knew a portion of his personality was a customer service front, he was one of her favorites here. He was more positive than uppity, unlike most of the other sales people she'd run into during her time perusing this street.

Making it to the large fitting room in the back, (Y/N) immediately spotted the white garment bags hanging from the single stall. It was a large room that could have easily fit in stall after stall, but instead was used as a luxury space for only a single patron. Plush carpeting was installed under their feet, black lightning bolts breaking up the creamy white. A shimmering chandelier hung above the circular dais situated in front of the three-sectioned mirror on the far end of the room, crystals dripping from the wrought iron branches almost low enough to graze the head of the person standing on the dais. Cozy chairs were pushed throughout, the space anticipating guests, along with the tray of champagne glasses and a chilled bottle awaiting serving.

Finding a pause in the chattering, (Y/N) asked, "Are any of the girls helping today, or is it just us?"

"Just us!" Will chirped, carefully uncorking the bottle of frosty champagne, "Dom made it especially clear that he didn't want anyone unnecessary to be here; he said he wanted to make sure no one could leak anything."

"Sounds like Dom," (Y/N) sighed with an affectionate smile, dropping her purse onto one of the houndstooth printed armchairs.

Harry found his own chair silently, sinking into the cushioning though he didn't seem to relax much at all. His gaze stayed alert, looking around the entire space—probably looking for any cracks as if a supervillain could swing through the drywall and take her captive. Or, anything (Y/N) could damage should she finally snap in his presence.

She wondered what he thought, not three weeks into the job without a single tantrum that she knew her father had prepared him for. Hopefully she was showing she wasn't as much of a problem as her father was convinced.

Shrugging out of her cardigan, (Y/N) caught the way Will eyed Harry. He swept his gaze over, analyzing the same way Harry analyzed everything else.

"But, I see you brought a friend," he tittered, looking at her with that sly gaze. Harry didn't even flinch at the first acknowledgment of his presence.

Keeping her demeanor perky and bright, (Y/N) made a point to look confident—but not too proud. She didn't want to look like she was showing off a significant other, so she couldn't smile too much, but she still had to smile just enough not to look shy or smitten. She didn't want to give Will any reason to describe her as being "bashful, over the moon for her new man".

"Yes, that's Harry," she gestured to him, Harry barely offered a small smile when he took a second to look in their direction, "He's my bodyguard"

"Bodyguard?" Will asked, blonde brow raised in an arch.

Sighing, (Y/N) politely took the offered glass of bubbling champagne from Will's hand. "You know how it goes sometimes," she started, sipping delicately from the flute for a chance to pause, "Photographers have been a little crazy lately, so I figured I might need a little extra help."

"Oh I'm sure," Will bubbled, looking at her with a furrowed brow feigning concern, "With everything that's happened with Damien, I bet those paparazzi can't get enough of you."

He eyed her the same way he eyed Harry, as if there were details he could glean from her with just a glance. He was hoping she would spill, give him something to whisper over.

Shrugging it off as nonchalantly as possible, she took another careful sip of her champagne. "Anything for a photo, you know," she said, rolling her eyes as if being hounded for personal information and photos of intimate moments was nothing more than an inconvenience. "But!" she perked up, popping her hip with a spark to her voice, "I want to see what Dom picked out for us!"

Hooked by her excitement, Will caught the giddy way she talked and reacted with his own enthusiasm. "Okay, okay, sit down and close your eyes," he instructed, waving her back into her spot, "Because, you are going to freak."

Doing as asked, (Y/N) settled into her seat with her eyes fluttering closed. She could hear Will padding away, leaving her with just Harry though if she hadn't already known he was there, she would have assumed the complete silence meant she was alone. She couldn't imagine being so quiet all the time, alert and scrutinizing. She wished she knew what was going on in his brain.

The zip of garment bags and rustling of fabric drew closer as the time ticked on another minute. With the way her heart peaked, her giddiness was no longer an act. This is the stuff that made these events worth it for her; she loved playing dress up as a girl, and this was just the same but even prettier, in her mind. She could pretend to be a real princess this way.

"Okay"—a pause for dramatic effect—"open," Will said, a smile clear in his voice.

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) saw the flash of pearl pink laid hanging in front of her. Will held the padded hanger up for her to take in the entire gown, his free arm behind the skirt to help put it on display under the light. The fabric looked like liquid pearl, tinted in a pastel, cool pink that glimmered with a golden sheen in the light. It shifted before her eyes, showing shades of silver and purple, metallic and pearl. A blend of everything pretty in the world, (Y/N) decided. The top was the signature corset that she loved from the Westwood designs, the neckline featuring a deep scoop to show off her chest, structured and tight. The skirt was a length that would drag behind (Y/N) as she walked, draping down from the corset with a thigh high slit up the side. The sleeves to hold it up were nothing but a three-tiered string of pearls, each loop bigger than the last to rest lower and lower on her arms when she put it on.

While there was a small collection of garment bags hanging up behind Will, (Y/N) couldn't imagine looking at another gown after this. It was too beautiful—the perfect personification of her thoughts that she had jumbled together to Dom during a late night FaceTime. She couldn't have ever imagined her scattered thoughts coming together enough for him to know exactly what dress from the Westwood archive to request for her.

But, this was exactly it.

She almost felt as though she needed to wait, to make sure it didn't just melt off of the hanger and drip onto the floor. She wanted to ensure it was real before she became too excited.

"Dom picked a couple from the archive and a few from the most recent runway, but this is my favorite," Will told her, his tone conspiratorial like he was sharing a secret just for her, "I think it would look gorgeous with your coloring, too. And, I know you're a pearl girl, so."

Standing from her seat, she abandoned her glass of champagne on the side table. She was sure her eyes were too wide on her face, taking in all of the gown as if it would disappear if she blinked too long.

"Are you kidding?!" she bubbled, "I love this! I almost don't want to see the others, I love this so much."

Will shook his head immediately. "No, no, no, we're playing Barbie today, you're still trying on the others. But, I'm happy we're on the same page with this one."

In a split second, (Y/N) saw something flourish in Will's eyes. The corner of his lips quirked up, too sly of a curl to be innocent. He turned towards Harry, showing off the dress just as grandly as he did for her.

"What do you think, Harry? This would look gorgeous on her, don't you think?"

Harry, the master of nonchalance and being chronically unbothered, barely batted an eye when Will caught his attention. If not for the fact (Y/N) knew who he was and what his job entailed, she would have thought he was one of those people from Williamsburg, where it was cool to be uncaring. Fortunately, she knew he genuinely couldn't care less about what was going on in this fitting room as long as (Y/N) wasn't being assaulted or causing property damage.

His eyes fell over the gown, sweeping over the details in that scrutinizing way he always looked at his surroundings. "It looks nice, yeah. I don't know much about this kind of stuff, but 'm sure it would look nice on her."

A beat passed. Will waited for more, waited for his digging expedition to come up with results. Harry only blinked.

"Okay, well!" Will moved on, smile a touch stiff. He turned towards (Y/N) with those same bright eyes. "Let's get you all tied up into this, and then we'll see for sure."

(Y/N) eagerly allowed Will to usher her through the door to the changing stall, eyes flitting to the dress as soon as she could spot it in the mirror. He didn't waste a second before he started chattering to her about some drama that apparently happened when the garments were dropped off the night before, trivial things that were embellished for the sake of getting her to laugh. (Y/N) wanted to say she listened intently, enjoying the way he prattled on and told the story as if it were a myth, but she honestly couldn't spread her attention between him and the dress that was beginning to swath around her body.

Her day clothes were dropped to the floor at her feet, leaving her in undergarments before Will helped her into the dress, the corset stiff with the boning straightening out her spine. The beginnings of the look came together before her eyes, the fabric forming around her body the tighter the corset was zipped. The skirt seemed to be dripping off of her body the way it moved under the light, molten and sticky. With the slit opening up as high as her hip, the pearl glimmer stood out against her skin. Will helped her push the straps of her bra down, sliding them into the sides of the corset to make it look that much more real.

Times like these were the only moments (Y/N) felt as if she could be photographed—wanted to be spotted. She loved dressing up, she loved feeling pretty in her skin, she loved these kinds of special moments. It never got old to her, feeling the glide of silky fabrics on her skin, the glimmer against her skin tone, looking like the princesses she used to idolize when she was a kid.

Twisting and twirling in the mirror, (Y/N) could feel the smile curling on her lips.

"Well, what did I tell you?!" Will beamed, standing back in the mirror to meet her eyes in the glass, "Better than the runway, my love!"

"You're so sweet," she told him, a pout on her lips as she matched his eyes in the mirror, "Thank you."

"Let's go look in the big mirror, see it from all the angles," Will prompted, reaching his hand out to help her step off the circular, raised platform in the dressing room.

(Y/N) followed him through the door, letting him take her to the three panel mirror at the head of the room. He held the skirt for her as she stepped onto the platform, her feet chilled through her socks once she was steady. He fanned the gown around her, the split showing off the stretch of her bare thigh. She stood tall with her posture corrected with the corset, but the confident tip of her chin had everything to do with the way she felt in the dress.

Running her hands over the fabric, she followed the ripples in the pearl with her eyes. Seeing herself like this, she didn't care what her dad had to say about her, the tabloids, or the rumors. She liked what she saw in the mirror, and that was enough.

"Do a spin, look at the back," Will instructed, hands clasped together with his own smile beaming on his features. When (Y/N) did as much, showing off the deep dip in the back that showcased the planes of her back and the seamless lines of the corset, his smile only widened. "Classic Vivienne," he murmured, impressed as if it were his own work, "What are you thinking for your hair?"

Using her hands to loosely emulate the idea she currently had in her head, (Y/N) craned her neck as she looked in the mirror. "I'm not sure yet, but I think Dom had something vintage in mind. Big and drape-y to show off the dress, but I haven't talked to my hair stylist yet."

"Jewelry?" Will asked, circling around her as if appraising a diamond.

(Y/N) launched into a description of what she and her stylist were thinking, imagining the Dior pieces glimmering against her skin and the way her hair would tickle her collarbone when she turned her head. She could already see the set of pearly nails that were going to be on her fingers, the tiny bag that she was planning on hanging from her elbow the whole night. Her bare feet shifted to be sheathed in the perfect pair of Manolo's she knew Dom was going to insist she wear to go along with the gown.

Everything came together with each twist and turn of her body in the mirror, pearls and crystals sparkling in her mind.

Will chatted away to her, telling her something about how the skirt could be altered to lower the slit (something she was not interested in doing, honestly) and how glimmering crystals could be added here and there. She offered him a bubbly smile in the mirror, nodding along, though she might have been a little too absorbed with the way she felt in the gown to be paying any real attention.

In the mirror, with a twist to show off the back once more, (Y/N) caught sight of Harry. Just as usual, he looked at her with those ever-observant eyes. Even from the distance he was sitting away in the long room, she knew he was watching everything.

This time, though, he sat with his elbows crossed over his knees, leaning forward as if he couldn't see enough. A furrow of his brow shaded his eyes. Though he tended to keep his eyes latched to her anyway, he looked earnest this time; like there was more he was trying to find before him.

(Y/N) swallowed. He hadn't even realized she was looking at him, she didn't think, at least with the way he didn't shy away when she found him staring. Or, he just didn't care.

Maybe, she could argue, he found Will as a possible threat being so close and so touchy with her. That was his job anyway, see those kinds of possibilities where she normally wouldn't. And, he took his job seriously.

"I know we've pretty much picked already, but let's take a picture and try on the others," Will propositioned, pulling her out of her head, "We'll send them to Dom and see what he thinks, right?"

With a flutter of her lashes and her gaze disengaging with Harry's form, she straightened her falling smile. "Right! My phone's over there, if you want to take the pictures really quick!"

With her phone in hand, Will began snapping photos of her, (Y/N) posing and smiling with every angle on display for her stylist to analyze later. The moment erupted into giggles as the posing became more ridiculous, Will fueling her with the ways he angled her phone and goaded her to get more and more wild.

All the while, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her.

She found she didn't mind having his eyes on her.

—————

In front of him, (Y/N) twirled and twisted while her friend took photos of her. Harry watched the whole time, cataloguing the way the dress formed around her body, the silk sliding over her skin and glimmering under the light.

Harry's chest felt tight. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

She looked gorgeous.

In the front of his mind, he knew well that he would do better to be paying attention to their surroundings, watching her friend's hands, anything that actually pertained to his job.

But, he didn't. Instead, he watched his client. Even when she caught him.

—————

"Yes, sir, we're on the way."

Harry's voice was gruff and low as he spoke on the phone, (Y/N) listening in from where she sat next to him in the SUV. She played with the slowly dulling edges of her nails, pretending as if she had no idea as to what her dad was saying and asking on the phone to Harry.

She pretended not to catch the way he glanced at her from the corner of her eye, his gaze sweeping over her form before he was facing forward once more. "Yes, sir—she's dressed appropriately."

(Y/N) had to tune it out then. She didn't care to hear more of the checklist Harry had to go through in order to approve her walking out of the house. She felt more than exposed; under a microscope with everyone awaiting her downfall.

Not soon enough, it seemed the end of the phone call was finally nearing. Harry shifted in his seat as he spoke, giving a time estimate to their arrival before a mild "See you soon." left his lips and the call ended.

Biting back a sigh, (Y/N) sunk into her own seat that much more.

Of course, her father would call Harry over his actual daughter. She couldn't be trusted to give honest answers, obviously. Some days she felt disappointed over the way he acted with her, other days saddened for the little girl inside of her that ached for her parent's love, but days like this brought anger to the surface. She couldn't fathom how important he must think he was to believe he could speak to and about her the way he did.

Though the thought of looking at—let alone speaking to—him today was making her more than annoyed, she was already on her way to the country club and she couldn't back out now. At least she could eat as much as she wanted and buy just as many drinks all on her father's card.

He was going to be way too enthralled with his stupid country club friends—and Harry—to even acknowledge her, anyway. Whenever she was invited to see him on the green, she was meant to be nothing more than a pretty accessory, to show that he was a family man too, not just a ruthless businessman. She was there to be gazed upon by men way too old and way too married to be looking at her the way they did, but that was part of the reason she was called upon.

By the time the structure of the gated country club came into view, (Y/N) was already reading through the familiar menu in her head. She was going to buy the entire patio a round of drinks, she decided. Maybe even two rounds.

Going through the gates, Sully pulled them to the front of the building. The golf course stretched for miles around the main building, perfectly green and manicured, gorgeously maintained attractions throughout the holes with fountains and elaborate sand traps. The perfect kind of course for people with too much money and not enough actual understanding of the game. Around the back were the tennis courts and pool, everything warm blues with mosaic tiles, waitstaff crawling all over the place to tend to every whim of the clientele.

The bistro was her father's favorite part, though. That was where the whiskey was served.

He only pretended to care about golf just so he could laze around the club and smoke cigars in the afternoon and drink whiskey with people too stupid to realize he only saw them as dollar signs.

She could only hope he'd already had a chance to drink this morning with his friends, leaving him too sloppy to care if she snuck off to play some tennis or out to the koi pond in the garden. Maybe, Harry would even become too distracted with her father, too wrapped up in the schmoozing and drinks and promises, to follow her out. Maybe she could get a real chance to be alone this afternoon.

Sully helped (Y/N) out of the car as Harry waited for her on the walkway, the grand building behind him full of warm woods and golden fixtures. Large glass windows almost filling the complete space of the walls showcased the inside of the villa, the view only obstructed from the amount of greenery planted outside, tall bushy trees and manicured hedges acting as shades.

Keeping her tennis skirt from riding up her thighs, she used Sully's hand to steady her as she stepped onto the stone walkway.

"Thank you," she told him, voice quiet compared to the nature-esque sounds that came from the club and the various activities others were partaking in.

Sully nodded at her, gentle smile on his cheeks. "I'll be back soon. Do you want me to wait for your father's cue or yours?"

"Mine," she answered immediately. If it were up to her father, she'd spend the entire evening here with no end in sight. It would probably turn into some unwanted date with a random man he thought would be good for her.

Sully's smile was understanding as he nodded to her. "I'll be here as soon as you need me."

With that, she shared her goodbyes with her driver before joining Harry at his silent post a few feet ahead of her. He barely glanced at her before he started leading her into the club, opening the door for her to step ahead. He once again took the helm as he led her through the country club, (Y/N) standing back in favor of lagging behind. He might not know the club as well as she, but he at least knew where her father was expecting to meet them. This way, he would be the first person they saw, as well; that could buy her a couple extra seconds of being off before slipping into her role.

Walking into the Bistro, (Y/N) was greeted with the familiar smile of the waitstaff that knew her well. They didn't stop them as she gave a small wave, already assuming she was there to meet her father at the most boisterous table in the restaurant.

It was easy to spot him in the otherwise polite eatery, other patrons quietly dining with fresh tans or aching sunburns from the time outside. Sidelong glances were sent in the way of her father's table, some envious, others annoyed. She could deeply relate to those who were fed up with his noise. He was always much more bothersome after a few drinks.

Men gathered around him, clustered around his small table. (Y/N) recognized most of them. Some of them elicited a stiffening in her spine, her guard going up the much further in case their eyes wandered too close to her, others she knew as investors he most likely originally meant to meet here, and some she didn't know at all. It was still easy to suss them out, anyway; it was the giddy smiles on their faces and the way they barely drank, that showed they were people who had been fighting to be invited to the table and were way too excited to be in such a close orbit to her father and his friends. Gullible, the only way to describe them.

Twisting her Cartier bracelet around her wrist, (Y/N) tipped her chin with faux-confidence and plastered her tabloid-famous smile the second they stepped into the dining area. Harry was still in the lead, glancing at her over his shoulder once he also spotted their intended table.

Her smile didn't waver, ensuring he didn't catch any kind of reaction that could be relayed to her father.

The second her father turned to face them, stopping his conversation short, she knew the whiskey in his hand was not the first of the day. His eyes were glazed and warm, less scrutinizing but still nowhere near kind.

He lit up when he registered Harry's presence. "There he is!" her father shouted across the restaurant, a waiter's steps faltering at the outburst.

Stepping just out from behind Harry, (Y/N) noticed the way her father's gaze didn't deter from her bodyguard; a man he had met for the first time only a few weeks prior. In some ways, she was relieved to be ignored—it was easier this way, she knew—but other parts of herself were sore from the sting of being nothing worth noting to her dad.

Harry gave a small wave, still a touch too far away to give his own greeting back. At least he was being courteous of the other diners.

"This is the Harry I was telling you all about," her father continued, much too loud for the space though no one corrected him, "He's my daughter's handler."

Noises of recognition rattled around the table, some pretending, others giving knowing smiles. (Y/N) didn't dare to think about the stories he shared about her and Harry. He would no doubt be painted as a shining knight, clean and unwavering in control, while she would be left to be the troll of the story, the one being needing to be controlled.

Once they were near enough, those surrounding the table stood to introduce themselves to Harry, offering hands to shake and exchanging pleasantries. Harry took it in stride, his deep voice sticking out from the too-excited greetings of the others.

(Y/N) stood quietly behind. She could feel a pair of eyes or two falling upon her, but she was largely ignored in favor of Harry.

It's better this way, she reminded herself. None of these men's attention was worth it.

Feeling more like decor than a person, (Y/N) stood and watched as Harry was roped into the conversation, even taking a seat her father pulled up. All the while, her father sang Harry's praises, a hand clasped over his shoulder. Harry was just so smart, and qualified, level-headed and strong. (Y/N) had been so much better-behaved even—she might even be ready to be a wife instead of running around the city with her friends. Who knew it was a babysitter his wild child needed to finally calm down; another man to tell her what to do.

That comment made her smile dip. She hoped no one noticed.

The table erupted into laughter at his comment, jovially agreeing as if she wasn't standing right there. Harry was the only one to look at her from over his shoulder, a smile notably missing from his lips. He matched her eyes for a lingering moment before he dropped his gaze.

"Right," he said once he rejoined the conversation, the word missing the same enthusiasm the rest of the table held.

She stood for a moment longer, listening in as she fiddled with her bracelet, before she started inching away. "I'm going to go," she mumbled, noting the way no one seemed to look in her direction but Harry, "Probably get food or something."

(Y/N) turned on her heel then, half expecting Harry to follow, though she was sure the bigger priority was to stay with her father than continue babysitting her. She could feel the eyes of other patrons on her as she left the table, but she didn't stop to reconsider before she was slipping out through the backdoor.

The patio was bathed in bright sunlight, country club members lounging in the warmth with cocktails in hand while waitstaff meandered through the wrought iron tables. She didn't pay anyone any mind as she made her way through, giving smiles to those she made eye contact with before glancing away in favor of making as small of an impression as possible. Though it was generally frowned upon by the club to exploit its high profile members with covert photos or posting any details about the dealings within, that didn't mean it didn't happen. She knew more than a few times stories of her time at the club had been leaked to the press along with blurry photos, and she definitely didn't want that to happen again today with the way her father was shouting her business across the entire dining room inside.

Stepping off the stone patio, she made her way towards the gardens. A short hedge "maze" made most of the garden, leading her through with flowers littered around the space, small fountains, and a koi pond glittering in the center. Other than the tennis courts, this was her favorite space at the club.

The scent of the vibrant flowers beckoned to her, drawing her into the mini maze. A small smile took over her features, reaching out to caress the soft petals of the blooming roses. Fluffy bumble bees flittered between the blossoms, their tiny bodies covered in pollen as they went to each plant. A soft buzz filled the air as she walked, her careful footsteps over the plush grass adding to the delicate noise. It was easy to block out the rest of the commotion like this; the thumps from the tennis court, splashes from the pools, and the chatter from the patio all melted away. Trickling from the tiny waterfall fountains led her closer and closer to the center.

Zagging through the maze, she felt the sun warming her shoulders around the straps of her tank top. That same warmth seeped through to her bloodstream, floating her to the clouds just a little bit.

This was the first time she'd been out without Harry at her side. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

To be fair, she was beginning to get used to the feeling of having an extra shadow following her everywhere she went. That unsettling edge she had tied to having a security detail had begun to dull, finally. She didn't completely mind knowing that someone had eyes on her at all times, whether he was checking for her safety or for her bad behavior to peak. It wasn't something she would consider a normal feeling yet, but she could get there.

Hopefully, though, she wouldn't have enough time to get used to him. Hopefully, he'd be relieved of his post before she got that far.

With the lack of stories being printed about her, she even hoped that her father would grant her freedom sooner rather than later. The only things she saw about herself tended to be things about her summer outfits, or analyses of her instagram posts. Nothing major had been posted since Damien. She had to be on the right track if rumors about her were losing traction.

Falling back down to earth, (Y/N) grounded herself as she gazed down into the koi pond. The concrete barrier was carved with roses, the reliefs matching the actual blooms coming through in the hedges. The fish were graceful pops of color in the clear water, bright calico coral tones shining under the sun. Lilly pads with tiny flowers floated on the surface, allowing the kois to move like ghosts underneath. This was her favorite spot in the gardens, making it easy for her to sink to her knees with her hands perched on the lip of the barrier and gaze down at the creatures.

That childlike urge in her to reach out and pet the fish rose, wishing she could treat them like pets. (Y/N) almost wanted to laugh at herself with the way she had to remind herself to keep her hands to herself.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps sounded through the maze. They were close enough (Y/N) could hear the quick pace, the purpose someone would have to have to breeze through the leisurely maze like that.

For a split second, her muscles tensed, her lungs squeezed. Her first thought made her want to run.

The letters.

Whoever wrote them didn't want to hide anymore. They waited until she was alone like this. They could do and say anything they wanted here. No one would even know with the cover of the hedges.

Her heart raced in her chest when they grew close enough (Y/N) swore she could hear the sound of the grass crushing under the intruder's feet. Her breath caught in her throat.

She whipped her head around just in time to see someone breaking into the clearing.

It was Harry.

He had a scowl on his face, shoulders tensed, and eyes hard. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her sitting there in the grass, legs folded underneath her.

(Y/N)'s hand fluttered up to her throat, a sharp exhale leaving her lungs. It was just Harry, he reminded herself.

"Jeez, you scared me so bad just now," she breathed, sinking from how hard she had been tensed in wait.

"Sorry," he said, lips thin as he shifted his gaze to the koi pond behind her.

Though he looked just as closed off as he usually did, his demeanor matching his dark clothing, there was a bit more of an edge to his aura. If she didn't know any better, (Y/N) would think he was angry.

He heard her say she would be out back, she knew that. He couldn't be angry at her when he didn't follow her out of his own volition. Right?

A slight pinch knitted her brows together as she looked up at him. "Are... Is everything okay?"

Not shifting his gaze from where he had landed them on the blooms of roses in the maze, he gave her a curt nod. "Yes."

"Okay," she said, unsure of what else to offer in the quiet of the maze. Awkwardly, she rose to her feet, brushing nonexistent dirt from her tennis whites.

A beat passed before (Y/N) turned to face him once more, finding his gaze already on her. "You can keep walking if you want. I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said, his voice low as if to match the buzz of the bees.

"Are you sure?" she asked, still catching the storm in his eyes even if it had settled some.

Only a single nod was given in response.

With that, (Y/N) was the one to lead him through the maze. Harry was a welcome ghost behind her, silently following. He didn't complain with every lingering step between the blooms, didn't bother her as she felt the softened rose petals, didn't push her through in annoyance of the bees flying around their heads.

The second half of the maze seemed to relax him from the way she saw his shoulders relax, his gaze softening the longer they spent away from everyone else. She almost wanted to take him back to the beginning when they finally finished, the end of the maze opening up to a stone walkway that split with two avenues. One took them back to the bistro's patio, the other to the golf courses.

"Are you hungry?"

After the quiet that followed them through the maze, Harry's voice was a shock.

"Yeah, actually." (Y/N) answered after a beat.

"C'mon," Harry said, gesturing for her to follow after him as he started down the pathway rounding back to the restaurant.

The patio was just as bustling as when she had slipped through earlier, the expansive windows allowing her to peek inside and find her father still holding court. Pushing through the small gate that separated the space, the waitstaff turned to look at them from the pinched creak the iron hinge gave.

A familiar woman smiled from where she stood at the extra hosting podium stationed outside. "(Y/N)," she brightly greeted her, "Are you dining with us after all today?"

A short glance was spared in Harry's direction before (Y/N) was nodding. "Yes, please. Thank you."

The familiar hostess quickly seated them, menus and glasses of water left on the table. The waitress would be only a moment away, they were told. The service was always on the quick side whenever (Y/N) was here; they knew good and well who her father was, and the club loved a generous member.

Harry was quiet as they were waited on, looking over the menu as if it were a textbook to study. He didn't even look up when the fair-haired waitress made her way to their table. She introduced herself as Carly, though (Y/N) already knew her well enough from the last handful of times she had been dragged here by her dad.

"Before we start, were you wanting to open up a separate tab today, Ms. (Y/N), or put today's meal on your father's?" she asked, her smile bubbly as she relayed the same question they always posed.

"On her father's."

Flicking her gaze from the waitress, she saw Harry still looking at his menu as if he hadn't just spoken. That storm had returned to his gaze, a pinch appearing between his brows.

Carly was silent, looking between the two of them.

"On my dad's tab, please," (Y/N) confirmed, offering a soft smile before the silence had time to settle for too long.

"Perfect," Carly answered, writing down whatever message needed on the pad in her hand, "I'll give you guys a moment with the menu and come back and take your order. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," (Y/N) answered for them both, perfect smile on her lips until their waitress stepped away.

Silence settled between the two of them, Harry still focussed on his menu. Though it was a bit bold for Harry to assume they were going to be dining on her father's dime, she couldn't deny it was a little funny. That was her own plan after all, she just hadn't anticipated his vehement agreement.

Soon enough, their waitress returned. "Had enough time?" she posed, reaching to her apron pocket for her notepad.

Glancing at Harry, she saw the small nod he gave. "I think so," (Y/N) answered, already familiar with the menu enough to not have to glance through.

"Great," Carly chirped, pulling her notepad out, "Any drinks? Starters?"

Before she had a chance to order her raspberry lemonade, Harry piped up, "A whiskey on the rocks, please. And, the coconut mango cocktail."

There was a beat that passed as Carly wrote everything down. (Y/N) looked at him with raised brows. That was not at all what she had expected; wasn't he still on the clock?

For the first time, he glanced at her over his menu, something loaded in his eyes as he tipped his chin towards the leaflet with all the drink specials printed.

"And, for you?" Carly asked, facing (Y/N).

"Um," she fumbled, "Can I get a glass of Chardonnay please? And the raspberry lemonade."

(Y/N) didn't plan on drinking her wine, but felt as if she needed to match Harry in the ordering process at least.

"Alright, I will get all of that going for you, and I'll be back to take your lunch orders." With that, their waitress left, her notepad snapped shut and her gaze just a touch wary between them.

(Y/N) couldn't blame her.

A moment passed before (Y/N) dropped her menu to lay flat on the table. Harry looked up at her through his lashes.

"Are you really going to drink all of that?" Honestly, she wondered what a drunk Harry would look like.

"No," he deadpanned, "But your father is still going to pay for it whether I drink them or not."

The smile that tugged on the corner of (Y/N)'s lips was something that she couldn't help. It was out of character for the person she thought Harry to be—a loyal follower of her dad—, but definitely something she would have (and has) done herself.

"Right," she answered, gaze shifting to the menu in search of the most expensive items she could spot.

Maybe, Harry was closer to being on the same page as her than she thought.

—————

"Thank you, Carly," (Y/N) said as she signed the check, quickly passing it back to their server.

"Of course," Carly beamed. Her smile only widened when she saw the three digit tip on the line for her. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/N)."

(Y/N) didn't linger then, knowing Sully was up front waiting for them to be taken home. "Ready?" she asked Harry as she stood from her chair.

"Ready," he answered, much more relaxed than at the beginning of their meal.

Ignoring her father, (Y/N) left the bistro behind. He probably didn't even remember inviting her out for the day. It didn't matter, though, she thought.

He'd remember the three extra appetizers and handful of drinks left untouched on their table.

—————

rêvasser is to daydream in french.

I know it's a little light on harry at the start of this story but more exciting stuff is coming!!!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or anything please let me know !

933 notes · View notes

bbina · 8 months ago

Text

the date night with wonbin has started well. the moment he picked you up from your house, you were met with a giant bouquet of flowers sitting on the passenger seat. now you two were seated in an fancy and expensive restaurant at a rooftop that had an overlooking of the city of seoul.

needless to say that wonbin looked dashing tonight. he was out of his usual baggy urban outfits. tonight, he was wearing something more formal with his long sleeve button up but yet he still managed to bring his iconic wonbin vibe to it.

wonbin’s hands are beginning to get clammy the more time ticks away. for the first time in a long while, he’s nervous. nervous in front of you, who’s eating in front of him, happily munching on the steak you two have ordered

he hastily wipes his hands on the fabric of his pants. mentally preparing himself to ask you the biggest question of the night.

“will you, song y/n, be my girlfriend?”

wonbin repeats in his head. he has rehearsed this in front of the mirror too many times to count last night. his neighbors probably heard him with how loud each time he spoke to the mirror.

wonbin has been concentrating so hard that he barely noticed himself making faces that it actually caught your attention.

“what’s wrong, bin?”

your voice broke wonbin’s train of thought that he panicked and accidentally kicked the table, causing the said table to shake while wonbin hisses in pain.

“nothing!” he stammers, feeling the blood rush to his face. this cannot be happening right now. he can’t possibly fuck himself over. there was just no way. he can’t fumble this very stage of your relationship. he can’t. this is the day where he himself will change the trajectory of your relationship forever. take it to the next level where he can finally claim you as his girl - on paper. if anything you two have been a couple for as long as you could remember

you let out a small laugh. wonbin is so cute when he’s all clumsy.

“anyway i’ve been meaning to ask you something” you start, wiping your mouth with a napkin. wonbin pauses his actions, setting down his fork and knife, motioning you to go on with your question.

he might not show it (he is) but he’s a nervous wreck right now

“so i was out doing errands with eunseok the other day when i passed by this shop that sells clothes and i was wondering what color do you usually prefer on hoodies?” you ask a fake question. you just wanted to calm his nerves down cause it’s literally quite obvious where this date is going.

although you have a little plan that you wanted to be the one to ask him to be your boyfriend officially and not the other way around.

this all started because of you. so what better way to start a new chapter of your relationship together by asking him out yourself the way you asked him to be your fake boyfriend a few months ago?

“oh..!” wonbin breathes out. for a second there he thought YOU were gonna ask him the biggest question of the night. “well, i like black hoodies so black would be nice” he smiles, feeling a little relieved

well too bad for him that relief only lasted for a few seconds.

“great! now could you be my real boyfriend?”

with the way you said it so nonchalantly and so out of the blue, wonbin thought he missed the punchline of the joke you’re trying to make

“what?”

“will you, park wonbin, be my real boyfriend?” you shrug, grabbing your wine glass and taking a sip as you wait for his answer.

okay maybe it was a bad move on your part for asking him so casually. then again, you two were out on the fanciest date you two have ever been on. the dimly lit room just added a romantic vibe to the mood.

wonbin stares at you with wide eyes when the question finally registers in his head. did you really beat him into asking you the question he’s been practicing all night? there was no fucking way you just did that

you suddenly feel another sense of deja vu. this whole try again from square one shit with wonbin has been giving you nothing but deja vu from your first initial set up with the boy in front of you. back then it was obviously different but now that you are sure of your feelings for each other, it just brings out something you can’t pinpoint. it almost makes you feel giddy like this is the first time it’s happening with wonbin

“with the way you’re not saying anything right now i’m having flashbacks when i first asked you to be my fake boyfriend back at the villa but this time in real time” you hold in your laugh, watching wonbin open and close his mouth like a fish out of water. he was trying to say or counter you but the words aren’t just coming out

wonbin suddenly shakes his head no. you feel your stomach drop. is this him saying no to you?

“no. i don’t want to be your real boyfriend just yet because i wanted to ask you first” wonbin sasses, his eyebrows furrowed as he composes himself. wonbin clears his throat before speaking again

“will you, song y/n, be my girlfriend?” wonbin closes his eyes, “for real this time” he adds.

you let out a loud laugh, head falling back. this was all too funny for you. it really is deja vu. who would’ve thought back then that your little entanglement would eventually lead into something like this.

“since you sound really desperate then sure” you giggle, quoting his infamous text that you quite literally never forgot. how could you forget that anyway?

wonbin’s eyes snap open at what you’re trying to say. he feels himself blush at the memory. it was one of the first memory you two have shared together.

“not you quoting me” wonbin exclaims, covering his face with his hands. this whole situation isn’t playing out the way he imagined it would. he thought it would’ve been more romantic asking you out formally but what ended up happening was you two are asking each other out

“so are we like for real for real dating now?” you ask, a big smile plastered on your face as you stare at wonbin with loving eyes

“on paper, yes we are a real thing now but we’ve been dating for a while now” wonbin points out. you start laughing again. how can wonbin be so cute. you don’t even know what he really means by “on paper” but if it meant that you two are now officially dating then you wouldn’t have it in any other way.

“finally! i now have a real boyfriend!” you cheer, raising your wine glass to toast. wonbin follows suit, laughing at how stupid you two asked each other out in the middle of the fanciest restaurant in town.

“cheers, my real girlfriend!”

“cheers, my real boyfriend!”

you both chorus, clinking your wine glasses together as you both take a sip at the same time. as uncommon it was to ask the guy out, in your head it makes more sense to ask wonbin first since you two would’ve never happen if it wasn’t for yourself.

what a night.

wonbin has put the car to park outside your house. he was about to drop you offafter a successful date with you but he just remembered something.

“oh i almost forgot” wonbin quips, reaching over to the backseat to grab a neatly wrapped white paper bag with a big sage green ribbon on it. your eyes widened at the second gift of the night. was the big ass bouquet still not enough?

“how many gifts did you have prepared for me tonight?!” you exclaimed, taking the said paper bag from wonbin’s hands. wonbin just offers a grin, waiting for you to open his little gift

you slowly unwrap the gift bag. hands shaking as you anticipate what’s inside. what else could wonbin gift you at this very moment?

you were met with a familiar sage green box. your eyes widened as you slowly put two and two together. it was from van cleef & arpels. there was no way in fucking hell that wonbin would just casually gift you something from van cleef. you hurriedly open the white velvet box where you were met with the familiar dainty pendant that the brand was known for.

before you can say anything, wonbin beats you to it

“remember that day i went out shopping and i texted you that i got us matching necklaces? i obviously didn’t have the chance to give it to you after you know.. but now i think the timing is right so i hope you’ll like it.. i’m wearing the same one right now too”

wonbin tugs on his own necklace to show off the matching necklace. it was the exact same pendant, the only difference was the color. his was a black one and yours was white. a sheepish smile makes its way on his face as he shows off the fact that he got you matching necklaces.. an expensive one at that

“now i feel bad i don’t have anything grand to give you” you cried out, reaching over to wonbin to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek

“i don’t need gifts from you when you’re all i’ll ever want and need” wonbin muses, feeling himself blush as you shower him with endless kisses.

wonbin grabs the necklace from the box on your lap before motioning you to turn around so he could delicately place the necklace on your neck. you pull your hair up so it doesn’t get in the way

“there” wonbin says, proud of himself. you turn around to face him, making sure the pendant was seen and right in the middle of your chest.

“you look so beautiful, baby” wonbin gushes, leaning in for a kiss on the lips. you feel him smile against the kiss making you feel butterflies.

“i love you, wonbin” you say between the kiss. wonbin’s eyes look like they were gonna pop out of his sockets. did you just say the L word to his face?

“what did you say?” wonbin repeats, he’s probably hearing things right now

you let out a giggle, pulling his face closer to yours as you press kisses all over his face

“i said, i love you, wonbin” you say again, eyes directly boring to his soul

“oh you don’t know how much i love you more” wonbin says before leaning in for a kiss. a hungry one at that.

let’s just say it was a steamy night for the both of you

between the lines ★ you’re all i’ll ever want and need

⤷ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

˗ˏˋ prev | next ˎˊ˗

★ notes .ᐟ hey,,,,... hows everyone doing :] im soso sorry for the lack of updates!! i didn't expect to have a busy week so im really sorry for making everyone wait!! maybe we have to wait a little longer for the last chapter too... jk ill try to work on it while i fix my writers block so....... HERES THIS. ynbin nation we have come so far

★ taglist .ᐟ @callanton @annswwa @renjuneoo @pinkraindropsfell @lecheugo @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ahnneyong @haechansbbg @snowyseungs @sseastar-main @odxrilove @leeknowarchives @onlywonb @wonychu @leehanascent @au-ghosttype @revehosh @keilovr @kyusqult @dreamyyyz @ether-yeol @yangasm @qwonbani @starwonb1n @ffixtionista @daegale @scrumptiousloser @seunghancore @koryutte @ohmykwonsoonyoung @reenfluffmarshmallow @bunni @artstaeh @yizhoutv @sie17136 @koeuh @07yujin @poollabug @vernonburger @dutifullyannoyingfox @000rpheus @wccycc @sunus-sun @highhjime @chweverni @heartlvrrss @s9nwoo @yoursyuno @rosesfortaro @lampcults

207 notes · View notes

toournextadventure · 1 year ago

Text

movie night pt.v

Summary: Sam doesn't distrust you quite as much and Tara scares you. Guess that means it's time for them to meet the family.

Word Count: 6.4k Warnings: Excessive swearing, suggestive themes, Scream levels of violence/mentions of violence Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

“One more attack and I’m takin’ you to Mercy,” Aunt Sherry said as she finished cleaning the dried blood on your neck. “Conscious or not.”

“I understand,” you said quietly. You supposed after another 17 stitches, you couldn’t really argue with her.

“Your Ma never wanted this life for you,” she said, her hand resting on your shoulder.

You knew she meant well, but this conversation wasn’t helping. Clearly Ma never wanted this for you, she hadn’t even wanted it for herself and Pop. Trouble was always quick to follow your family, and you were more than adept at figuring out how to navigate it. This was a different obstacle, sure, but you were clever, you could make it work.

None of you had been taught how to keep others out of trouble, though.

“I’ll see you at Mass,” you said with a smile before hopping out of the ambulance for the second time in 24 hours.

Anika had already been rushed to the hospital. As far as you knew, they were confident she would pull through. Damn, she was one tough sonofabitch. You would need to make sure you sent flowers or chocolates or something. What would she even like? Maybe you should ask Mindy.

“Who knows where you live?” Sam asked once you shuffled your way to the group. All these Ghostface attacks were giving you major deja vu.

“No one,” you said when you stopped beside Tony. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Course not,” he scoffed, “I know the family rules.”

“Well he found out somehow,” Chad said.

“Well it wasn’t from us, smart guy,” Tony said defensively. “We don’t tell nobody where we live.”

“Only ones who know are Garret and the lot of you,” you said. “And I only called Tara.”

“And where is Garret?” Mindy asked as she held her now-bandaged arm.

“His dad’s house up in the Hamptons,” you said with a shrug. “Not gettin’ back till next weekend.”

“And you’re sure he’s up there?” Tara asked.

“Yes I’m sure, now quit with the interrogation,” you huffed. “Got enough of a headache as it is.”

Tara didn’t say anything but reached down and grabbed your hand, slotting her fingers between yours. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It was starting to become abundantly clear why she had kept her distance. Was this going to happen to anyone that got close to the Woodsboro gang? Because that was enough to have anyone on edge.

“So what now?” Tara asked.

“Chad and I are going to the hospital with Anika,” Mindy said softly, her eyes hazy.

“Quinn is already being escorted to the police station,” Sam said.

A phone rang.

Everyone’s eyes darted to Tony, who was already digging in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and showed you the screen, and you gulped. Oh god, this was so bad. You couldn’t do this again, you were barely holding it together as it was.

“Is it him?” Tara asked.

“Worse,” Tony said as he handed you the phone.

You watched it ring two more times before closing your eyes and answering it. The moment you held it up to your ear, you heard the static on the other end. It didn’t matter how tough you were, you weren’t prepared. Hell, nothing could have prepared you for it.

“Hey, Ma,” you said in the sweetest voice you could muster.

“If the two ‘a youse don’t get your sorry asses over here in the next 20 minutes, I’m chainin’ your ankles and throwin’ ya in the Hudson.”

“Just calm down-”

“-don’t you dare tell me to calm down, you don’t even call me to tell me about this bastard?”

You sighed. “No I don’t because you start actin’ like a wise guy!”

“Get your asses over here, Y/N.”

“Ma-”

“-Now.”

You exhaled through your nose and looked over at Tony. He mouthed a “sorry” before he shrugged. Lot of good he was. Sam and Tara were still looking at you with a mix of concern and… were they laughing?

“Can we bring two visitors?” You finally asked.

There was a bit of silence.

“Only if you follow the rules.”

“We will,” you said.

“Then yes.” A beat of silence. “And hurry.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said. “We’ll see you soon-”

-the call hung up and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Well, that went well. On the other hand, you had been on the receiving end of worse calls from your Ma. This honestly wasn’t all that bad, at least she didn’t curse your bloodline. Well, not that time.

“You threw me under the bus,” you mumbled as you handed the phone back to Tony.

“I ain’t puttin’ up with her rage,” he said even as he slid the phone back into his back pocket.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“We’re goin’ somewhere safe,” you said. “Well. Safe for you.”

“She’s gonna kill ya,” Tony mumbled.

“Shut up, I know,” you mumbled back as you placed your hand on Tara’s lower back and started guiding her down the streets.

“Shouldn’t you make sure the police don’t need anything?” Tara asked, looking back at your crime-scene of an apartment building.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “they let this happen, they can do it on their own.”

You all bid goodbye to Chad and Mindy before everyone went silent as you and Tony led them through the streets of New York. It was late, the lights were blinding, and the grating sounds of sirens faded into the usual chaos. There was something comforting about it; you didn’t think you’d ever be able to live somewhere that was quiet. How Tara had managed to live in Woodsboro forever was beyond you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. Namely a certain motherfucker who had quickly moved to the top of your shit list. Oh if he just gave you the chance, you were going to make him pay. No way on God’s green earth were you going to let him get away with any of this bullshit.

“Where exactly are we going?” Sam asked when you took them into an unassuming bakery in the Bronx.

“Can’t tell you,” Tony said.

You made sure to wave at Chris when you walked by the counter and guided everyone through a back door. It was a bit suspicious, you wouldn’t lie. Come to think of it, you didn’t think your family had invited anyone over since… well, since Dicky had brought Carol over a few years ago, actually. Oh man, maybe you all needed to reconsider your rules.

“It’s not as sketchy as it seems,” you said when you turned to look at them. “But I need you both to close your eyes.”

“Excuse me?” Tara asked.

“I said it’s not as sketchy as it seems,” you huffed.

“I’m not letting you lead us into some back room,” Sam said with crossed arms.

“If you don’t close your eyes, I can’t take you in,” you said. “It’s family rules.”

“Really?” Tara asked.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. They both looked at you in silence. “I know how it sounds.”

“If we close our eyes will you quit floundering?” Tara asked. “You’re going to catch flies.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “Please just follow the rules, I’m tired of just standing here like a psycho.”

Sam and Tara shared a look, opposite of the one you shared with Tony. You both knew it was a bit sketchy, you knew. But when Ma and Pop made the rules, they made the rules. How were you supposed to argue? You weren’t, that’s how. Besides, if Ma and Pop found out you were breaking the rules they would have your heads.

“Fine,” Sam said with a sigh before closing her eyes. Tara quickly followed suit.

Both you and Tony shared a sigh before guiding the two girls through the back door. You each held on to them to make sure they didn’t trip over something as you took them down through a cellar and into one of the underground tunnels. Most people didn’t know about the tunnels under New York City, but your family had memorised them as if your lives depended on it.

Which, sometimes they did.

You took them through a dizzying amount of turns until you got to the door that led up to your house. If the family was smart, they would’ve locked it. And unfortunately for you, it was locked. Damn, you had hoped they would’ve lost their mind for a few seconds, you weren’t in the mood to dig around for the new location of the spare key.

The tip of your ear started to throb when you bent down to look for the key under the crate of bootleg whiskey.

“Found you,” you mumbled to yourself when your fingers brushed against the ridiculously oversized skeleton key.

“Can we open our eyes now?” Tara asked.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “We gotta get you inside first.”

“This is how people die in horror movies,” she continued while you shoved the skeleton key into the similarly oversized keyhole. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, Tara, I know that,” you bit back, finally pushing the door open. “Now come on.”

You held Tara’s hand tightly as you helped her up the stairs to your house. Well, it was your parents’ house, but that didn’t really matter. Only once you and Tony had brought both girls up to the living room did you finally pull them to a stop. The blood rushed in your ears. You hadn’t ever brought anyone home.

“Okay, you can open ‘em,” Tony said before you found your voice again.

Both girls opened their eyes slowly; you almost wanted to laugh at how wide they got when they looked around. Sure, maybe the brownstone was a bit extravagant. All the exploits of the past were on display; trophies, if you would. From the old paintings, to old newspaper clippings of heists, to the Tommy gun your great grandfather had owned before he passed down the mantle. You supposed it was a bit of a shock to the average person.

“Are you…” Sam trailed off before looking back at you. “Are you-”

“-yeah,” you said with a nod. “We’re Italian.”

“Y/N Vitale, you be nice to those girls.”

“Oh shit,” Tony said as the four of you turned around quickly.

Your eyes went wide - much like Sam’s and Tara’s - when you saw your Ma walking towards you with violence in her step. Oh, you were in trouble. You were in deep shit and no one was going to be able to save you. Maybe you should’ve just taken your chances with Ghostface; he scared you less than your mother.

“Hey Ma-”

-you were cut off by her harshly gripping your jaw and pulling you down until you were eye level with her. She twisted your head and looked at the injured ear you were sporting. Everyone flinched when your neck popped. What was one more injury in the long list of injuries you were starting to get?

She turned your head again until you could look her in the eyes. As much as you feared your Ma - respectfully, of course - you knew concern when you saw it. It never came off the way normal people did, but you knew it. It was in the crinkles around her eyes as they checked every inch of your skin.

“Are you ladies hurt?” Ma asked as she let go of your face. You rubbed your jaw as you straightened back up.

“No- um, no ma’am,” Sam stammered.

“We’re okay,” Tara followed.

“Good,” Ma said, turning to look at them and putting on her motherly smile that you certainly never got to see. “Then welcome home.”

“How come they get a welcome and I get a once-over?” You asked.

“Because they stayed safe and responsible and you didn’t,” Ma shot back. Tara snickered while Sam turned her head to hide a smile.

“As if that’s my fault,” you grumbled.

“And what did I say about tracking blood into my house?” Ma asked, raising her brows at you.

“I didn’t!” You argued. “But I’m sorry, they don’t let you grab clean clothes out of an active crime scene, Ma.”

“I’m talkin’ about your feet,” she said with a gesture down.

All five of you looked down at your feet, and you flinched when you saw the tracks you had left in the house. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, you hadn’t even noticed you hadn’t grabbed shoes. But as you lifted one of your feet and checked the bottom, all the pain you had ignored came rushing to the surface.

Glass, dirt, and who knew what else was embedded in the skin. When you looked back, it seemed you had been leaving bloody footprints for who knew how long. Part of you figured you hadn’t tracked them through the Bronx, but you had most definitely tracked them through the tunnel. Damn. Pop was going to make you clean it all up.

“I put some spare clothes in the bathroom,” Ma said. “So get your raggedy ass upstairs and clean up before dinner.”

“Yes ma’am,” you muttered as your shoulders fell.

You ignored Tara’s barely-concealed laughter as you pushed past her to head upstairs to your bathroom. Well, you supposed technically it wasn’t your bathroom anymore, it was Ma’s, but she could suck your dick. The nerve of that woman, to call you raggedy. You were the perfect gentleman, it wasn’t your fault some psycho had decided to target you.

Just as Ma had said, she had left a folded set of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. It looked a little too formal if you were being honest, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And you certainly couldn’t afford to be a chooser. Ma would have your head if she found out you had even thought about different clothes.

The stitches of your ever increasing wounds pulled tight, leaving a throbbing sensation around the jagged skin. Aunt Sherry had done a wonderful job, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. In the end, you grabbed a pair of hair scissors and just cut your shirt off. It was old, torn, and blood soaked; you could get a new one.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the shirt as you managed to wriggle out of your sweats. Not all of that blood had been yours. Some of it had been Mindy’s, and a lot of it had been Anika’s. Your friends’ blood was soaked into your shirt. Each breath you took felt laboured as you wallowed in the thought that the very thing that kept your friends alive was staining your shirt.

With a shake of your head, you put the thoughts aside. This wasn’t new, you had seen blood before, you were fine. One step at a time. Finish getting out of your clothes, start the shower, wash your feet. And the rest of the dried blood that was becoming itchy. Oh, Ma was gonna kill you for dirtying up her shower.

The water was steaming by the time you finally stepped in. You let out a hiss when it hit your skin, creating more than just a throb in your wounds. It stung, bad. But surely it would clean you right up, right? Sanitisation, yeah, that’s what it would be. You get clean and fight infection; two birds, one stone.

By the time you were down to your feet, you were sitting on the edge of the tub while the water fell on your back. Your hair dripped into your eyes and you were constantly trying to push it back so you could see. The pair of tweezers in your hands was slick from water and you just needed to get a few more pieces of glass out so you could finish up.

You weren’t looking at the door when you heard it open.

“I told your sorry ass I’d be out in a minute, this is delicate work,” you called out.

A small hand appeared in front of your face and, without lifting your head, you looked up to see Tara standing in front of you. She, too, had been given a spare set of clothing that looked a little too big. Whose shirt was she wearing anyway? Her hand never moved until you sighed and placed the tweezers on her palm.

“You’re shit at this,” she said as she knelt down and started looking for the few remaining pieces of glass.

“Don’t have to be good, just have to be effici- ouch.” She swatted your hand away when you went to stop her from hurting you again. “You’re so rough,” you grumbled.

“Don’t have to be gentle,” she said as she looked up at you, “just have to be efficient.”

“You’re so mean,” you whispered even as you shifted your position to ease a certain… uncomfortable feeling.

Maybe you liked when she was mean. Maybe you liked it a little too much. Oh god, your family was going to see how whipped you were for a girl you hadn’t even properly been on a date with. Bringing Tara to the house maybe wasn’t such a smart idea on your part.

“Do you have gauze?” She asked, setting the tweezers down in the sink so more blood than necessary wouldn’t get on the floor.

“Underneath the sink,” you said with a gesture of your head. “Got a whole first aid kit.”

You watched her as she got up and checked under the sink. It only took a moment, it was a giant metal kit, no one could miss it. In fact, when she brought it out it was almost bigger than she was. You bit the inside of your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at her. If your body wasn’t at her mercy, you wouldn’t have been so polite.

She quickly dug around and got to work finding everything she needed before getting started. Her hands moved expertly as she started cleaning and bandaging your feet. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve guessed she had been a nurse in a past life. Unfortunately you did know better, and the scar on her hand just reminded you of how she knew so much.

“I never said thank you,” she said after she finished wrapping your left foot.

“For what?” You asked as you leaned back to turn the water off; you weren’t going to need it anymore.

“For saving Mindy and Anika,” she continued.

She wasn’t looking up at you. Quite the contrary, it was almost like she was avoiding your eyes. Why would she thank you for such a thing? It wasn’t like you were going to leave them behind to die. You weren’t always the sharpest tool in the shed - Ma made sure to remind you of that every now and then - but you weren’t that selfish.

“You don’t gotta thank me for that,” you said softly.

“I just did,” she said as she finished wrapping your right foot. “You’re done.”

You placed your feet on the ground and stood up slowly, easing your feet back into holding your weight. It hurt, ached even, but at least they were clean. How you hadn’t noticed the injuries before Ma, you had no idea. But quite frankly, Tara did a phenomenal job of wrapping them securely.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Tara ordered, and you looked up just in time to catch the towel she had thrown in your direction. “Your mom is torturing Sam by giving her a lecture on street safety.”

“You should’ve listened to it too,” you said, but you quickly started drying off. “You hippies can’t handle these streets.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said through gritted teeth as you pulled your pants up. It hurt your feet to be moving on them so much. “Notice your bunch weren’t even here for a few months before getting attacked.”

“And you know so much about street safety?” Tara asked. “The one who got shot at a protest?”

You hesitated. “Yeah, I do.”

You were facing the mirror as you started buttoning up your shirt, and you could see Tara staring at you with furrowed brows. Maybe you should’ve just kept your big trap shut. It wasn’t exactly the greatest time to be getting into backstory now, was it? No, it most certainly wasn’t.

“You didn’t get shot at a protest,” she said slowly. “Did you?”

You turned around as you finished tucking your shirt into your pants. “Sorry, doll,” you said with a smile, “only girlfriends get to know that information.” With a wink, you gently pushed past her and exited the bathroom.

“Oh you dick,” you heard her say even as she followed after you.

You waited at the bottom of the stairs before placing your hand on her lower back and guiding her through the brownstone to the dining room. Everyone’s obscenely loud voices reverberated off the brick walls. Seemed the whole family was invited for dinner. A little unusual considering it was a Thursday night, but given the circumstances it could be forgiven.

A wide variety of “hello”s deafened you when you and Tara walked into the dining room. Everyone was dressed well - the same dress shirt and pants as you, which was typical - and they had pulled out a few extra seats for Sam and Tara. Gale was sitting beside your Pop; she gave you a smile and a small wave, which you returned.

“Oy, Street Rat,” Mitch called, “be a good pup and show your girl to her seat.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, but nonetheless led Tara to one of the two empty seats next to each other.

Out of pure mercy, you let her sit between you and Sam so she wasn’t having to deal with any of the other family members. The others heckled you when you helped push her seat in. You could feel your cheeks heating up while you grumbled and plopped down in your own seat, refusing to look up at any of them.

“Quiet,” Pop said, and the room immediately fell silent. “Who’s gonna say grace?”

“Can’t be me,” Joel said with a shrug. “He clearly don’t listen cause Y/N is still here.”

“You really wanna be a wise guy tonight?” You asked. “Cause I still got a lot of pent up anger.”

“Enough,” Ma said quietly, but you all listened. “I’ll say grace.”

"Yes, Ma," everyone said in unison.

"Bow your heads," she said, and everyone slowly did as instructed.

You cheated a little bit. While Ma was saying grace, blessing the food and yours and the Carpenters' lives, you looked at Tara out of the corner of your eye. If you looked a little harder you almost thought you could see a flush on her cheeks. For what, you had no idea, but you made the split decision to reach over and take her hand.

She linked her fingers with yours right before Ma finished.

"Amen," each person said before all normal talk resumed.

You helped Tara and Sam get their food, making sure everyone behaved. They did, they all knew the family rules, but the Carpenters didn't and you knew the lot of you could be… a little chaotic. Eight kids, two parents, sometimes the spouses and nieces and nephews. Lucky for the girls, it was only the immediate family.

"Oy, show me the ear," Dicky said right as you tried to start eating.

"So you can point and laugh?" You asked. "No way."

"I just wanna see," he said.

"I got it," Alfie said around a mouthful of food.

The look on Tara's and Sam's faces was comical when Alfie reached across the table, gripped your jaw, and turned your head. You did your best to smile at the two of them to let them know it was normal, but they didn't seem to believe you. If anything, it almost made Tara look a little frustrated. Maybe even angry.

"That's it?" Dicky asked when you snapped at Alfie and he let you go. "All that hubbub for that?"

"What do you mean?" You asked. "I got a notch outta my ear, I was gonna get that part pierced."

"All he's sayin' is you took on Ghostface twice, and that's what you walk away with?" Joel butted in. "Pass the salt, wouldya?"

"It's more than you ever walked away with," Martha defended you. "Don't listen to a word he says."

"The two 'a youse walk away with any cool scars?" Mitch asked, turning to look at Sam and Tara.

You could see them squirm in their seats.

"Watch it-"

"-fuck off-"

"-none of your business." Martha, you, and Mercy all said at the same time.

You felt Tara squeeze your hand once.

“Hey Street Rat, you down to make a run for me?” Dicky asked.

You didn’t bother swallowing before you answered. “I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’ this week.”

“I didn’t mean this second, jackass.”

You glared at him and swiped your tongue over your bottom teeth. “Sure,” you finally said with a shrug, “just give me a week and I’ll be back in action.”

"So," Sam started, wiping her mouth off on the napkin before looking around the table. “What do you all do for a living?”

“Accounting,” every single one of you said at the same time. Pop squeezed the bridge of his eyes as you all looked at each other sheepishly.

“All of you?” Sam asked.

“Mercy’s a doctor,” Tony chimed in.

“Accounting’s a family business,” Dicky said with a gentle nod.

“Right,” Sam said with her own nod and a polite smile. Something told you she didn’t exactly believe him.

Conversation continued as normal, with everyone talking over each other. Thankfully, they all started asking Sam and Tara normal questions, and you could visibly see them start to relax. You wondered when the last time was that they had a family dinner. Not including Chad and Mindy; they were family, but they weren’t family. There was a bit of a difference.

“Ladies,” Pop said once Ma had brought out the cannoli. Everyone froze, only their eyes moving between him and the Carpenters. “It’s been a pleasure to have you, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The girls stiffened in their seats, and Tara squeezed your hand again. You tried to give Pop a look that said to calm down, but he wasn’t even looking at you. His eyes were trained on Sam and Tara, and you couldn’t blame him. Hell, you didn’t know when non-family had been over last. Hopefully he was going to behave.

“You might not understand the gravity of this statement, but Vitale blood has been spilled for you two,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in front of him on the table.

“Oh brother,” you whispered.

Tara looked at you and you shook your head lightly and rolled your eyes. This was going to be ridiculous.

“One of us,” everyone looked at you, “felt you were worth dyin’ for.” You sighed. “We don’t take that lightly.”

“We greatly appreciate it-”

“-we have a family rule,” he interrupted Sam. “If one of us voluntarily spills blood for someone, we all follow suit.” He leaned forward on the table and waited until both Sam and Tara were looking him in the eye. “We’ll put that Ghostface character at the bottom of the Hudson.”

“Tone it down a smidge,” you whispered and gestured down with your hand.

Pop opened his mouth and closed it once. “We’ll, uh, protect you with our lives.” You gestured again. “Welcome… to the family?”

“Better,” you whispered with a scrunch of your nose that was followed by a gentle smile.

“We really do appreciate it,” Tara said.

“It’s nice to know we have, um,” Sam inhaled deeply and looked around, “Italians on our side.”

“Atta girl,” Mercy said.

“You catch on quick,” Martha agreed.

Dinner finished soon after, and everyone went about collecting the dishes and cleaning. Martha, in all her pregnant glory, kept Sam and Tara at the table, talking their ears off. At one point, you took the still-full coffee cups from in front of them and heard her talking about… something. You weren’t entirely sure, you just knew the word “family” was being thrown around a lot.

Tara looked at you and mouthed “help me.” You just smiled, shook your head, and mouthed “no” in return. The glare she gave you… it was no question she and Sam were related, they both had killer eyes. Tara’s were particularly beautiful at that moment though, did she know that? They almost reminded you of a warm hazelnut-

“-You’d best keep movin’,” Martha said. She was watching you with a ridiculous smirk. “She’s got a look that could kill.”

“Would you like some tiramisu?” You asked. Tara’s eyes softened, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes please,” she said.

“I’ll go get it.”

“You’re whipped!” Dicky called from the kitchen before you could even stand up straight.

“Give it a few days, Dick,” Joel said as he leaned on the doorframe. “Tara’ll have ‘em on a leash.”

“Shut up,” you shot back as you pushed past them to get into the kitchen. “It’s called bein’ polite.” You carefully plated the tiramisu. “Somethin’ you clearly know nothin’ about.”

“Seems our little Street Rat’s turnin’ into a Guard Dog,” Mitch chimed in, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Your family really came out of the woodworks, they did.

“Next time Ghostface calls, I’m givin’ him your address,” you said as you walked back into the dining room and placed the plate down in front of Tara. And Sam, you had made her a plate too.

Maybe you were whipped.

“Do it,” Dicky said. “Matter ‘a fact, give him my phone number too, he and I need to have a talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t tolerate that shit on my turf.”

“That’s enough,” Pop said, and everyone quickly shut up. “Go home, the lot of ya.” He looked down at Sam and Tara. “We’ve got beds made up for the both of you.”

“Thank you,” they both said with polite smiles.

“Gale stayin’ tonight too?” You asked.

And just like that, she came in at the mention of her name. Speak of the devil.

“Yes I am,” she said with a smile. “I have something I want to show you three tomorrow when it’s day time.”

“What did you find?” Tara asked quickly.

“We’ll have more time tomorrow,” Gale answered. You watched as Tara slumped back in her seat in defeat.

Everyone finished cleaning up their stuff and started leaving the brownstone. You could see the gears turning in Tara’s head when they all left through the front door, but you shook your head at her. It wasn’t something she needed to know at the moment. It was late, dark, and everyone just needed to get some sleep. If she really wanted to know more later, you would tell her.

Probably.

“She gonna have you in a muzzle next time I see you?” Joel asked as he blocked the doorway.

“Keep movin’,” Tony said as he pushed Joel out. “Call me if ya need somethin’,” he said to you with a smile.

“You got it,” you answered. “Now get out, I’m exhausted.”

Mercy gave you a kiss on the cheek and Martha gave Sam and Tara hugs, but then everyone was gone. You were left with the Carpenters, Gale, and your parents. It was… disturbingly quiet, if you were being honest. You almost missed the chaos of having everyone over. Well, you would see them all at Mass, it would be fine.

“All of you get upstairs and get to bed,” Ma said with a gentle nod of her head. “It’s late and I know you all must be tired.”

“Come on, Sam,” Gale said with a gesture, “I’ll show you to your room.”

“Good night,” Sam said with a polite smile and wave. A chorus of “good nights” followed her as she similarly followed Gale upstairs.

“Tara sweetie, you can sleep in Y/N’s bed,” Ma said before looking at you. “I made you a pallet on your floor.”

“Thanks, Ma,” you said, leaning in to leave a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, you two.” You leaned over to give Pop a kiss on the cheek as well.

“Good night,” Tara said with her own small wave.

You placed your hand on Tara’s lower back as you gently pushed her in front of you up the stairs. Unfortunately for you, your room was right beside the two guest rooms that everyone else was staying in. Not that you necessarily had anything planned, but even if you did, you wouldn’t dare risk Sam or Gale hearing you.

Sometimes life was rather cruel.

“She left you some pyjamas on the bed,” you said once you showed Tara into your room. “Bathroom is down the hall, we’ve got spare toothbrushes in the top left drawer.”

“Thanks,” Tara said softly.

You watched as she grabbed the pyjamas and promptly exited the room, leaving you alone for the first time since your shower. And now that you were alone, you could feel all the wear and tear of the past two days weighing heavy on you. Anika was still in the hospital. Was she even alive? Surely she was, someone would have let you know, right? Or they at least would have let Sam or Tara know.

And what about Quinn? She would be safe at the police station, you knew that much. They didn’t care for anyone else in the city, but they did care for their own. There was no way in hell they would let anything happen to a Detective’s daughter, especially when that daughter was Quinn. No, Quinn was safe.

Chad and Mindy were safe at the hospital with Anika. There was no doubt about it. Your family had people up there, and Pop had already said he told them to stay close and keep their eyes out. They would die before they let anything happen to those three, so they were actually safer than any of you.

When Tara came back into the room, looking mighty adorable in the oversized t-shirt and sleep pants, you gave her a smile and made your own way to the bathroom. You needed to get out of those clothes pronto before you lost your goddamn mind. The clothes were comfortable, but you were starting to feel constricted.

You left your toothbrush hanging out of the side of your mouth as you unbuttoned the shirt. Each inch lower revealed still-forming bruises and the few bouts of stitches. With a grimace, you finally let the shirt fall to the floor. You didn’t mind scars, really you didn’t, but you hadn’t wanted to get them this way.

Maybe that’s how Tara feels too, you thought with a frown as you finished brushing your teeth and cleaning up. You hadn’t entirely planned for it, but you had known it was a possibility. But Tara? She hadn’t had any idea. And it had all been done by her girlfriend’s hand. What kind of havoc did that wreak on a person’s mind?

You were still thinking about Tara and Amber when you walked back into your room. Tara was already on the bed, her back to you. The door closed with a soft *click* and you turned the light off before plodding over to the pallet. There was an art to pallet making, and your family had perfected it. But as you laid down on the floor and tried to pull the blanket up to your chin, your injuries started to throb and sting.

It wasn’t going to be the floor that kept you awake all night.

There was no way you could lay on your right side, you had that cut on your hip and your right ear was missing a piece. But you couldn’t lay on your left side either because you had that cut on your bicep. Maybe if you tried to lay on your front- nope, not that either. If you had to sleep sitting up, so help you god, you were going to snap-

-something shuffled on your bed, and you quickly stilled yourself. Shit, you hadn’t meant to wake Tara. You were practically holding your breath as the shuffling continued, but then you heard the creak of the bed and someone walking across the room. It was dark, but you didn’t have to use anything more than common sense to know it was Tara who was lifting your blanket and crawling into the pallet with you.

“Not a word,” she said softly as she carefully wrapped an arm around your waist and rested her head on your shoulder.

It hurt. You would rather die than tell her that. Instead, you just pulled her closer and tried not to shift when her fingers rubbed the skin on your hip. It was obsessive, incessant, and it was almost becoming uncomfortable. But you weren’t going to tell her to stop, not when something was clearly on her mind.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this,” Tara said softly.

“I’ve been dragged into worse situations,” you said flippantly. “And never by a pretty girl.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” she said, almost as if she hadn’t heard what you had just said.

“I don’t plan on it, sweetheart,” you chuckled.

Her hand left your hip and you felt her grab your chin and turn your head. You couldn’t really see her, not properly at least, but you knew she was looking at you. Studying you for something; you wouldn’t pretend to know what. It strained your neck, but you kept your mouth shut.

You felt her pull your face down until her lips were on yours. Soft but firm. It wasn’t a kiss that was going to lead anywhere, she wasn’t trying to move any further. But judging by the way her bottom lip quivered, you knew it was important. You held her tighter to you until she pulled back and let go of your jaw, resting her head back on your shoulder.

“That didn’t mean anything,” Tara said softly.

“I know,” you said with a nod of your head that no one could see.

You both knew she was lying; you still fell asleep easily.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

742 notes · View notes

teriri-sayes · 7 months ago

Text

Reactions to Crazier Bastard's Chapter 295

Brief summary: The group enters the World Tree's garden and feels immense pressure, except for Cale. WT is trapped in a prison of time.

==========

Not much happened today. We had another tsundere Cale moment with Clopeh though. 😂

Cale's group: *enters WT garden and feels suffocated* Clopeh: *smiling but does not look good* Cale: *looks at great elder* Great elder: Everyone put these on. *hands bandanas made of woven leaves to be worn over one's nose and mouth* Cale: Why are you giving this to us now? *annoyed* Great elder: The only people I've seen who don't need to wear a bandana here are the Dragon Lord and Exion. Cale: Were you trying to test us? *glances at Clopeh and sees his complexion return to normal* Clopeh: *smiles* Were you worried about me? Cale: No. Why would I? (There's no reason to worry about him out of all people. Why worry about a guy who remained strong in the past even though he had dead mana bombs attached to his limbs?) Cale: *turns away from Clopeh* Clopeh: Fufu.

And we also had another "Are you human?" moment with Cale... 🤣🤣🤣 The great elder said that the only beings who were free from the immense pressure exuding from the source of the world's power were gods or those aiming to be gods.

Great elder: If you absorbed the source of the world, you'll be able to withstand the pressure of this place to some extent. Cale: *stops walking after feeling goosebumps in his arms* Great elder: Someone at the level of a god. Or only a strong person aiming for that position would be free from this pressure. Great elder: *looks at Cale* Great elder: …And you are free from that. Erza and Mold: *looks at Cale differently* Cale: (What is this deja vu?) Great elder: Are you human? Cale: I'm a very pure human. Great elder: *heavily doubting* Cale: *explains about his nature ancient powers* Great elder: *trembles and becomes even more convinced*

The World Tree was trapped in a prison of time created by the Dragon Lord. In that place, the WT was forced to relive its time of near-extinction repeatedly. When Cale entered the prison of time, he found himself in a snowy mountain. In the center of that mountain was a huge flame. There was a boy kneeling with his entire body bound and burning in the center of those flames. The boy was the WT, and he asked Cale if he was the reaper who came to kill him.

Given that the WT had been suffering like that for 200 years, I'm not surprised that it had become suicidal.

Ending Remarks Cale's moments with Clopeh always make me laugh. 😂 And people wondering if he was a god too. 🤣 Next chapter would be Cale's conversation with the WT. I wonder how he would save that poor boy. 😟

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

141 notes · View notes

valkyriephoenix98 · 21 days ago

Text

Just a mad idea(when it comes to Sonic 3)

I know a lot of people are wondering if there will be any references to Either John wick, Speed or the matrix...

But here's a clever idea..

What if they reference the movie

Point Break.

Hear me out!

For those who know..you'll get where I'm coming from..those who are unsure but have heard of it

There's a bit where Keanu's character is chasing down this one guy and he was going to make the shot..but hesitants because he knows the guy and once the guy escapes, Keanu's character gets frustrated and starts to fire his gun up at the air going

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(You've probably seen it being mentioned in Hot Fuzz)

Now here's an interesting idea

What if they reference that in a way...maybe a little bit differently but you can see it in a way..(to see if they're clever enough to notice it)

Maybe a while after Sonic tried to talk to Shadow and try to reason with him (but you know Shadow being too hellbent)

But once Sonic and the others were going to escape to the "next level"

Shadow would see them and would try to take a shot at them all so they don't..but the second Sonic looks back like he's sensing that something is off and would stay behind for a moment until his friends go in the portal...(think of the first movie at the beginning in a way)

Shadow would charge up his energy ready to fire a Chaos spear and catch him off guard by hitting Sonic with it

But before he could...Shadow felt the urge...to hold back his fire..because the fact that Sonic stayed behind for a moment..arms ready like he was ready to go down fighting if it means to protect knuckles,tails..or even Maddie and Tom..That made Shadow hesitant...giving him certain memories that gave him deja vu.

Shadow wants to take him down right there and now...because he did said perviously

"We are Not the Same, I am Nothing like you"

But is that entirely true?

But once Sonic gets called to hurry in..sonic shakes his head and goes in before seeing Shadow in the dark..looking at him before the portal closes as he continues forward..

Leaving Shadow...on His own....he stood there..confused on WHY he didn't do it,

WHY did he stop himself,

That confusion would then become fustration and he would fire his energy and destroy the nearest thing..like a rock or a tree or even a abandoned vehicle or a nearby lake (I dunno) and yell out of anger over the fact that he couldn't actually do it...not after seeing Sonic like that... being protective and willing to put himself at risk in order to protect his friends and family..

Almost like him..

But hey, that is just my theory..what do you think?

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #keanu #point break #sonadow #hot fuzz

27 notes · View notes

heliads · 3 months ago

Text

wish i could drag you back down - arthur x eames

Arthur wakes up in a time loop. It's not a dream. If he can't make his reality go back to normal, then he might as well find something to pass the time, and no one knows how to entertain like Eames.

tw: suicide mentions (trying to wake up from dreams)

masterlist

The first time the day repeats, Arthur doesn’t even realize it. Nothing stands out as particularly wrong. He does get a particularly strong surge of deja vu every now and then, but Arthur brushes it off as sleep deprivation and nothing more. He’s been going to bed later and rising earlier for a while now. It wouldn’t exactly be a surprise if his circadian rhythms were so off-kilter that he started doubting himself more than usual.

The second time the day repeats, Arthur assumes it’s a dream. Cobb has been branching out a lot lately; being with his family is good for his heart but frustrating for his mind. If you train a lab rat to escape labyrinths, and you give it trial after trial for years, what happens to the creature when you let it go free? Does it run through the tall, waving grass of its new home in the meadow in search of high maze walls to escape again? Does it chase the sound of plastic clickers, or thrust itself into danger time after time in the hopes of being rewarded with a treat of constant mass and type?

Cobb went home. It was good for him. Six months went by before Arthur started getting texts again. Harebrained ideas built around a core of truth. Suicide missions coupled with a baseless guarantee that they’d all walk out alive. His mind was restless. Eventually, Cobb gave up on the ruse and admitted that he wanted back in again. Saito was more than happy to finance him, knowing he’d get the bigger pot in the end. They’re all better when they have a task to complete.

This could be a dream, then. Maybe Arthur is the test subject this time around. Maybe he’s supposed to be doing something in this endless repeat. If the goal was to determine how many times a day could repeat without the subject realizing it, they’ve fucked that part up pretty well. Unless this isn’t the second time Arthur has been through this day. Unless he’s done this many times already. Maybe he’ll only remember when he gets out of the dream.

The third time the day repeats, Arthur starts killing himself. It’s the only guaranteed way to wake yourself up, isn’t it? He throws himself from the roof, but wakes up in the same day again, not the familiar workshop as expected with the rest of the crew surrounding him. Fine, then. Maybe Cobb put him a layer deep. The next day, he drowns himself. The day after that, he jumps off of a bridge into the ocean, just to be extra sure.

The sixth time the day repeats, Arthur realizes that this isn’t a dream at all. Cobb isn’t capable of putting a man more than three levels deep without them going into Limbo. If he really wracked his brain, maybe he could find a way, but it would be dangerous, and he would never do that to Arthur. And nobody else could do it except Cobb, so this shouldn’t be happening.

Which means– Arthur isn’t sure. He had assumed this was a dream. There was no other logical explanation. He hadn’t yet tried his totem, so confident was he that this was not his true reality. A rookie mistake, maybe, but not in a case like this. Using the totem is for when it is impossible to distinguish real life from a false dream. In real life, days do not repeat. What else could this be?

On the morning of the sixth day, Arthur pulls a red six-sided die out of his jacket pocket. He sits down in a chair in front of his table, stares at the die, holds it until the sides grow warm, then convinces himself to roll it. He does not want to roll the die. He has no other choice but to roll the die.

The moment the totem leaves his hand, Arthur wishes he had kept it with him for good. If it had stayed forever atop his palm, cushioned by his fingers, it never would have hit the wood surface of the coffee table he only bought because the workman had no customers and looked at Arthur like a child whose parents didn’t make an appearance at the talent show. If he had kept holding that red die, it wouldn’t have skittered across the table, it wouldn’t have spun twice, and it wouldn’t have come to a stop with a specific number atop it, the white dots winking up at him mockingly.

Arthur snatches the die off the table like it personally offended him, then rolls it again. He doesn’t have to. Arthur knew from the moment he removed it from his pocket that it was a trick die, the very same one he made the first time a man named Dominic Cobb came knocking with a very strange job offer in hand. He knows what the outcome means. He knows that he is not dreaming.

This is the very worst outcome of them all. Arthur can wake up from a dream. If he’s in a dream, someone put him in there, or someone can pull him out. Or, someone can watch him from the other side, and keep him safe until they find a way to get him back to his desired reality. If this is reality, then Arthur has absolutely nothing tethering him to safety. He is floating in the middle of a vast and unknowable sea, worse than Limbo and absolutely unescapable.

Arthur is immediately terrified.

Arthur does not like being afraid.

Who does? Certainly not someone involved in the complexities of dreaming. Arthur’s control over what he does in a dream is mathematical. He plans out every detail. He ensures that nothing goes wrong. Right now, Arthur has no control. It is worse than dying. At least dying has a guaranteed end. Arthur cannot even use the cheat card of pulling a trigger to get himself out of this loop.

The answer, then, must lie somewhere within this day. Arthur is a reasonable man. Days do not repeat for no reason. If there is a question, there has to be an answer. Life would not look at him and decide to drive him mad forever without a just cause. If Arthur could just do something right, maybe save a life or solve a puzzle, if he can prove himself to be good again, maybe some force out there will take pity on him and put him back in the natural flow of time again. He just has to be good. That– that, he can do.

He even stops killing himself. Puts the gun away and stays far from heights. Checks the street three times before crossing. He heads into the warehouse they’ve been using as headquarters and sits down in front of Cobb, who’s eyeing Yusuf’s latest sedatives like he wants nothing more than to dive headfirst into unconsciousness again.

“So,” Arthur says as an abrupt preamble, “What are you doing to me?”

Cobb cocks his head to the side. “Pardon?”

Arthur just keeps staring him dead in the eyes. “I remember you sending me under, and now the day is repeating. What did you do to me? What were we testing?”

Cobb shakes his head slowly, looking at Arthur like he’s mad. Maybe he is. It’s only been seven days, but seven days of the same thing already feels like too many. “We’re not testing anything, Arthur. It’s just another day.”

“No, it’s not,” Arthur insists forcefully. “I’ve been here seven times now. You’re doing something, I know it.”

“Why me?” Cobb asks, genuinely confused. “You’re my friend. Why would I do anything to you?”

“You’re the only one who would,” Arthur says. It sounds terrible, so he adds on hastily, “You’re the one in charge of jobs. We all follow you. If anyone decided to send me under for something, it would be you. Just tell me what it is so I can get out of it.”

Cobb frowns. “You think you’re dreaming. Have you tried your totem?”

“Yes, I’ve tried my totem, and no, I’m not dreaming. The totem rolls true. It’s something else. I think we did a test run that’s messing with my mind.” Arthur says. He can feel his temper rising, but he tries to shove it back down again. He has always been in control. He won’t lose that tenuous thread of self preservation after only one week.

Cobb, by contrast, just looks the same as he always has. “We haven’t done anything to you in ages, Arthur. The effects would have worn off a long time ago. And besides, you’ve never had side effects from any runs other than initial surprise. You’re my best point man for a reason. You never have a problem, no matter what happens in the dream.”

Arthur starts to open his mouth, then closes it again. The problem is, Cobb’s assurance isn’t actually true. Arthur has been having problems. Ever since he started in this line of work, actually. He can’t stand to be underwater in real life, too certain that it’s just a means to wake him up from a dream. No more early morning lap swims for him, obviously, and one time he visited his family’s house by the lake and nearly threw up from the sound of all that rushing, pouring, revitalizing water.

More, too. His foot still has phantom aches from where Mal had shot it in a dream long ago. He looks for tells of a dream wherever he goes, even when he’s awake. Arthur has awful nightmares sometimes, where he’s being hunted by the dreaming for what he does to people’s minds while they’re asleep. He wakes up screaming, his throat raw. Cobb doesn’t know any of it, but of course he doesn’t. Cobb is hardly stable by himself. It takes Arthur to keep him together, and that won’t happen if Arthur permits himself to fall apart. So he stays solid. He stays good, and no one knows.

Arthur exhales slowly. Cobb trusts him implicitly. If there were anything, any experiment, any job, that could have had even the smallest of impacts on Arthur, Cobb would have said it by now. So, he forces another deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, and shrugs it off. “Alright, then. Guess I need to get more sleep.”

“Take care of yourself,” Cobb says absentmindedly. Arthur bites back a growl of frustration. That’s Cobb, always has been– greeting-card sympathies paired with life-or-death scenarios. It’s not enough to keep a group alive, but that’s why Arthur is there, to patch the cracks in the wall before it crumbles down on all of them.

Arthur stands, heading to the door. The movement goes unnoticed by Cobb, who is already turning back to peer obsessively at the sedative. Arthur is certain that if he checks in later, he’ll find his friend passed out on the cot he keeps hidden in here, deep in a dream Arthur will never ask about.

Arthur strides out into the center of the warehouse. His whole body feels tense with worry, yet his feet carry him aimlessly past his friends, who have already started to trickle in for the morning. Cobb was his best bet at understanding this, but if he doesn’t have any idea, who would?

A foot lightly kicks Arthur’s ankle as he walks, and he nearly jumps out of his own skin. He whips around to see Eames sitting idly in a lawn chair, monitoring an unconscious Ariadne by his side. His face, usually disconcertingly casual, takes on a note of curiosity at Arthur’s obvious reaction.

“Everything alright there, Arthur?” He asks. “Someone’s twitchy today.”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur says impatiently.

Eames scoffs. “That’s an awfully interesting sort of nothing if it can get your heart racing like that. Tell me about it sometime, I’d love to hear you brush it off.”

Arthur mumbles something involving just where Eames can stick his leftover syringe, which earns him an unbothered, shameless smirk. He has to force himself to walk away before he can let Eames get to him any more than usual. It’s startling, sometimes, how easy it is for Eames to get under his skin. One would think he would develop a stronger wall against the barbs after all this time, yet even years after their first contact, he’s still rolling his eyes and biting back insults like a high schooler. Frustrating. Yet reliable.

Arthur tries to keep his eyes open the whole day, waiting for signs of why this day of all days had to repeat, but he turns up with nothing. It truly is just another day. They’re about a few weeks away from their next job, so the stress is picking up but not majorly. Crunch time won’t come until later, provided that Arthur can manage to get himself out of this time loop long enough to make it there.

The eighth day, Arthur makes himself turn up to the warehouse earlier than usual. Yusuf usually works the graveyard shift, preferring the nights so he can make his sedatives without interference, but also to keep an eye on Cobb, who’s more sleepless than any of them combined. Dreamers’ sleep schedules are always haphazard, but Cobb is the worst of them all.

Yusuf is just packing up when Arthur arrives, bleary-eyed and clutching a coffee. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur waves the concern away. “Nothing better to do. Tell me, have you ever found yourself stuck in the same day?”

“The same day?” Yusuf asks, confused. “Yeah, some days are similar, but, you know. Time passes.”

“It hasn’t been passing for me,” Arthur confides grimly. “I’ve been repeating this same day for more than a week now. I’m not dreaming, either. I’ve tested with my totem.”

Yusuf pauses, his hand idling on the handle of his luggage. When he leans his weight back into the balls of his feet, Arthur can hear the ghostly clinking of dozens of little bottles inside. More sedatives for more days, more jobs. They’ll disappear from that bag at some point tonight, and Yusuf will unknowingly remake them in the morning, again and again until Arthur can extricate himself from this living nightmare.

“I’m not familiar with anything outside of a dream,” Yusuf admits. “You’re certain you’re not asleep?”

Arthur sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The totem says I’m not, but truthfully, I have no idea. Killing myself resets the loop. Living through the day resets the loop. I just thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d heard of someone with this problem.”

Yusuf’s gaze turns sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but you’re on your own on this one. You’ve talked to Cobb about it, I presume?”

“Cobb can’t help,” Arthur says. “All the same, thank you for trying.”

Yusuf nods. “I’ll try and look into this. Maybe I can turn something up.”

Arthur inclines his head, knowing even now that nothing will come of it. He’s already tried researching the problem to no avail. “Just make sure you get back to me by midnight tonight.”

Yusuf looks at him searchingly, then wishes him the best of luck before leaving. Arthur watches him go and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do with himself now. The only option is to continue testing the limits of the loop, seeing what he can and cannot do.

He ends up leaving the warehouse, getting into his car and driving out. Away. As far as he can go. He heads out of town and the next one, too, out of the state. He has to stop by a diner for lunch, unable to push off the growls of hunger from his stomach any longer. While waiting for his order to come in, Arthur realizes that there are several missed calls from Cobb and Ariadne. He hadn’t heard them come in, too feverishly fixated on the horizon always out of his reach.

He decides to call Cobb back, sliding down the seat of his booth towards the wall and keeping his voice quiet to avoid disturbing the other eaters.

“Arthur,” Cobb says in a rush of static the second he picks up. “Where are you?”

“Out,” Arthur answers vaguely. “What’s wrong?”

Oddly enough, he finds himself almost hoping for danger. Today and all of the todays before it have been exceedingly boring. If something did go wrong, it means there would be a break in the loop, and maybe he would get out after all.

“You tell me,” Cobb says. “Ariadne came to me in a panic about an hour ago, said you weren’t answering your phone. I’ve left you five voicemails, we were starting to get worried.”

Arthur’s gut twists with disappointment, and he finds himself replying with a little more bitterness than is strictly necessary. “What, a guy forgets to answer his cell for an hour or two and all hell breaks loose?”

Cobb sighs, gusty across the speaker of the phone. “You know that’s not what I mean. I’m just concerned, that’s all. Yusuf told me you were acting a bit strange today.”

Arthur snorts. Instead of helping him, Yusuf had gone to Cobb. Figures. “I’m fine. Just taking some time to myself. That isn’t illegal, is it?”

His order arrives, ferried over by a waitress so young she should probably be in school. Arthur thanks her, then tunes back into the call just in time to hear Cobb chastising for flaking on them. “You know I trust you, Arthur, but the sudden disappearance isn’t like you. The deadline is closing in. I can’t have people vanishing out of nowhere. It’s not good for the team.”

“Yeah, well, a lot happens with us that isn’t exactly good for the team,” Arthur mutters. His food is getting cold and he really just wants to hang up, feeling like a kid scolded for staying out past curfew. “I’m sure we’ll survive my day trip.”

He can hear Cobb’s voice over the phone. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Arthur’s lip curls. “How about you tell me? You and Mal?”

“That’s not fair, you know that,” Cobb breaks in. A pause. “Something really is wrong, isn’t it?”

Already, Arthur is sick of it, the tone settling into Cobb’s words like Arthur is some breakable thing, a recluse that requires special care when handled. “I’m fine, Cobb. Goodbye.”

Cobb starts to protest, but Arthur is already hanging up. Immediately, another call rings in through the line, but he shoves the cell deep down in his pocket until he can’t even feel the vibrations and digs into his food.

After that, he hits the road with a little more urgency, suddenly terrified that Cobb would do something stupid like send someone after him. Even a quick stop for gas has Arthur checking over his shoulder, certain he’ll see one of Saito’s cars pulling in one pump over.

Night falls and Arthur is far away, far enough that he can start letting his guard down. He’s several states over by this point. Arthur isn’t even sure where he is anymore, only able to tell by the frequency of certain license plates. Still he doesn’t stop driving, even when his eyelids feel heavy. It’s close to midnight now, but the white and yellow lines are still drawing him on, haunting him. Just a little further, and then maybe this day will let him go. He can sort out the drama with Cobb later. Forgiveness is always easier. They do it like breathing.

Arthur shifts in his seat. This much time spent behind the wheel has left him drained. He reaches without looking for the coffee he’d bought at the last gas station. It tastes sort of terrible, but it keeps him awake, which is what matters the most. His fingers are almost brushing the lid, and then something strange happens. He blinks, or he loses focus for just a moment, and then he’s not in the car at all, but waking up in his own bed again, back in his apartment, back where he’d started. The beginning of the loop, the day repeated once more.

Arthur screams, a guttural, frustrated sound. He can’t out-drive it, then. He reaches for the phone and books a flight, ends up literally on the opposite side of the earth by the time evening comes crashing down around him, but even on a different continent, Arthur wakes up the next day in the same place, the same bed. He can’t outrun it, no matter how far he goes.

So, he stays. Tries to talk to Cobb, who only gets worried. Tries to talk to Ariadne, who’s even worse. Eventually, he slumps to rock bottom and figures out there’s only one person left who might not get insufferably concerned about the prospect of Arthur’s rapidly deteriorating sanity.

He lets his feet spin off to a room on the side, where a certain incredibly difficult man is seated at a long table, scribbling notes and occasionally glancing at an open laptop. Eames looks up, startled, when Arthur takes a seat opposite him.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping Cobb,” Eames notes.

Arthur shrugs elaborately. “I’m always helping Cobb.”

Eames chuckles. “Fair enough. Now, have you come to ferry me a message, or are you just here to bother me and call it a check-in?”

“Depends on if you’re doing any work or just looking like it,” Arthur mutters, stung for no reason. “What are you doing anyway, online shopping?”

“Better,” Eames says, satisfied. “Cobb wants a few new forgeries. A few pretty faces to help us in the next job. Say, since you’ve obviously got nothing better to do, I’d love some help. What’s your type, Arthur? Librarians? Maybe a nun or two?”

“Bothersome but beautiful.” It rolls off the tongue before he can stop himself. Arthur will chalk that up to the mental strain of yet another week of repeated days and not read anymore into it, unlike Eames, who looks positively beatific as a slow grin spreads from ear to ear.

“Wonderfully put,” Eames says, savoring the words. “Now, I’ve got a few candidates. A or B?” He asks, turning two photos of women towards Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t even bother to look at them. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to recognize them. God forbid I ruin the element of surprise in our dream.”

No small amount of bitterness enters his voice as he says it, making Eames tear his eyes away from the women and towards Arthur. “Careful,” he says, tone uncomfortably light, “Do I hear complaining from my paragon of patience?”

Arthur snorts, staring at the floor. One of the table legs has undergone severe mutilation, probably from being recklessly collapsed over the years of having to run from one warehouse to another, all in the name of Cobb’s great game.

“I have plenty of patience,” he spits out. “What I’m starting to miss is motivation to keep going.”

Eames clears his throat pointedly. “Pretty sure those are the same thing.”

“Not actually,” Arthur muses. “Plenty of small differences to separate them. Only problem is, no one really cares about the details in the end. What matters is the big picture. And when you get bored of the big picture, Eames, there’s nothing left for you at all.”

This time, Eames really does look concerned. “What happened to you? Get up on the wrong side of the bed? Forget to buy your favorite type of hair gel and have to settle for a store brand?”

Arthur doesn’t even bother to laugh. He’s pretty sure he heard that joke two days ago, and maybe even last week, too. All said the same way. All the damn same, anyway. “What do you care? You’ll forget this conversation even happened tomorrow morning.”

He’s mostly talking to himself at this point, but Eames still reacts as if– well, as if they’d only been talking to each other, because they’re the only ones in the room. “You know, the others have been whispering about you all day. They’re saying something’s up with you, and I think I get it now.”

Arthur stretches out his legs. “The others. How specific.”

“You want specific? Cobb’s getting worried,” Eames tells him.

Arthur scoffs, an ugly sound. “Cobb’s getting– Cobb only worries when he remembers to think about us at all. He’s here for the mission, not the men.”

Eames rears back like Arthur had slapped him instead of just saying what he’s pretty goddamn sure is the truth. “Fuck you. Cobb is the only guy in this business to prioritize the safety of his guys.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, you know I’m right. If he really cared, he wouldn’t have come back after he was reunited with his kids. Cobb cares about Cobb and you know it. Doesn’t it piss you off sometimes? Everything else does, I don’t know why you’d draw the line at this. You know,” Arthur says, drawing out the words, “It always bothered me. Him lying about Mal during the whole Fischer job. He knew she was a problem but he put us all in trouble by not saying a word. And hasn’t it started to rub you the wrong way, everything about her? He can’t stand to hurt her, not even her ghosts in his memory, but he could shoot me in a second, every time we went under. We’re expendable, Eames. We’re all expendable.”

Eames is heaving deep breaths like he’s been sprinting, but instead of getting violent, he keeps the madness tucked under, all that pent up aggression trapped in deep contractions of lungs and hidden from antagonizers in dress shirts sitting opposite him. “What’s gotten into you, Arthur? What did you see?”

Arthur snorts. “What the hell haven’t I seen? The job before Fischer, Mal’s apparition shot me in the foot and he wouldn’t even apologize. Cobb wouldn’t save us from himself, let alone anything big.”

But Eames just shakes his head. “That’s old news. You’ve kept that buried for months. Why bring it up now? You must have just dreamed with him. God, Arthur, what did you see?”

Arthur’s eyes flutter shut with hopelessness. “Nothing I didn’t already know,” he announces to the unforgiving darkness behind his eyelids, “Nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before.”

Silence. At last, Eames’ voice breaks through the heavy weight of the room, cracked and uncertain in a way Arthur didn’t even know was possible, “I don’t know how to fix that, Arthur. I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur lets his eyes open slowly. He’s shifted back in his chair, so he’s staring up at the dingy warehouse ceiling. He wonders if killing himself again would do anything. Maybe it would just end the day a little earlier. “That’s a first.”

“Fuck you, Arthur,” Eames says, but there’s no heat to it.

“Fuck you too,” Arthur says, forcing a bit of cheer into the words. “Now, come on. Your supermodel forgeries aren’t going to get any younger. Run them by me again.”

Eames starts to protest, but Arthur is already sitting up and discussing the options for their next job, so the other man has no option but to take what Arthur is willing to give. He does keep sending worried glances Arthur’s way, which start to get under his skin. When the day resets again, Arthur will have to remind himself to stop complaining to other people. Eames, surprisingly enough, takes things a little too seriously. Never something he thought he’d say about the forger. But if there’s anything Arthur has learned while in a hellish cycle of this one same day, it’s that nothing is impossible.

He should put the whole conversation out of his mind, really, but even despite the expletives, Arthur realizes with a sinking feeling that he’d enjoyed that exchange with Eames more than any of the other ways he’d tried to fill his day. He’s got more time on his hands than he could possibly imagine. He might as well entertain himself, right?

The next day, Eames looks up, startled, when Arthur takes a seat opposite him.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping Cobb,” he notes.

Arthur shrugs elaborately. “I’m always helping Cobb.”

Eames chuckles. “Fair enough. Now, have you come to ferry me a message, or are you just here to bother me and call it a check-in?”

Arthur is less bothered this time around. “I’m here to ask a question.”

Eames arches a brow. “Didn’t realize you valued my advice so much. I’m touched, Arthur. Deeply.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “If you had all the time in the world and no consequences, what would you do?”

Eames blinks at him. “You mean, in general? How would I pass my time?”

Arthur nods. “Imagine you could do anything you wanted, and there would be absolutely no repercussions. What would you do?”

Eames blows out a long breath, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “That’s a good question. If there were really no consequences, I’d probably have some fun.”

“Fun,” Arthur repeats emptily. “Specifically?”

“Please tell me you know what fun is,” Eames deadpans. “Of course, for you, that might look like organizing a filing cabinet or two. You’re right, I should have specified.”

Despite this promise, Eames drifts off into silence. Arthur gestures impatiently with a free hand. “And?”

“I’m thinking,” Eames protests. “You like it when I do that, don’t you? Shoot, I’d do everything. Go gambling in Mombasa again. Take a joyride in a Ferrari that costs more than this city. Rent out an entire beach except for the pretty girls who want to sunbathe. Maybe even attempt a jewel heist. Who can say? But this question seems pointless, Arthur. Whatever I wanted, I could just do in a dream.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything,” Arthur says dismissively. “You’d know it was a dream, and when you woke up, you wouldn’t have done anything at all. Doing that stuff in real life, that’s more impressive.”

Eames snorts. “From the way you talk, I’d think you found a way. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten Saito-style rich on me. Help a brother out, would you? I could use someone buying me a round or two.”

“No wealth,” Arthur muses. “Just time.”

Eames looks thoroughly confused. “Not sure I follow, old friend. What have you done?”

There’s a low rush in Arthur’s lungs like someone is using his trachea to roll dice. On a whim, he decides to go with a gamble, and he starts telling the truth. “I’m stuck in a time loop. Not a dream, real life. The day repeats every night. Everything I do gets undone.”

Eames makes an incredulous sound in the back of his throat. “That’s absurd, Arthur. Been hitting the happy hours a little hard, have you?”

“It’s not a dream, and I’m not drunk,” Arthur says, kind of amused were it not for the fact that he’s boiling over with frustration. He’s not sure why he thought Eames of all people would believe him, but it’s even worse to know it didn’t work. “This is real.”

“I’m sure it is,” Eames starts to say soothingly, but he’s interrupted by Arthur thrusting his hand into his pocket and pulling out a cheap-looking six-sided die and rolling it on the table.

Immediately, Eames throws a hand over his eyes. “Shit, Arthur, what are you doing? None of us are supposed to see what happens to your totem except you.”

Arthur leans across the table, pulling Eames’ hand away. “I’m showing you to prove it doesn’t matter. Look, it’s on the right number. Not a dream. And I don’t care that you now know, you’ll forget when the day resets tomorrow.” He’s breathing heavily by this point, Eames staring at him with naked shock. “Do I seem crazy, Eames? Am I lying about this?”

Eames takes a shaky breath, licking his lips before he speaks. “I have to be honest, you do seem a little more like a madman than usual, but that does, uh, seem real. Alright, then. You’re in a time loop. Sure. Why not?”

Arthur blinks. “You believe me?”

Eames raises his hands in a universal gesture for what-the-fuck. “Why not?”

Arthur pauses. Something almost like relief slides over him. “I can’t keep having this conversation every day. Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows. That way, I can use it as proof instead of having to risk my totem every time.”

Eames frowns. “I don’t know, I like believing that you’d risk your dream stability for me.” At Arthur’s beleaguered sigh, he gives in. “Fine, fine. Um, a secret? I’m a really bad gambler. I’m there all the time because I think it lends a good ambience, but I rarely win.”

Arthur smirks. “Something we don’t already know, Eames. I’ve seen you run from casinos enough to know that you aren’t on a constant winning streak.”

“Fuck you,” Eames remarks absentmindedly. “Ok, you want something juicier. How about this– when I’m dreaming by myself, I always pick Adele for a song to wake me up.”

Arthur gapes at him. “You’re joking. Adele?”

Eames drags a hand over his face. “I regret this already. Yes, you heard me. Adele. She’s a wonderful singer, alright? I’m asleep practicing forgeries so often that I needed to pick a musician I wouldn’t despise after a dozen trial runs, and Adele has held up. Her songs are stuck in my head constantly, but that isn’t a bad problem, is it?”

Arthur leans back in his seat, chuckling delightedly. “Adele. I'll remember this forever.”

“Oh, shut it,” Eames mutters. “I’m sure you pick something ridiculous, too.”

“You’ll never know until you get stuck in a time loop, too,” Arthur informs him. “And for my sake, I hope that day never comes.”

Eames looks positively devious at this point, so Arthur quickly changes the topic. “So, I’m stuck in a time loop and I’m bored. What would you do?”

Eames seems affronted at the question. “Get out of here, obviously. Don’t tell me you’ve been staying in the warehouse this whole time? No wonder you look like you’re going mental.”

“I have left,” Arthur protests, “Two different days. I got a car and tried to get as far away as I could, then did the same thing with a plane the next day when it didn’t work. I’m not totally helpless.”

“That’s practically the same as staying,” Eames jeers. “God, you do need me. I bet you didn’t do a damn thing both times, just kept moving. You’re like a worker bee. Cobb may appreciate the devotion, but at this point, it’s downright pitiful.”

He stands up abruptly, making Arthur startle. “What are you doing?”

“Breaking you out of jail, if you won’t do it yourself. Come on, we’ve still got plenty of time left in the day.” Eames says, striding around the table and out the door, leaving Arthur to hurriedly follow after him.

“Where are we going?” Arthur asks.

Eames’ lip twists, thinking. “Well, I would want Mombasa, but I’m not wasting the time on a plane. There’s a casino a few streets down, it’ll do.”

“I’m not a gambler,” Arthur reminds him. “Not with cards, at least.”

“Then do it with dice,” Eames says briskly. “Or go back to work. Whatever floats your morally superior boat.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but tags along anyway. He does his best to play along, feigning interest when Eames immediately gets lost in a round of cards, but he can’t pretend that his attention doesn’t flag not long after they arrive. It’s late enough into the day that Arthur has no shame in meandering over to the bar and ordering himself a drink. He assumes Eames will be lost in his bets and losses for a while, but he’s hardly received his drink before the other man materializes out of the crowd by his side, not quite able to disguise a pout.

“You vanished rather quickly,” Eames remarks.

Arthur barely suppresses another eye roll, opting instead to take a sip of his drink. “I told you, Eames. Casinos and I aren’t the best of friends.”

Eames pulls a face, but instead of going back to his tables, orders a drink as well and takes a seat next to Arthur at the bar. “I’ll have to work to cure you of that habit, my friend. There’s a lot to love if you just give it a chance.”

“What, like debt and drunks?” Arthur asks dubiously.

“Try camaraderie with your fellow man and maybe, even, a bit of fun,” Eames retorts. “You have your fun and I have mine. Give my world a shot every now and then, it wouldn’t kill you.”

Something in his voice strikes a chord. He falls silent, and Eames takes the opportunity to settle their bill. Arthur waits until the bartender is busy ringing up the card, then asks lowly, “Don’t tell me you’ve already finished drinking, Eames. You’ve only had one.”

“Not for me, for you,” Eames says seriously. “I don’t want you drinking heavily today. Not with the way you’ve been talking.”

Arthur’s chest suddenly feels tight, as if his ribs have clenched down on nothing. “You’re worried about me, then?” He asks, trying to keep his voice artificially light.

“Maybe I am,” Eames replies. “Now, don’t distract me, I’m trying to calculate the tip.”

Arthur watches as he closes his eyes for the mental math, then scrawls a number far higher than 20% on the bill. “Feeling generous, I see. You know it’ll just be erased tomorrow, right?”

Eames shrugs, one easy movement. “The bartender, she’ll be happy today. So will I. It’s a win-win. She’s pretty enough to deserve a good day, don’t you think?”

Arthur snorts. “That’s what this is about, then? You’re trying to sleep with the bartender?” It wouldn’t be the first time Arthur has witnessed Eames’ seemingly irresistible flirting in action. It also wouldn’t be the first time he’s felt like he has a knife lodged between his ribs.

Eames grins wolfishly, then stands, adjusting his shirt collar. “Not tonight. The only one I’m preoccupied with is you, darling.”

Arthur scoffs, shoving him absentmindedly. “Oh, shut up.”

“Never,” Eames says happily, and proceeds to tease him the whole rest of the afternoon. Arthur doesn’t mind it much. There’s a small bloom of warmth down his sternum that keeps the joking barbs from landing.

It’s this odd feeling of victory that makes Arthur wake up the next morning and take the same steps towards Eames’ place in their warehouse. Cobb attempts to call out to him, wanting Arthur’s input on their new job– dream prosthesis won’t come easy unless we make it work– but he’s already breezing past. No sleep lost on that.

Eames looks up, startled, when Arthur takes a seat opposite him.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping Cobb,” he notes.

Arthur looks him in the eyes. “I’m in a time loop. I want you on my side again.”

Eames blinks. “Pardon?”

“Time loop,” Arthur says. “I’m stuck in this day. I can prove it, too. You listen to Adele when you dream by yourself. You love her music.”

Eames’ jaw actually drops. “How on earth could you possibly know that?”

“Like I said,” Arthur says, standing again. “Time loop.”

Eames looks mightily perplexed. “If this is your idea of a joke, Arthur–”

Arthur allows himself a rare smile. “I think the real joke is that you can listen to Adele a thousand times and never get sick of it.”

Eames glares at him. “It’s–”

“Not a bad problem, I know,” Arthur interrupts. “Now, I need you to do me a favor. Cobb will come in at some point, see me missing, and raise a fuss, maybe ring my cell half a dozen times a minute until I answer. You get the drill. I need you to tell him that I’m off on important business so he won’t pester me.”

Eames arches a brow. “What important business?”

Arthur shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Eames heaves a dramatic sigh. “All the time in the world, and you don’t put a single ounce of thought into it. Tragic. Well, I’m not going to abandon you to your own lack of imagination. Come on, we should hit the road before traffic comes.”

Arthur lets out a quick, curious breath. “I haven’t invited you anywhere.”

“Yes, but I’ve invited myself,” Eames says. “That’s why you told me about the loop, wasn’t it? Don’t tell me it was just because you wanted an excuse for me to call you in sick for the day, that’s boring. If this day doesn’t count for anything, there is no damn chance I’m working.”

Arthur searches for a reason to protest this and comes up short. They did have some fun the previous day, why not seize that moment again? “Alright. Your car or mine?”

“Mine, obviously,” Eames says. “Is it even a question?”

Arthur snorts as they head into the parking lot. “You know I can drive, right?”

“Maybe you can, but the greater question is if you should. You’d go the speed limit, I fear.” Eames tells him, unlocking the door and sliding behind the wheel.

“That’s the point of the limit,” Arthur points out. “And where are we going, exactly?” A beat later, he remembers the previous day. “No gambling. None.”

Eames hums under his breath, thinking. “You’re no fun. You know what, since I’m nice, I’ll do something for you. We’re going to a museum.”

“A museum,” Arthur says dryly. “And people ask me if I’m acting strangely.”

Eames pretends to be offended. “No need to disparage me, Arthur. I, too, am interested in the sciences.”

Arthur snorts. “Name one science.”

“Anatomy,” Eames answers, wiggling his brows. “Hands-on, preferably.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I regret asking. Tomorrow, I’ll tell someone else about the loop. Someone reasonable.”

“Rude,” Eames hums, pulling onto the thoroughfare. “Besides, I doubt that. The fact that you went to the trouble of memorizing a secret tells me you’ve been through this before. I’m your best option, darling. No one else is better than me.”

Again, Arthur tries to argue but can’t, so he pretends the sentence is too stupid for words instead of dead on the money. Eames can’t read his mind, but he’s grinning like he can, anyway.

True to his word, Eames does take them to a museum. Natural sciences. He seems to have a purpose as they wend through security and the various school groups scattered throughout the exhibits. It gets busy the further they head into the core of the museum. For a brief moment, Arthur loses sight of Eames in the crowd. Heart in his throat, he spins around, but sees nothing but the churning masses of strangers. Alone again, he is, and the day hasn’t even started yet. Something like a scream starts bubbling up in his throat, but then Eames is in front of him again, having doubled back to find him.

“Try and stay with me next time, huh?” He asks, one brow raised, and grabs Arthur by the hand when he starts moving again into a wing curving behind the main stairwell. Everything around them is dark, shifting shadows of coats and boots and displays, except for the bright point of contact where their two hands meet.

Arthur stares at it instead of where they’re going, lets Eames pull him whichever way the wind blows. Their hands seem to fit together perfectly. Dream-made. He swears he can feel his pulse thundering through his fingers, certain Eames must feel it too. Or maybe this is the rhythm of Eames’ heartbeat he feels in the whorls of his fingerprints, one divine pattern rippling through them both. Ba-dum, ba-dum. Two steps forward. A thousand miles cleared.

At last, they escape the main crowd and duck down a narrow passage. Vaguely, Arthur glances around and realizes they’re in the gemstones exhibit. Even with fewer people around, Eames doesn’t drop his hand, so Arthur doesn’t either. He is reminded of a contest with his school friends when he was just a boy. He was never the first to break, never the one to back down. Two men playing on a railway, the engine rattling towards them. He won’t go if Eames won’t.

Eames stops walking at last, and Arthur is consequently jerked to a stop beside him. “Look,” Eames says in a hushed whisper, pulling Arthur close by the arm so he can whisper in his ear. “That’s the biggest diamond this side of the coast.”

Eames’ voice is awestruck. Arthur drinks in the sight of him, illuminated only by the glow of the display lights around the glass case. His eyes are alight with mischief, but Arthur doesn’t recognize the usual drop in his stomach when the other man gets up to trouble until it’s far too late.

He should say something, he thinks. Arthur hasn’t even looked at the diamond yet. It simply doesn’t matter. “You came here to sightsee a rock?”

Eames sighs, a tortured soul with no one around to share his vision. “Think of the value. And it’s right there.”

“Surrounded by a case,” Arthur points out. “It looks solid.”

“You wouldn’t know unless you tried it,” Eames whispers.

Arthur’s eyes widen as he realizes what Eames is talking about. “No. Be serious.”

Eames grins brilliantly. “You said this was a loop, didn’t you? The day resets? No consequences? You have to take advantage of that at least once, surely. Look, it’s right there in front of you. All you have to do is reach out and take it.”

Arthur’s entire body is thrumming with adrenaline. “We’d be caught in moments.”

“You don’t know unless you try it. If it doesn’t work, you can yell at me tomorrow. If it does,” Eames laughs, quietly raucous and a hair’s breadth from the shell of Arthur’s ear, “you’ve got the best story in the world.”

Slowly, Arthur turns his head to stare at the diamond. It catches the light magnificently, he will admit. He can’t deny that the idea is tempting. “You’re crazy.”

“No,” Eames says with satisfaction. “You’re crazy for listening.”

Fuck. “Get ready to run.”

A caught breath by his ear; Eames, genuinely startled. Arthur doesn’t have time to be stung that Eames didn’t actually think he would do it, because he’s already taking two massive steps forward until he’s a hair’s breadth from the glass. He reaches into his pocket for something heavy and comes up with his cell. The metal breaks the case on the first go, stinging his knuckles as the skin comes in contact with the broken glass. Instantly, alarms wail through the display, security guards startled into action.

Arthur grabs the diamond and runs. He doesn’t even bother to look for Eames, trusting the other man to follow him. Sure enough, as he whips through the twisting, dark halls, there’s a disbelieving laugh by his side.

An arm wraps around Arthur when they break into the main room, forcing him to a stop. “I thought you said to run,” Arthur says, nervous.

“Only back there. We need to blend in,” Eames tells him. He doesn’t remove the arm. They keep walking.

Arthur shoves his bleeding hand, the one with the diamond, into his pocket. He can feel the cool weight of it warming against his palm, the facets true.

Eames ducks his face into the space under Arthur’s ear as they walk, appearing to all the world as two people sharing a good secret. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“You asked,” Arthur says petulantly.

Eames’ grin is electric. “If I knew you would do everything I wanted, Arthur, I would have asked for a lot more.”

Something swoops in the pit of Arthur’s stomach, something that makes his next step a little wobbly. They’re about halfway through the main gallery when the shouting draws close, security guards on them again. Arthur almost hopes that their charade will work until one of them starts pointing at them. Swearing, he breaks into a run again, Eames at his side. He feels weightless, sprinting towards the security doors. Everything seems in slow motion– the chaos of the tourists, the dark shadows of the guards as they chase towards the pair– and then something heavy knocks Arthur’s legs out from under him, taking him down.

He rears up, ready to fight, but he’s surrounded by guards who cuff him in moments, a gun to his head while they pull the diamond from his pocket. Eames is arrested next to him, both of them dragged from the museum into waiting cop cars.

Arthur glances over his shoulder, unable to hide a grin. “We had a good run,” he calls over.

Eames laughs broadly. “Remember this one, Arthur.”

Then Arthur is shoved into a separate car, and the only sign that Eames was there at all is that laugh from down the road, mad and loud and goddamn addictive. He hears it tumbling in his ears all through the drive to the local police station, even when they try to question him, even when they lock him up. He simply has to wait out the hours until nightfall, and lets himself be entertained by the rush of adrenaline still coursing through him. Arthur has done crazy things before, but they’d only ever been in dreams. This was insanity, and better still, it was real. He feels like he’s been drowning all his life and only now come up for air. He wants it forever.

Arthur wakes up in his own bed, wrists uncuffed, hands uncut. The memory of that madman’s laugh is echoing through his ears, tumbling in his mind and making him mad enough to reach for his cell, smile, and dial someone.

Eames sounds very confused over the phone. “Arthur? Why are you calling me? I’m maybe ten minutes from the warehouse. Surely whatever has gone wrong can wait until I get there.”

“I’m in a time loop and you love Adele,” Arthur informs him. “You know what, I’ve come around to it. She’s not bad.”

“I appreciate that,” Eames says, then, “What? How did you know?”

“You never listen when I say time loop,” Arthur chastises him. “You’re still in your apartment, aren’t you? I’ll pick you up. Bring swim trunks.”

“I think I like it when you’re bossy,” Eames remarks absentmindedly. “I assume you’ve cleared our absence with Cobb?”

“Cobb can shove it up his ass,” Arthur remarks, and smiles when he hears Eames choking on his coffee.

“I don’t know what you’ve done with Arthur, but I quite like the change,” Eames says when he opens the passenger door to Arthur’s car. “And, speaking of which, what the hell have you done with Arthur?”

“I’m still me,” Arthur informs him breezily as he cuts across traffic.

Eames immediately fastens his seatbelt, swearing under his breath when Arthur takes erratic turns. “Why the hell are you carting around like you’re a getaway driver? Really, what has gotten into you?”

“I want a vacation,” Arthur says. “Let’s go somewhere fun. And sunny.”

For a long, frightening moment, Eames looks like he’s going to say something stupid like turn the car around, and then he just grins, shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s doing. “Whoever gave you a lobotomy overnight, darling, I’d like to shake their hand.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur grins as he exits onto the freeway.

“Fuck you too,” Eames says fondly.

They exchange idle chatter as they drive off. Eames rolls his window down, lets the wind course through the car and thoroughly mess up both of their hair. Briefly, Arthur feels a spit of annoyance rise up in him like a flare, an old habit that wants him to shut the windows and comb his hair until it lies straight again.

The anger is gone just as quickly, though, when he steals a glance to the side and sees Eames right there, skipping out on his day just because Arthur asked, and looking more free than Arthur has seen him in a very long time. It occurs to Arthur that he is not the only one who has been spiraling as of late, and even if Eames isn’t in a time loop, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been subject to stress. There are dark circles under his eyes, heavy as stone, and a tension in his shoulders that only starts to release once they’re half an hour from the city.

This is good for both of them. Arthur shakes his head slightly, raising a hand to at least somewhat soothe the errant pieces of hair back into place. He doesn’t even think he bothered to gel it today. Why bother, after all? Eames tracks the movement like a dog hunting prey, his eyes wide. His mouth opens as if he’d like to say something, but his tongue darts out to lick his lips and he stops himself before a single syllable comes out.

“You wanted a day at the coast?” Eames asks, squinting at the bright sun, when Arthur finally stops driving.

It’s early enough that it’s easy to find a place to park in the sandy asphalt lot. Arthur nods, rolling his shoulders experimentally to try and release the pinch that’s settled between his bones. “When’s the last time you were at the beach, Eames? Outside of a job, I mean.”

Eames whistles. “Not sure. Then again, my memory’s been bad anyway.”

Arthur ducks his head. “I know what you mean.”

They all do. With the amount of times they’ve been sent into dreams, it’s easy to blur the lines between sleep and waking hours. Arthur has a pool of memories that he swears are real, just not enough to say for sure. Maybe he was here yesterday. Maybe he’s never been here at all. His mind would not know the difference.

It’s too fine a day for desperate musing, though, so Arthur forces a chuckle and says, “I can tell you’ve been stuck in that office too long. Your tan could use some work.”

Eames feigns outrage. “Pot and kettle, mate. You look like you were born in a filing cabinet.”

Arthur snorts, then heads away from the car towards the sand. He can’t help a deep breath of salt air– joke as he might, he truly forgot something could smell that fresh– and feels himself relax. Warm already, he strips his shirt off, letting the heat spread over his skin in rippling waves of summer.

A slight choking sound to his side, so quiet Arthur almost doesn’t notice it until he glances to his left. Eames has followed him like a good dog, and he’s watching Arthur, again with those wide eyes from back in the car. It’s like he’s never seen Arthur out of a dress shirt, some sort of teenage schoolboy bullshit. Arthur is certain it must have happened at some point, that Eames would have seen him shirtless, but maybe not. Eames would be capable of handling it, though. They’re not five.

Still, it does seem to take Eames an unnaturally long time to drag his eyes from the shadows of Arthur’s ribs, the swell of skin and flesh and bone towards his waist. Arthur won’t be troubling himself with what Eames may or may not find there, though. He’s already walking farther, sinking into a stray deckchair left behind by an absentminded beachgoer.

Truthfully, he isn’t entirely sure why he made Eames come with him at all. The beach isn’t an activity that requires another person, and Arthur could probably find more of his ill-gotten peace without a second soul around. Still, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind this morning that he wouldn’t call Eames, that he wouldn’t need him there, too. Another half of the whole.

Maybe it’s because, with Eames there, no one will call him from the home base and start asking questions about why he didn’t check into work that day. Yes, that must be it. It hadn’t happened the previous day, which means that Eames must be assuring Cobb and the others that he’s with Arthur. This is about security, obviously. About not being bothered. Eames can do whatever the hell he wants. Arthur is simply going to be here and be fine.

A shadow passes over Arthur’s form, and then a glass clinks onto the arm of the chair next to him. Arthur cracks open his eyes and sees that Eames has returned with two drinks, one for each.

“Where the hell did you find that?” Arthur asks, bemused.

Eames grins broadly. “I picked the lock on a minibar on a nearby dock. And don’t say a damn thing about it being too early to drink, I won’t hear sermons when you’re the one who came up with this whole idea.”

Arthur shakes his head, but laughs anyway, quiet under his breath in a way that makes certain only Eames will hear it. “You’re a fascinating man.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Eames says, dragging over a chair so they can sit side by side. “All this time I’ve known you, and you rarely exhibit symptoms of spontaneity.”

Something rotten curls in Arthur’s stomach. “It’s not spontaneous, this. Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of time to think it through.”

“Right, right,” Eames says. “The time loop. You mentioned it on the phone.”

Arthur arches a brow. “You were paying attention?”

“You caught my attention with a certain secret I know for a fact I’ve never told a soul. Plus, I’ve never known you to make things up. If you say time loop, then shoot. Time loop.” Eames says, taking a long swallow of his drink, then makes a face. “Ugh. Practically lukewarm.”

Arthur stares at him. “You know, that’s still a wonder to me. You believe me every time.”

Eames meets his eyes steadily. “Like I said, you’re not the lying type. Besides, in our line of work, I’ve learned to stop thinking things are too crazy to ever happen. Usually, I’m proven wrong.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m not lying, and it’s not a dream.”

“So you’re just repeating the day?” Eames asks. “Shoot, I’d fuck around, too.” He leans forward eagerly. “How many times have you done this? Don’t tell me you got Cobb out here, that I won’t believe. The man wouldn’t go a day without a sedative if he could help it.”

Arthur can’t look at him anymore. “I haven’t shared a day with a single person but you. Nothing outside of conversations, I mean.”

Eames is oddly quiet, and when Arthur dares to steal a peek at him, he’s sitting perfectly straight. Gone is the usual slouch, the avant-garde curl of his spine. Arthur would say he’s never seen him so ill at ease, but Eames doesn’t look uncomfortable. Just– surprised, maybe. But not necessarily in a bad way.

“So I’m your top choice for road trips,” Eames says, each syllable trapped in this forced carefree voice that makes Arthur want to run. “Good, good. People have said I’m wonderful to be around, so this makes perfect sense to me. And how– how many times have we done this? Gone out and had a good time?”

Arthur, too, feels the need to keep his spirits light. They’re paper dolls under a magnifying glass, any wrong move would expose this moment to be as fragile as it feels. “Only a few. I– I didn’t want to ask at first.”

“Why not?” Eames asks, and Arthur might be lying but he swears there’s an undercurrent of actual hurt in his voice. “We know each other, don’t we?”

Arthur takes a sip of his drink to buy time to think of an answer that won’t make Eames look at him like that anymore. Down and out, like a kicked puppy. All big eyes and lips tugged low. “I thought you didn’t like me. You do have a fondness for making fun of me.”

“Bullshit,” Eames says, startling in his earnestness. “We’re not– we aren’t enemies, Arthur, we’re us. Fuck, is this why you made Cobb go get me in Mombasa for the Saito job? You thought I wouldn’t want to see you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Arthur asks desperately. “Besides, I would have stuck out like a sore thumb in your little den of gamblers and you know it.”

Eames snorts. “That’s not far from wrong. None of my friends iron their pocket squares.” At Arthur’s sour look, he laughs for real but quiets down again. “And no, I wouldn’t have been mad to see you. I would have been happy about it.”

“Happy,” Arthur repeats on instinct. Hearing the word makes him respond like a marionette with tugged strings. So good to have a purpose without even being forced to think about it. He doesn’t believe he could think right now, not at all.

“Yeah,” Eames says, staring at the sky. “I would have been happy.”

They go quiet for a while. The sun rises. By the time noon comes upon them, the prolonged warmth has made Arthur feel limp and boneless, the world sweet with sleepiness. If he looked in the mirror, Arthur thinks he wouldn’t see a single furrow in his brow, not one crease around his eyes. All the troubles in the world have been smoothed over by one good morning in good company.

Eames rises, stretches, and looks over at Arthur fondly. “We should get out of the sun. Burns would ruin today. Plus, getting something to eat would be for the best.”

Arthur groans at the thought of moving. “Go catch me a fish or something.”

Eames laughs, a full-chested that makes his eyes as warm as the sun. “I have many skills, Arthur, but I lack that one. Come on, now. Get your arse out of that chair.”

Arthur glares at him dourly, but forces himself to his feet. He raises his hand to rub circles on the opposite shoulder where the joint has gone stiff, and Eames watches his fingers with perfect precision, hungry as he’d mentioned.

They beat a slow, ambling retreat back to the car. There’s a diner not far, and within half an hour, they’re munching down on sandwiches and drinking cold ice water. Arthur has entertained fine business luncheons with many courses crafted by expert chefs, yet he swears this simple meal tastes better than anything before. Once they’re done eating, they waste a few hours on the boardwalk, peeking in shops and making fun of the contrived boutiques that have sprung up out of nowhere.

All too soon, Arthur’s sun-started lethargy starts to catch up with him. Eames teases him for the way his eyelids keep drooping, but tells Arthur that he should get some rest anyway. There’s a local hotel nearby offering early check-in; Arthur suggests that they book a room. That way, they won’t have to drive back in the evening. It won’t matter that they won’t be home, this day will just reset anyway and all this good will be erased like their footsteps in the sand.

Arthur hardly remembers stumbling from the car into the hotel and asking for a room. The memories come in snatches– talking to the receptionist, taking the key in his hand, unlocking the door and just managing to get his shoes off before promptly passing out on the bed. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember even being able to crawl under the covers, but when he wakes an hour or so later, there’s a blanket tucked around him.

Eames can’t even make fun of him, because he’s sprawled out on the couch, the TV remote dangling loosely from his fingers. Arthur takes a moment to savor this moment– the dark eyelashes fluttering with every breath, the even keel of his chest, the way that, for once, his eyes aren’t darting around the room like he expects to be ambushed at every moment– and then gives the rest up to fate, pulling himself out of the bed and onto the ground.

He keeps the movements soft and quiet, but Eames still startles awake, eyes flashing open. Arthur can see the moment he realizes that it’s only Arthur making noise, how he sags against the sofa again.

“Sorry to wake you,” Arthur says, his voice prickly from sleep.

Eames shakes his head, dragging a tired hand over his face. “Didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep at all. I’m not usually the type to nod off, you’d better not tell a soul about this.”

He’s joking, but Arthur can’t quite find it within him to laugh along. “Don’t worry,” he says, lip curling slightly, “you’ll forget anything happened tomorrow morning.”

Eames’ face tenses. He stands up, walks over to Arthur, really looks at him. Arthur can’t fathom what he sees. “It is getting to you, isn’t it?” He asks gently, one hand reaching out to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. It feels like an anchor in the longest night, the deepest ocean, of Arthur’s entire life. “Repeating every day, I mean. No one remembering but you.”

“How could it not?” Arthur can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. “Nothing we do today matters. It’ll all be erased tomorrow.”

“It will matter to you,” Eames says. “That’s enough, I think.”

His voice is earnest, and Arthur realizes that he truly believes in what he’s saying. That even if the world only goes on for Arthur, it’s still worth it. It is enough.

Arthur’s throat feels uncomfortably hot. He wonders if Eames can feel the heat prickling down to his shoulder, where the hand remains. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I do,” Eames says simply. Oh.

They pass the rest of the day quietly, meandering in and out of shops, being reckless with their money but mostly with their hours. At the end of the day, when evening tumbles over the beachfront town, they return to the hotel, and it is only now that Arthur realizes that their room only has a single bed. Eames doesn’t seem affected in the slightest, except for a slight flush in his cheeks. It surprises Arthur, how easy the whole thing is. Easy to climb into bed with a friend. Easy to hear the quiet rhythm of his breath in the dark. Easy to lean over until Arthur’s shoulder is pressing against the warm solidity of Eames’ chest. Arthur wants to tell himself to stay awake forever, to not fall asleep so he make every moment of this last as long as he can, the two of them so close, but Arthur is not always in control, and his eyes still remember the weight of the day, and soon, exhaustingly, he sleeps.

Arthur wakes up alone and cold. His hands reach out on instinct for a man who is not there, and it takes him aback how disappointed he feels. He only had Eames in his bed for a few hours, and already, it feels like his whole world has been ripped away.

Arthur sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Not for the first time, he is struck by how exhausting his world has become. The thought of getting up, of trying at all, of going through the trouble of existing just for all that progress to be undone again like cheap thread pulling out of threadbare clothes, makes him want to throw up. Eames, across the city, has no memory of a sunlit beach, a shared bed, and that makes Arthur want to die. The whole world feels microwave-reheated, dull and barren and utterly without interest.

So, for the first time, Arthur doesn’t try at all. He lies still and silent in his bed. He tries to sleep but can’t, so he stares at the ceiling and pretends he’s a corpse. That might be the only way he escapes the loop, packed in a coffin for good. His phone vibrates on his nightstand and Arthur ignores it. This goes on for a while, until Arthur loses patience and surges out of bed long enough to sweep the phone into a nightstand drawer and permanently silence the thing.

He assumes that’ll be the end of it, until he hears a loud knocking on his door about an hour later. Checking the clock, Arthur realizes it’s about early noon. Whatever. He closes his eyes again. Whoever’s there will go away soon enough.

Only, they don’t. The knocking continues, and then a voice starts to call out his name, muffled by the door and distance from his bed. Arthur still doesn’t answer. It doesn’t matter if his caller is upset, they’ll forget tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. There’s a metallic scratching at the door, and then, confusingly enough, someone’s in his bedroom.

A soft voice. “What the fuck are you doing, Arthur?”

Arthur slots open his eyes to see Eames standing over him. Genuine bewilderment fills him. “Why the hell are you here?” Arthur asks incredulously. “You don’t even remember yesterday, what the fuck.”

Eames squints. “Obviously I remember yesterday. You were normal yesterday. Not today. What happened, you got dumped?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Nothing happened. I’ve come to terms with reality. Go back to work, Eames. Tell Cobb I’m fine.”

“I’m not here for Cobb,” Eames says, and sounds so sincerely stung that Arthur actually bothers to open his eyes all the way this time. “I’m your friend, you arse, and I don’t take kindly when you disappear then don’t answer my phone calls. Or when I knock.”

“You knocked a lot,” Arthur comments.

“Yeah, and you didn’t answer any of them,” Eames mutters. He looks like he wants to use far harsher words, then sighs and sits down on the corner of Arthur’s bed. “I’ve never seen you like this. What happened? If this is about the job– look, Arthur, I’ve got my qualms too, but you could talk to us first.”

“The job,” Arthur muses. It’s been a while since he actually bothered to think about work. “What don’t you like about the job, again?”

Eames cuts him a sharp glance. “Don’t ask me that. As if there aren’t a hundred reasons to dislike what Cobb has planned. Is that it, then? You think this is a step too far?”

Arthur laughs. “This has nothing to do with the job.”

“This has everything to do with the job,” Eames explodes. “It’s fucked and we all know that. But you talk to me first about it before you give up, Arthur. You talk to any one of us. You don’t disappear out of nowhere. You don’t.”

Arthur honestly expects to see blood welling up from all the places his own words have struck flesh and bone. “Why do anything?” He echoes tonelessly. “You won’t remember this tomorrow. I could say anything in the world and you’d forget it. You hate me today but you’ll go back to normal tonight.”

And it’s true. Arthur could cut him to the quick, say a hundred terrible things and ruin this man forever. He thinks he’s seen enough of him to know the precise knives to launch, the ones that would make Eames despise him. He could burn this bridge for good, and then the next morning, he would be knocking on Arthur’s door again like clockwork. There are no impacts. No effects. Yet Arthur holds his tongue anyway.

Eames’ eyes hold pain without anything to hurt them. “I wish I knew what you were talking about, Art, but you’re going to have to tell me. I can’t read that mind.”

Arthur moves his gaze away from Eames, which aches, to the ceiling, which does nothing at all. “I’m in a time loop. Every day repeats and I’m the only one who remembers.”

“Alright,” Eames says steadily. “What day is this? How many times have you done it?”

Arthur jerks upright. His hair must be a mess, still sleep-mussed, but he doesn’t care. “You believe me? But I haven’t even told you the secret. The one only you know.”

“I don’t need a secret,” Eames says simply. “I’ve never known you to make things up. If you say time loop, then shoot. Time loop.”

“You said that yesterday,” Arthur whispers. Maybe before, too. He can’t remember. All the days blend together, a watercolor portrait descending into unintelligible, colorful soup.

“I’ll say it tomorrow,” Eames insists. “And the day after, too. However long it takes.”

“I don’t get it,” Arthur says. Both of them sitting on the bed, he’s close enough to study Eames’ face like a museum exhibit, searching for signs of reason in the middle of all this mess. “You’re so nice to me now, but we haven’t even done anything yet. I haven’t earned it yet.”

“You don’t have to earn anything. We’re friends, darling. I look out for you and you look out for me,” Eames says reproachfully.

Arthur nods thickly. The expression on his face must be truly tragic, because Eames clicks his tongue and reaches out, taking Arthur in his arms. Arthur chokes on air and wraps himself around Eames, breathing in the scent of his cologne, the fabric of his shirt. One of his hands fists in the material, his own personal way of guaranteeing that Eames won’t slip away into another turn of the loop.

“I’m not going away,” Eames says calmly. “Not even in the loop. I’ll come find you tomorrow, every day until you wake up. You aren’t losing me.”

“I always do,” Arthur gasps, his voice muffled into the crook of Eames’ neck. “No matter what I say, no matter what we do, you’re gone. Nothing matters.”

“Everything matters,” Eames contradicts. “Just come talk to me. Catch me up on what we’ve done. I’m still me, Arthur. We’ll pick up where we left off.”

His thumb rubs comforting circles onto the small of Arthur’s back. “I don’t deserve this,” Arthur says thickly.

“And why the hell would you believe that?” Eames asks, thoroughly nonplussed. “You aren’t the type to wallow, Arthur. You know your worth, but if you’ve spent too much time in this damn loop and you can’t remember, I’ll remind you. Over and over again, because you’ve saved my life so many times I’ve lost count, and it’s time for me to repay the favor. It’s you and me, Arthur. It’s you and me.”

“You and me,” Arthur repeats brokenly.

“That’s right,” Eames whispers. “Now, what do you want to do today? We can go out, or–”

“Can we stay here?” Arthur asks quietly. He’s had fun on every last tangent, but today, he just wants to sit, pressed up against the warmth of Eames’ chest, and remember how to put the pieces back together in a way that makes sense. For once, the burden of time doesn’t weigh on him. In fact, the possibility of another day like this, with Arthur peaceful and wanted, calls to him like a drug.

“That sounds good to me.” Still, Eames doesn’t move away quite yet. Arthur breathes in the peace of the morning, and at last, he starts to think. About Eames, mainly. About every bend in the road that has led them here.

He’s had many years of knowing the other man, but he hasn’t used them, not really. Always reverting back to the familiar pattern of bickering, even when he senses that there could be more. Refusing to allow himself the privilege of being close. Not believing that maybe, just maybe, Eames could want him in the way that Arthur wants Eames.

And how is that? At last, blessed with the relief of time, Arthur realizes it. Eames is everything. The angel on his shoulder, the demon in his ear. Urging him in a dark museum to steal a diamond. Telling him that the whole world can go to hell so long as Arthur comes out standing. This isn’t just a friendship, not to him. Maybe it hasn’t been for a while. Maybe it never should be again.

“I love you,” Arthur says, or he tries to. The words don’t come out quite right for reasons he cannot explain. “I love you,” he tries again, but something strange is going on. The words are distorted, like he’s underwater.

The feeling persists, pressure building on his temples. Arthur’s lungs expand and contract without getting him any air. It’s like drowning, the world fading to nothingness, and then he wakes up. Not in his own bed, but on a cot in a gray room. After a moment, the world comes into focus. Arthur is propped up on a makeshift bed in the warehouse they’ve been using to plan this job. Yusuf is idly checking the time with a stopwatch in his hand, and Cobb is starting to peer over at him.

“There you are,” Cobb says. “Now, how was it? Tell us everything. There are always kinks to be worked out with the first trial, but we really did have high hopes for this one–”

Arthur cuts him off, choking on nothing. “It was a dream?”

Cobb frowns, perplexed. “Yes, Arthur, it was a dream. You knew that when we sent you in.”

“No,” Arthur says. Everything is wrong. He’s in the clothes he was before, but the air feels different than it had. He’s out of the loop, that is certain, but this isn’t right, either. It can’t be right. “No, I wasn’t in a dream. I tried my totem so many times and it told me I was in real life.”

He paws feverishly at the needle in his arm, yanking it out and rushing off the cot like it might burn him. He stares around at the warehouse, head snapping from corner to corner like a caged animal.

“Yes,” Cobb replies, somehow still calm, “That was the point, remember? Dream prosthesis. A way of supplanting reality such that there is no way to recall that the patient is in a dream. Totems will fail to register that the user is in a dream.”

Arthur stares at him, chest heaving, and at last, he starts to remember. The loop– it was a dream after all. That was the point. He and Cobb, they’d designed it together. With the concept of finding victims while they were asleep rising in notoriety, targets are trained to recognize a dream when they were in it. The only solution, then, was to convince the target that they weren’t in a dream, even when they tried to wake themselves up, just like Arthur had so many times.

Cobb had pitched it and Arthur had been horrified, but he’d also been a little bit fascinated. The idea was impossible, and impossibilities were alluring. He had just wanted to see if he could do it. And then, when the tech worked, Arthur volunteered to be the first to test it. He would go under and they would see what would happen. They would pull him out before brain damage set in, but Arthur would be able to mess around as much as he wanted. Targets would only be able to wake once they had discovered an all-important message. In this case, a secret more important than any other. There would be a failsafe in place, but it hadn’t worked. Instead, Arthur was forced to live through loop after loop, unable to escape, driven into madness and desperation and at last, at long last, the desired secret.

Arthur feels sick to his stomach. “Could you see what happened? Did you see what I did in the dream?”

Cobb shakes his head. “No one was down there with you, Arthur. That’s why I need you to tell me what happened–”

A voice cuts him off, footsteps approaching behind Arthur. “Cobb, shut it. The bloke looks ready to vomit. Work can wait.”

Arthur turns, and there he is, Eames at last, real and out of Arthur’s head. He has no idea about any of this, Arthur realizes. All this work for nothing. He probably doesn’t even care. A figment of Arthur’s imagination wanted to believe that Eames could love him too, just so Arthur could confess, but the real Eames won’t want this. He isn’t a dream. None of this is.

Bile rises in the back of his throat. This time, Arthur thinks he might actually throw up. Sweat sparking on his brow, he starts to move for the door, kicking into a run once he’s out of sight. It doesn’t matter what they think, he needs to get out of here now, before he vomits or does something worse, like start to weep. There is no Eames in this world who would knock on his door when he disappeared. No Eames next to him on the sunkissed beach, wanting him first. No one laughing one jail cell down, no one buying him drinks and pledging to make his loop worth living for.

He makes it out of the warehouse and down the alley behind it, out of view from the windows. Arthur gets his back to a brick wall and sinks down it, heedless of the dirt no doubt building up on his dress shirt. None of it was real. All of Eames’ promises, no more than figments of his imagination. A thousand ways to delude himself until he could admit that he loved Eames more than himself, and now he has nothing to show for it at all.

At least no one else had known. Once he collects himself, he can force himself back in there and put out the fires, maybe even tell Cobb what he wants to know. He won’t ever move on, but he can make the others believe he did. That, at least, should count for something.

Only, there’s one member of the crew who won’t be that open to ignorance. A pair of fine dress shoes appear before Arthur’s crouched form. He knows them immediately. He shouldn’t look, shouldn’t poison himself like this with the tantalizing idea of the man before him, but Arthur, like always, cannot resist Eames when he’s right there within reach.

Arthur looks up slowly, forcing himself to stand. It takes considerable effort to meet Eames’ gaze, which is worried like it had been this false morning in the dream of Arthur’s apartment. The expression is perfectly the same, even down to the minute details of every last furrow in his brow.

“What happened in there?” Eames asks quietly.

“I woke up,” Arthur says tersely. “Tell Cobb his plan needs fine-tuning. It works a little too well.”

“I won’t tell him shit until I know you’re okay,” Eames says, suddenly wrathful. “We all knew this plan was a fool’s errand, and then he had to go and put you in there– He should have been the one to go under first, and I fucking told him so, but he’s a coward. It shouldn’t have been you, Arthur. It shouldn’t have been you.”

One of Eames’ hands flies up to Arthur’s forehead to check his temperature. They both look equally surprised at the gesture, and Eames immediately snatches his hand away. “I’m fine,” Arthur croaks, obviously not fine. He still feels like he might throw up if he thinks about the loop for more than a few seconds.

Eames snorts. “I’ve heard five-year-olds lie more convincingly.” Then: “I’ll kill him, I swear to God. Look at you.”

“That’s not great for my ego,” Arthur chokes out. “At least tell me you think I’m handsome before you use my looks as a reason this job should get scrapped.”

Arthur waits for Eames to laugh or tell him to fuck off, but instead he just sighs, deep and bone-rattling. “Let’s go home,” he says suddenly. “I don’t want you to have to be here anymore.”

Arthur’s brow creases. “Don’t I have to talk to Cobb again? He’ll be wanting details on the program.”

A sudden, violent rage pierces Eames’ eyes. “If Cobb asks for a damn thing from you in the next week, I’ll push him out of the window. Putting you through that– I’ll bet the failsafe didn’t work either, did it? He knew the coding was shaky. God, I’ll kill him. I will.”

Arthur reaches out on instinct, leftover residue from the loop, and slips his hand into Eames’. “Forget about him. I like the idea of going back to my place. If you don’t mind driving–”

Eames startles when Arthur takes his hand, but he doesn’t drop it, either. “Of course I’ll drive. I don’t think you’re capable of staying on the road, let alone between the lines.”

Arthur wants to protest this, but his head is still fuzzy from waking up, so he stays quiet and lets Eames lead him back to the parking lot, into the car. The ignition starts. Arthur watches it absentmindedly, feeling as if he could be a thousand miles away and seeing the whole thing through the screen of a TV. Eames keeps stealing anxious glances his way, and doesn’t even take the opportunity to needle Arthur about his driving or the state of his clothes. He must really be out of sorts, then. He feels it, too.

He blinks and they’re in his apartment. Eames is grabbing him a glass of water and telling him to sit down. Arthur slumps in one of his kitchen chairs, and hardly even notices the water when it’s deposited in front of him. “It felt so real,” he says quietly. “I know that was the point, but still. It was real to me.”

“What happened?” Eames asks. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Not physically,” Arthur admits. Already, the whole thing seems ridiculous. A big mess out of nothing. “It was a time loop. The same day repeated over and over again until I realized something. I thought I was in there forever.”

Eames sucks in a breath. “Were you alone?”

“No, no. Everyone was there, but no one knew about the loop. I was the only one who remembered. No matter what I did, it reset the next day and no one remembered it.” Arthur recalls the water at last and takes a deep swallow. Anything to buy him time, to distract him from the slow horror dawning over Eames’ face.

“You said you only got out once you realized something,” Eames says carefully.

“I did,” Arthur replies. He doesn’t want to say it, God, but if Eames asks– he’d do anything, to keep him talking. To take this last moment of Eames caring about him and never let it go.

“Was it bad?” Eames asks.

Arthur lets his head hang low from his neck, examining the grain of the table. “You’d think so.”

Eames reaches over, pushing the heel of his hand into Arthur’s shoulder. It’s comforting, but it aches so far inside him that Arthur wants to die. “I’ve seen a lot of you, Arthur. Nothing there could make me hate you.”

“This will,” Arthur informs the table.

Out of his peripheral vision, Arthur can see Eames close his eyes briefly, as if begging for patience. “Try me.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

“I’m in love with you,” Arthur announces to no one in particular. Certainly not to Eames, who sits stock-still in his seat as if he were the one who had just woken up from many months of time loop days. As if he were the one who could not tell if he was dreaming or not, who was lost in deception just like Arthur himself.

For a moment, there is peace in Arthur’s kitchen. Dust motes hang suspended in the air, illuminated by the light through the window. Both of them sit so still they could be statues. A new addition to the museum they’d robbed in Arthur’s dream: Mistakes made by man.

Then Eames surges forward, moving his hand from Arthur’s shoulder to his cheek, forcing Arthur’s head to raise just enough so Eames can kiss him. Immediately, Arthur kisses him back. Instinct again. An act so utterly right he would swear it’s coded in his DNA, a response written in him from the moment he was born. There is no part of Arthur that has not been waiting for Eames all his life.

“You idiot,” Eames murmurs against his lips, “I’m in love with you, too. Have been for years.”

“But–” Arthur can’t think of any argument, so he stops trying to fight and starts trying to kiss Eames again. It’s real, this time. Not a dream, not even a loop. Or maybe he still is dreaming after all, maybe this is another one of Cobb’s sick games to mess with his head until he stops believing in anything at all. It would make about as much sense as Eames breathing him in, telling Arthur whispered nothings about how he’s wanted him since they first met, how it drives him mad whenever Arthur so much as talks to someone else.

“I’m dreaming,” Arthur informs him.

Eames laughs against his lips. “You’re awake, or we’re both dreaming. Either way it doesn’t matter.”

And it doesn’t. What they have now is time, distant and constantly shifting. Tonight, Arthur will go to sleep, and he will wake up in a new day, one that won’t repeat or give him grief. He’ll come into himself again. He’ll remember how to live with consequences. And, better yet, he won’t do it alone. He could wake up tomorrow in someone else’s arms, not alone at last. Maybe he will. After all, he has endless days to change things around.

inception tag list: empty for now!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

26 notes · View notes

drachonia · 3 months ago

Text

𝐛 𝐚 𝐜 𝐤 𝐭 𝐨 𝐛 𝐥 𝐚 𝐜 𝐤 .

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: randomly thought up a little bit of an alternate ending awhile back, actually got to writing it finally today. not sure if i'll continue and turn it into a full series or not.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: themes of reincarnation and modern setting included. descriptions of gore, major character death, angst and general dark themes. OC name used instead of general MC. spoilers for William’s main route.

Every step that echoed in William’s ears as he made his way to what may as well have been the gallows. He stepped into the dark halls in the Tower of London, faced with dozens of sets of eyes that bore him a falsified sense of ill will.

He knew the hatred was only as deeply rooted as a dull blade was leveled toward him, aiming directly for the space between his ribs. Strangely, the monarch felt a sense of unease as the sharp metal dug into his skin. Though, the sense of unease faded with each breath, an odd hope blooming along with the red that dripped to the floor.

That day in Crown’s headquarters, the heavy wooden door did not open a second time until the breaking of the next dawn, when all was too late.

The scuffing of sturdy shoes echoed on the pavement near Trafalgar Square. Ink-black curls bounced among the crowd as a young woman weaved her way through, huffing in annoyance, hand gripping an envelope, “Goodness knows why the professor wanted me to deliver her letters, I suppose anything to help her this semester…” Elisabeth murmured, brows scrunched as crimson eyes narrowed beneath long lashes. A strong gust pushed through the calm autumn air, causing the lightweight paper to lift like a feather, only to twirl about and land at a dark alleyway’s entrance. The student’s steps faltered for a moment, her brows creasing slightly as she trotted over, picking up the envelope as she cast a bewildered glance down the unfamiliar location that she felt a sort of camaraderie to.

Only when she left to deliver the slightly dirtied envelope did a pair of fine leather shoes step from the alleyway, almost like a ghost.

“Alright, last stop.” Elisabeth breathed a sigh, “Then I can meet up with Allie and Jack and we can all have some of the pie dad sent.” She breathed as she scuffed her mary-janes at the brick road. This letter, she remembered, was specifically mentioned by her professor as one of utmost importance and caution. The young lady thought back on her mentor’s words:

“He’s a distasteful ol’ man, so keep your wits about you when you drop the letter by. Give it to ‘im in person, but leave immediately.”

She sighed out, fingers tightening their grip on the letter slightly as she trotted up to the door, about to knock before noticing that the door was the slightest bit ajar. And against her better judgement, like a girl lured by the promise of adventure, Elisabeth gently pressed it open. The scent of copper hit her nose like a rousing slap to the cheek.

A dizziness filled her head as she looked at yet another strange, yet familiar scene, a dead man’s body — one she could only assume was the intended recipient of the letter she possessed.

“Well, this is a bit troublesome…” a man who couldn’t have been much older than herself frowned, arms crossing as he pushed

“A friend of yours?” A soft but jovial voice reached her ears, she noticed she had been frozen to the spot with a strange sense of deja-vu. Head aching incessantly as it pressed to the front of her skull, claws digging in.

A man with light brown hair stepped in front of the body, blocking her view as he stared down at her, “Look, we’re just here rehearsin’ for a little play at that little theatre not far off from here, nothin’ to see here.” Elisabeth almost found the false smile he put on…comforting and friendly.

“You’re lying.” The words poured out of her mouth instantly, like she’d been bound to a script herself. She had wanted to go home, to go eat a warm dinner with her brother and sister but—

A disappointed sigh reached her ears as she sensed someone behind her, looking over her shoulder to see a young man dressed head to toe with clothes almost as black as his hair. Another joined him, noticeably shorter in stature, but twice as intimidating. He grumbled under his breath, lighting a cigarette with a few curses as he glared past her.

In contrast to the rest of the curious group that surrounded the corpse, one more man stepped in front of her, the brunette from before giving him plenty room. Elisabeth glanced up once more, taking note of the silvery-white hair and carmine eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes seemed to narrow almost affectionately at her, as if out of instinct.

“It seems that we’ll be bringing her with us.” His eyes never once parted from hers, red-painted fingers brushed her own as he took her hand, Elisabeth’s vision starting to blur and darken the deeper she looked. Those eyes seemed to whisper only one thing, wide with an ever-present, intense heat.

Found you, my sweet robin.

lace headers by saradika.

#ikemen villains #drac writes #ikevil william #william rex #ikevil oc

22 notes · View notes

5m173y · 1 month ago

Text

Song: Religion of loneliness (direct link to the youtube video) Other Unfinished wip that i'll probably never finish, this is the second i made after that one i just posted. I figured out how to move the camera here.

Context & Extra: This is mostly for the start of prints life before he left Level FUN, you can see him pretending to smile as I mentioned in this post.

the scribbles around Prints head are meant to represent deja vu, (he entered the backrooms during a party, ironically.) It gives him bad headaches even though he cant remember why that thing is so ickily familiar feeling. The end when he has his paint splatter is after meeting Cyrus. Cyrus's part was supposed to be next after that.

#my art #digital art #my ocs #entity 67 #entity 68 #partygoer #partypooper #the backrooms #backrooms print #backrooms cyrus #animatic #wip animatic

13 notes · View notes

meepispeepis · 1 year ago

Text

The Storm Before the Calm

~Ok, I'm finally getting on that MK1 cringe! Got ALOT of inspiration from these lovely creators and their combined arts of "oops, Kung Lao's dead again" works. And the brainworm is demanding that I finally put this into writing so, here we are! Once again, huge shoutout to these lovely artists who gave me the inspiration and please do check them out!~

@helsensm // @novicedraws // @randyzorra // @d3rpydoods

~Before we continue just wanted to put some mild context to ensure this makes sense. This isn't part of some long-winded series, so you might as well think you've flipped open a book and started reading in the middle of the story. Fire God Liu Kang starts getting deja vu as certain coincidences and events start playing out that are too eerily similar to how things played out during the MK9 game (Raiden getting a message from his future self and trying to interpret in time what that message meant to save the future - long story short: nearly everyone died and no one came out alright :D). All roads were seemingly leading to Kung Lao dying in his timeline and Liu Kang struggled on how to cope and deal with this. On one hand, he did not want his friend-…His new teacher…To die, especially since he tried so hard to tailor make this timeline to ensure everyone got a happy ending.

Yet, at the same time, he refused to stoop down to Kronika's level and start altering the timeline until it was his "perfect" utopia. However, his fears and suspicion about the situation become even more realized when Raiden gets gravely injured and the only thing that prevented him from kneeling over was the thunder amulet infused with his person (and some other magical shit, idk). From this, Raiden gains his iconic white hair, and this gives Liu Kang a heart attack. To make a long story short, Kung Lao ends up dying at the hands of the villains (In this short story, it's assumed that Shang Tsung is wholly responsible or had a hand in his death), Raiden is going through the stages of grief, but he's going down the same dark path as the previous Raiden, now becoming Dark Raiden. And Liu Kang has to finally interfere.~

Still confused? Too late, now on to the story! Next // Wilted Cherry Blossoms, Dark Thunderstorms, Burning Hopes: Remastered Characters: Raiden, Kenshi, Johnny Cage, Liu Kang, Shang Tsung, Mentions Kung Lao, Raiden's Sister (named her Fuji :D)

Word Count - 6,094 Ships: Raiden/Kung Lao - Hints of Kenshi/Johnny Cage

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (but with less blood), Character Death

It was over.

It was done.

They stopped Shang Tsung and his nefarious plot; it was over. This was the part where everyone patted each other on the back, did a whole hoopla about "the power of friendship saved the day," locked up the villain, and went home. But maybe that time was lost a long time ago. Ever since…

Ever since Kung Lao died.

Aside from Johnny, Kung Lao always knew how to lift everyone's spirits, that didn't involve excessive Hollywood references that most of them didn't get. His self-confidence and pride always seemed to ooze onto everyone else. If Lao says he can do it, then so can we! It hurt everyone when he was unceremoniously slain by General Shao and Shang Tsung, a clean cut to his neck with his own weapon. And you know, it wasn't until that day that Liu Kang was gravely reminded that these men never had to experience death in such a manner. Each of them knew how to fight, added to the additional training they got with the monks at the Wu Shi Academy. But Liu Kang never taught them how to kill, to maim, to perform the one act no ordinary person should ever have to do.

When Kung Lao died, it shocked everyone. The only one seemingly keeping themselves together was Kenshi. Coming from his Yakuza background, he has done plenty of dirty that he wasn't proud of. But Johnny? Liu Kang still remembers the reviving actor's disbelief, trying his damndest to do all he could for Kung Lao, even pleading with Liu Kang on what to do. But perhaps the one person who was hurt the most that day was Raiden. They were friends, childhood friends…lovers, even…Liu Kang can never scrub away the scene of Raiden being the first to notice his friend wasn't getting up (he was the closest to the body) and slowly descending to hold his boyfriend tightly. Raiden blocked out the world at that moment; the rest of the crew had to step in and finish the fight while Raiden grieved over his friend.

And things were never the same after that.

It was over.

It was done.

Kenshi and Johnny already shackled the unconscious Shang Tsung and started tending to their wounds. There was silence between them as they repaired themselves, barely making glances to the other. It wasn't until Kenshi spoke up, pointing out that Johnny was wrapping the bandage wrong and took the reigns in patching the star up. Johnny didn't put up a fuss. In a small way, he's kinda glad Kenshi said something. To break the silence and bring back that camaraderie they once had before. Feeling Kenshi touch him again, a wave of memories started flooding back to Johnny. The days when the 4 of them (Johnny, Kenshi, Kung Lao, Raiden) were always in each other's spaces. Arms thrown over each other's shoulders, whenever they were in a goofy mood; they were always leaning against the one nearest to them. That intimacy, he misses it.

"There," Kenshi softly says, completing the last patch on Johnny to ensure it wouldn't get infected.

Johnny couldn't help but return a sad smile and nod, "Thanks, Kenshi."

Then the silence began again as they both sat in silence, waiting for Raiden and Liu Kang to return once they were done with what Johnny called "the super laser beam like in that one Marvel™ movie." When they heard the sound of roiling thunder, that was their cue that the other pair had returned. Kenshi was the first to look up to see Raiden floating high above them, with black clouds shadowing him. It was a near-terrifying sight. His glowing eyes and hair, the crackles of lightning sparking off him, and the foreign look of godly contempt that was plastered on his face. Doesn't help too, that they each learned some time ago who Raiden was before Liu Kang altered the timeline. With this display of power, Raiden might as well be a god.

"Hey, Raiden, no need to worry! We had this one in the bag." Johnny gestures over to Shang Tsung, still enjoying his dirt nap. "He'll be going away for good once we figure out what our version of Arkham Asylum should be for the bastard."

Kenshi scoffs and shakes his head slightly, but it wasn't one out of annoyance. He knows what Johnny is trying to do, lightening the mood.

Raiden, however, does not reciprocate; remaining still as a statue in the air. Kenshi stares back at Raiden, anxious about what the thunder go-his friend, was thinking.

"…Hey, Raid-bro, we were told there was a chance of blue sunny skies when coming out here. Care to move the dark clouds out the way?" Johnny tries again with being jovial, but Kenshi can hear the hint of anxious tension in his tone.

After another long silence, Raiden finally descends, but where he was going was toward Shang Tsung. Johnny and Kenshi rise from their seated area as they closely watch Raiden slowly meeting the ground. By the time Raiden reached the surface, almost as if on cue, Shang Tsung started to stir awake, perhaps thanks to the constant thunder cracking in the area. Shang Tsung was already a beaten mess, with dried blood and dirt caked on his freckled face. His brown eyes meet with Raiden's glowing white eyes, and he has the gall to smirk at him. The prisoner readjusts himself, sitting straight up as he leaned against a tree.

"Love what you did with your hair, Raiden." Of fucking course, Shang had to go there.

Kenshi and Johnny both do their best to not flinch and cringe upon hearing that, knowing full well that it struck a nerve with Raiden, even if the farm boy wasn't showing it.

And as if Shang was further egg-ing Raiden on, he starts looking around, as if he's expecting someone to be here, but they happened to be missing. "Now, where is that pompous, hat-throwing circus act you often dragged along with you? Called in sick?"

"That's enough, Shang Tsung. Don't let us muffle you too." Johnny was the first to speak on everyone's behalf, his rising anger apparent as he growled.

Shang ignored Johnny, his eyes still trained on Raiden, meeting him eye-to-eye. "Oh~, don't beat yourself up for his departure, Raiden. You can rest easy that he died a prideful fool who didn't know when too much was enough."

"Hey, shut the fuck up!"

There was a one-sided back & forth, Shang Tsung constantly taunting the quiet Raiden while Johnny was trying to get Shang Tsung to stop talking. Eventually, Johnny starts grabbing the sorcerer by his ruffed-up shirt and tries intimidating him into keeping his mouth shut.

There are benefits to being half-blind and wearing a blindfold. Kenshi has been looking head, seemingly staring into nothing and nowhere, but the sight that Sento gave him allowed him to keep his peripherals on Raiden. Watching him closely to ensure that he doesn't do anything stupid. And Kenshi would be right to watch Raiden because the younger man started to approach the arguing pair.

Kenshi steps in front of Raiden, "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"Get out of my way, Kenshi," Raiden's voice was like a coming storm, eager to wreak havoc on anyone and anything that stood in its way.

Kenshi had to choose his words wisely, one wrong move or phrase and he will erupt. They've seen it happen more than once. "Please, at least let us wait for Liu Kang before-"

"Ha! Still letting that proclaimed Fire God lead you around on a leash, Raiden?"

Kenshi now physically cringes before making a sharp turn toward Johnny, "Shut him up!" Kenshi can see sparks crackling of Raiden and he further obscures his view of Shang Tsung. "Raiden, he's trying to get into your head. Don't let him!"

"He knew, you know? Liu Kang? For someone who altered the timeline to fit his "perfect vision," a lot of strange coincidences have been happening as of late. I mean, I became a sorcerer when I was supposed to be a beggar. And you were a simple farm boy. But look at you now, a master of the storms and the skies," Shang Tsung side-eyes Raiden deviously, "He must've known that Kung Lao was going to die."

"Get out of my way!" the air starts to pick up, his hair and clothes ruffling in the wind, and more lightning static bounces off Raiden.

"Ok, time for your muzzle, dog," Johnny approaches with a mask-like device meant to silence individuals who wear it. As he tries to place the mask on Shang Tsung, the sorcerer hits him square in the dick (a technique he has learned to adopt later down the line thanks to the foolish actor), causing Johnny to have the wind knocked out of him as he backs away a couple steps. "N-not cool, man! Not cool!"

But this landed Shang Tsung a couple more minutes. "He could've prevented it, Raiden. Kung Lao may have died at the General's hands, but you know who truly caused his demise? Liu Kang could've stopped it all from happening. He went through all the effort to neuter you and me. Because of his biases over a timeline that no longer exists! He claims that he "doesn't interfere with affairs" because he wants us to become masters of our own fates, but we were never in control of it to begin with. Liu Kang decided for himself what we should be; all I did was defy his logic and plan."

"JOHNNY!" Kenshi shouts as he tries to hold Raiden back, the young man now struggling to get past the blind swordsman.

"I'm working on it!" Johnny replies as he hurries back to Shang Tsung with the mask.

"I SAID GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!" Raiden screams.

He can feel it. He can feel the amulet infused into his body responding to his anger, his grief, and his drive for vengeance. The condensed storms locked away in that amulet desire to give Raiden that release. Kenshi grunts as he starts feeling shocks ripple through him while holding tight onto Raiden.

"RAIDEN DON'T LISTEN TO HIM; YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS!"

"Liu Kang could've saved your friend, Raiden. You know this as much as I do. He has the power to do so; he simply didn't use it. All under the idea of restraint. That's what makes you and I so powerful. We're not afraid to take the power we're given and use it to its nigh limits. The one who you should be angry at is the man who calls himself a friend to you."

Finally, Johnny wraps the mask around Shang Tsung, silencing him until it's eventually removed. But the damage was done. It wasn't until now that Johnny noticed that Liu Kang still hadn't arrived.

"Where's Liu? Kenshi, where's Liu!" Johnny says as he anxiously watches the struggle between Raiden and Kenshi.

Kenshi doesn't get a moment to entertain an answer as Raiden yells at the top of his lungs, a bust of electrifying energy emitting from him, from the amulet, knocking both Earthrealm warriors back a considerable distance. The pair lang roughly on the soil in an audible groan as they jerk and hiss at the shocking ripples still assaulting their bodies. Kenshi was the first to slightly recover, but it must've been some time before he regained his senses because when Kenshi frantically looked for where Raiden had gone, he saw the thunder wielder punching Shang Tsung to a bloody pulp.

"Raiden, ugh! Raiden, stop!" It hurts for Kenshi to get up, but he ushers all the strength he still has and rushes over to Raiden.

Kenshi rips Raiden off of Shang Tsung and doesn't bother to look the sorcerer over (that's what he gets for running his mouth), keeping his attention wholly on his friend (and his hand on the hilt of Sento).

"Raiden, we've been over this. Please, don-"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!!"

Kenshi isn't given a moment to calm the man down as bolts of lightning come arcing towards the swordsman. Kenshi dodges out of the way, unsheathing Sento in the process; the line of shocking energy completely decimates a nearby tree. The time for words was over; now it's time to, in Johnny's words, bring out the "Hulk Buster."

Raiden raises his hand to the grey skies above, capturing lightning in his hand before hurling various sparks at Kenshi. The swordsman goes on the defensive, dodging and ducking behind cover, trying to avoid actively harming Raiden. But the more he placed distance between him and Raiden, the more Kenshi was bobbing and weaving past his thunderous attacks. Kenshi would be mildly saved as Johnny surprises Raiden by grabbing him from behind and trying to restrain him.

"Raiden, pull it together, man! We don't want to hurt you!" Johnny struggles to say, the shocks of lightning constantly snapping at him.

Kenshi rushes out of hiding and builds up momentum, hoping to get one good, non-lethal, strike in to knock Raiden out.

"Where the hell are you, Liu Kang..." Kenshi muttered to himself, slightly out of breath as he was exerting all his power into running and reaching Raiden as soon as possible. "Johnny! Hold him down, just a bit longer!"

"I'm-ACK, FUCK!" Johnny shouts as he feels another shock of electricity course through him, "I'M FUCKING TRYING!"

Raiden was howling like an animal, trying to shock Johnny off him. Lightning bolts were falling out of the sky as it struck the grounds around them, destroying everything it touched. It was almost like the lightning strikes were even chasing Kenshi as every bolt of lightning was always some inches away from hitting the swordsman.

He was close, almost there, just a bit more.

Raiden finally throws Johnny off him, elbowing him sharply in his face. Conjuring every bit of power of the storm, Raiden fried Johnny. The pained screams from the actor nearly shake Kenshi to his core.

"JOHNNY!!" Kenshi screams.

Raiden notices the swordsman approaching and disrupts his abuse of his friend to focus on Kenshi, redirecting the powerful blast and hurling it at the blind swordsman. Guided by Sento, Kenshi locks himself in a blocked battle with Raiden's powerful lightning attack, locked in a Harry Potter wand duel as Sento protects Kenshi from the attack. The mystical powers of Sento was able to withstand the ever-present assault, but Raiden was unhinged, not withholding the full potential of the thunder amulet. Then the impossible happens.

Sento cracks.

Kenshi quickly rolls out of the way and tries to get to safety before Raiden completely breaks Sento. But Raiden saw this coming, using his other hand to conjure a whip-like lightning bolt at Kenshi, lassoing him and dragging him to the ground, before giving the swordsman a devastating shock.

"Raiden!"

For once, the farm boy actually stops his assault. Leaving Kenshi and Johnny unconscious after constantly being shocked to near death. Raiden looked behind him, and there he was.

Liu Kang.

The Fire God stares at the scene in utter shock, eyes darting between the sizzling Johnny and equally as cooked Kenshi. Raiden, eyes & hair slowly dimming in brightness, keeps his eyes trained on Liu Kang.

'He could've prevented it, Raiden - Liu Kang could've stopped it all from happening - Liu Kang could've saved your friend, Raiden. You know this as much as I do.'

Shang Tsung's words echo in Raiden's head.

"...Did you know he was going to die?" Raiden, for the first time, speaks coherently. Possessing the soft voice that he's known for.

"What? Raiden, what hap-"

"ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!" In that same instance, Raiden's voice booms like thunder (even the skies above respond, crackling thunder in the distance with his anger), his white hair and eyes glowing brightly. "YOU KNEW KUNG LAO WAS GOING TO DIE, DIDN'T YOU!!" Raiden points his electrifying finger at Liu Kang accusingly.

Liu Kang's mouth opens and shuts before he finally answers Raiden. "...Certain circumstances and events that transpired hinted that Kung Lao could die. But not once did I know for certain that Kung Lao would meet his untimely death."

There's a long, silent pause between the two; only the roaring wind breaks the stillness. Liu Kang dares to break his eyes away from Raiden, looking for the one Kenshi and Johnny were supposed to contain, Shang Tsung. It looked like in the scuffle, he used that opportunity to get away, his hairpin lying on the ground dirtied with blood and dirt. Whatever Shang Tsung said to Raiden, it riled the former thunder god. Liu Kang kicks himself for being unconscious for so long. The device he and Raiden went to disable knocked the wind out of him and rendered Liu Kang out of commission for a moment. When he awakened on the vacant platform the device was on, Raiden was gone.

Liu Kang looks back at Raiden, the man's head now facing the ground, fists balled. The next thing that comes out of Raiden's mouth breaks the Fire Gods' heart.

"Why did you let him die," his voice cracks, and Liu can hear the tears Raiden shed.

"Raiden...I..."

"Even if you didn't know fully that Kung Lao would die, why didn't you tell us! Why didn't you save him? Or let us help you save him!" Raiden sobs, his knees feeling weak.

"...I did all I could, Raiden. I tried to protect him...But I couldn't shelter him. I had to trust that Kung Lao would make the choices necessary to follow his own path. I wasn't going to take that choice from him."

"How would he know what path to take if YOU NEVER TELL HIM WHERE IT WILL LEAD HIM!!!" Another sound of roiling thunder, lighting sparking off Raiden as he snaps his head toward Liu Kang. "You could've told him, us, what could've happened! You could've stopped this!"

"I did not want to burden you with the knowledge I knew and felt!" Liu Kang raises his voice, not to match his anger, but because the winds were picking up and the thunder was practically deafening him. "I didn't want you or him to spend every waking moment; questioning each move you took, each decision you made! I wanted both of you to become masters of your own fate!"

'He claims that he "doesn't interfere with affairs" because he wants us to become masters of our own fates, but we were never in control of it to begin with. Liu Kang decided for himself what we should be.'

"No...NO!!" Raiden shouts as he slings a lightning bolt at Liu Kang. A shot the Fire God effortlessly dodges.

"Raiden, please!"

"YOU CREATED THIS TIMELINE. THIS NEW UNIVERSE! YOU COULD'VE PREVENTED THIS! YOU HAVE THE POWER TO, I KNOW YOU DO!"

Another reckless throw of a lightning bolt, scorching a nearby tree as Liu Kang steps out of the line of fire. "Raiden, please, you have to understa-"

"I LOVED HIM, LIU KANG! WITH ALL MY HEART, I LOVED HIM!!! AND YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME! YOU DID THIS TO ME!!"

Raiden rips open his shirt, revealing the amulet fused with his person, a permanent reminder of the trauma everyone endured...That he endured...

"BRING HIM BACK! BRING HIM BACK TO ME!" Raiden's feet crackle with electrifying power as he lunges towards him, performing a move Liu Kang knows far too well as Raiden flies at him like a speeding torpedo, locking Liu Kang as they both collide into various trees.

Liu Kang grunts as their movement is halted by a large rock, but he's not given a moment of reprieve as Raiden starts socking him in the face multiple times. Screaming phrases that Liu Kang could not focus enough to bear their meaning. He's then thrown about in a large circle, and when Raiden releases his grip, Liu Kang goes flying again.

Liu Kang crash lands into a nearby lake. It takes him some time to gather his strength to swim out of the waters. He coughs and spits out blood, Raiden isn't holding back, the powers of the amulet having provided him with strength and vigor. But he was still mortal. Liu Kang can take a beating, but one wrong move and a bit of force; and Liu could kill Raiden. Liu Kang assesses his surroundings, mainly looking for where Raiden has gone or where Raiden could potentially come from.

Fortunately, Raiden's rageful cries gave him away as he came crashing down like a speeding bullet from the sky toward Liu Kang. Hoping to catch him in a flying kick maneuver. Liu Kang was able to block the attack, the force of the kick skidding them both further from the lake that Kang emerged from. There is a back-and-forth between the skilled fighters as each attack is swiftly blocked by the other. Well, more like Liu Kang was the one being swift. Raiden was filled with hatred and rage, his attacks were more akin to a wild animal attacking and defending itself.

Liu Kang had to hold back. Unlike Kenshi, who somewhat matched his power level, one wrong flaming fist and Raiden could be K.O-ed to his grave.

"Raiden, I am not your enemy. Everything I did for Kung Lao, I've always had you in mind! Whatever Shang Tsung told you-"

"Oh yeah, go ahead!" Raiden opened his palms and bent his fingers, colliding his hands on each opposite side of Liu Kang's head, sending shocks of electricity to his head and disorienting the Fire God as his ears started to ring. "Blame it all on Shang Tsung! Blame every single problem and inconvenience on the fucking sorcerer! Because gods forbid you take any responsibility for yourself and own up to the fuck up THAT YOU MADE!"

Raiden grabs Liu Kang in a crushing hug and sends both of them flying in the sky, high enough for Raiden to send a highly concentrated bolt of lighting onto Liu Kang; Raiden being able to withstand such powerful energies. Liu Kang screams in anguish as he's tased ten times over, and then thrown back to the earth below. Liu Kang leaves a crater where he landed and for a moment, doesn't move from his spot.

It took every fiber of his being and willpower to slowly get himself back on his feet. Liu Kang didn't even have to look to know that Raiden was behind him. Between gasps, coughs, and hacking up blood, Liu Kang tries to plead with Raiden.

"...Raiden...I don't want to hurt you...I know you're...Grieving. He meant everything to you as you did to him...But Kung Lao wouldn't want us to fight. Not like this..."

There was a long pause, yet again.

"Don't you dare tell me what Kung Lao would've wanted. You don't get to speak for him or anyone, like you always do!"

"Raiden-"

"You think you know what Kung Lao would've wanted when you knew nothing about him. Not like I did. Do you want to know what Kung Lao would've wanted? You want to hear it from someone WHO ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOWS HIM!?! Let me tell you!"

Raiden forcefully turns Liu Kang to face him before clocking him in the face.

"Kung Lao would've wanted to know how he was going to die so that he could prevent it!"

Another crack.

"He would've thanked you for trusting him with this knowledge so that he could come back home with me in peace!"

Another crack, blood staining his knuckles.

"HE WOULD'VE WANTED TO LIVE WITH ME. SPEND THE REST OF HIS LIFE WITH ME! HIS FUCKING BOYFRIEND!"

Another crack after Liu Kang weakly tries to block his other fist attack.

"HE WOULD'VE WANTED TO DIE PEACEFULLY. WITH ME BY HIS SIDE! NOT IN A FUCKING REALM THAT HE DOESN'T BELONG TO, FACING DOWN A HORNED-FACED FUCKER AND THAT DAMNABLE SORCERER! TO ONLY DIE BECAUSE THEY USED HIS WEAPON AGAINST HIM! LEAVING HIM TO BLEED ON THE DIRT!"

Another crack, an uppercut that sends Liu Kang stumbling back some feet.

Liu Kang spits out another glob of blood mixed with saliva. "We all can't choose how we die, Raiden."

"Yet, you chose for him to die there."

Something within Liu Kang snaps, anger was boiling. "Kung Lao chose to not listen to me when I asked him to not interfere, Raiden!" Liu Kang tries to hold back the poison he truly wanted to emit.

One too many times has he heard this. How Liu Kang was the reason Tarkat exists. How it's his fault that Kitana and Mileena's mother was dead. How it was his fault that Shang Tsung and Quan Chi were in deplorable working and living conditions. How it's his fault that Reptile and Smoke lost their loved ones. How it's his fault that events and circumstances that did not go in their favor, even if it was out of everyone's hands, was HIS FAULT.

He was tired of it. Tired of explaining his reason for not keeping the position as the Keeper of Time. Tired of defending himself against the actions and motives that others have. Tired of expressing how while he may have remade this timeline and altered events, he never once had it planned to control the lives of mortals; leaving their motives and fates in their own hands and suffering the consequences of doing so.

Red and blue flames start to erupt from his arms where his draconic tattoos were printed, his eyes giving off a godly glow.

"I already told you why I withheld that information from him. I wanted him to have peace. Both of you, to have peace." Liu Kang tries his best to keep his calmly attitude as he picks himself up.

"And how do you know he wouldn't be at peace if he at least knew what was coming!?!" Raiden spits back at him

"And how would you?"

Even with his soothing voice, he definitely struck a cord with Raiden as he goes for a swing at Liu Kang. This time, Liu Kang grabs his fist and twists it, not enough to break the bone, but to cause painful strain.

Raiden shouted in mild pain as he tried to swing his other free hand at Liu Kang. Similarly, Liu blocks the attack, grabbing his wrist and unintentionally burning him slightly.

"Raiden, I'm not going to say this again. Stop this." Liu Kang looks Raiden dead in the eyes. Despite his calm face, there was a silent roaring flame behind his features. The kind of look that screams "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you give me reason to."

Yet, Raiden did not listen. He headbutts Liu Kang successfully, forcing Liu Kang back with a bleeding nose. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. In a fit of rage, Liu Kang yells as he punches Raiden square in the face. He didn't use his full godly strength, but it sent Raiden flying through multiple trees before slamming against one tree trunk. Liu Kang huffs and puffs, the anger slowly dying down and the realization of what he did quickly coming to him.

"Raiden!" Liu cries as he rushes as fast as he can to the former thunder god.

When he found his body, Liu Kang feared the worst. It happened as the old Raiden said. They were always destined to fight, to kill each other, and Liu Kang couldn't avoid it in this timeline. But the moment he heard Raiden's labored breaths, Liu Kang felt an overwhelming relief wash over him.

"Raiden! Raiden, I'm so sorry! I didn't- I didn't mean to," Liu Kang was stumbling over his words as he held Raiden upright, unsure of how serious his wounds were.

Raiden was going through the shock of it, breathing not only labored but in quick succession. Liu Kang tried to help Raiden match his breathing, to calm him down from the pain and shock.

"Are you," Raiden swallows between shaking breaths and stuttering speech, "Are you going to l-let me die? Like you did Lao?"

Liu Kang meets Raiden eye to eye. Raiden was bleeding from his head, streams of red running down his face with twigs and sticks entangled in his white hair. He's never going to let this go. Whatever Shang Tsung told him, it infected him like a parasite. As long as Raiden lived and breathed, Kung Lao's death will always be Liu's fault.

...Unless...

Liu Kang huffs, he never thought he would have to do this again, not since Shujinko. Liu Kang positions Raiden as comfortably as possible as one would be leaning against a tree with multiple broken bones and aching muscles.

"No, I want to grant you peace. I know that you don't want to hear this...But Kung Lao would've wanted you to find peace with his departure."

Liu Kang starts building up flames that run up his arms, performing the many monastic dances he learned from the previous timeline and the current. As the flames roared, they soon floated to Raiden and encompassed him. They never burned him. Raiden tries to crawl away from the dancing flames, believing them to char him to a crisp.

"Kung Lao would've wanted you to look fondly on your friendship and love, and seek to replicate that love with others. He would've wanted you to live happily, even if he wasn't there to provide you with that happiness."

"L-Liu Kang, what are you-wait...No!" Raiden's eyes start to water as he can feel his memories slipping. Not just the ones with Kung Lao, but everything before Liu Kang found him. His previous adventures in Outworld, in the Netherealm, in Chaosrealm, his ventures with his closest friends...The first time Kung Lao told him the three words, "I love you." Everything. "Liu Kang, no! Don't, please don't!"

Liu Kang, almost coldly, ignores Raiden's pleas as he takes it all away. Reverting Raiden back to the simple farm boy from Fengjian who simply wanted to protect and guide his village.

"...You are right, Raiden," Liu Kang says between paused breaths, trying to hold back tears as he committed the deed. "It is my fault. I shouldn't have thought that I could groom you or Kung Lao to become protectors of Earthrealm like you were before. I shouldn't have taken you away from your family, your friends, and your home in hopes of raising you to become grand warriors. I have placed your loved ones and you in so much danger...All because I clung onto a life that no longer exists...I'm sorry."

With that said, Raiden passes out from his injuries as Liu Kang finished the last of the memory wipe. Liu Kang stares at Raiden's slumbering body, and he can't help but scream and cry.

Finally allowing himself to grieve ever since that fateful day.

Fuji finished up the last of the clothes just in time when dinner was ready. She was having a hot pot this night, filled with various greens, potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, radishes, and various mushrooms. All placed into a chicken broth seasoned further with a tomato and pork bone soup base. Fuji sits at the table with a bowl full of the soup and she does her best to not look across the table...Where her brother Raiden would be...

Raiden told her a long time ago that he was placed in a very powerful position and hard at work with Mr. Kang. He brings back money and unique souvenirs with questionable origins. And he always makes sure to visit her occasionally when he's coming back to Fengjian.

But this was one of the many occasions where the house felt too big, even with their elderly mother and father sleeping in the other room. She missed having her older brother around, for the longest time, he was her only friend. Her closest friend. I mean, sure, they were siblings, and they had their "sibling moments," but with him gone, she never felt more alone. But her being alone wasn't the main problem for Fuji, it was Raiden's sudden silence.

Ever since Kung Lao's passing, Raiden hasn't been returning her calls, answering her letters, or even visiting the family. Doesn't help, too, that none of his friends live in Fengjian, and aside from Kung Lao and Johnny's number (she's never calling that man, btw), she can't even reach them to know what's up with her brother. It's gotten to the point where she has saved up some money to take a week's vacation to the U.S. where her brother is currently working (or so Raiden told her).

Before Fuji knew it, she was already done with her bowl (2 bowls actually) and she saved the leftovers for her parents when they awaken. As she was washing up the dishes, she hears a knock at the door. Hmm? Who could be visiting her at this hour?

…Could it be!

"Give me a moment!" Fuji says hurriedly as she dries her hands; making her way to the front door. A tiny bit of hope fills the young woman. Could this be Raiden? After so long!

She swings open the door, hope and glee plastered on her face, but it quickly turns to confusion and worry. "…Liu Kang…Raiden!?!"

Outside was Liu Kang carrying a bandaged and mostly healed Raiden. "I'm sorry to come at such a late hour, Fuji. May I come in."

"What happened to my brother!?! Did someone mug him? Was he attacked?" Fuji ushers Liu Kang to enter the home and shows him to Raiden's old room, still possessing his old belongings even before he left.

Despite her questions, Liu Kang did not answer her. She asks again and again about her brother's condition, who did this to him, and why, but she is met with silence. She watches Liu Kang gently place Raiden on his old bed, and just as he came unexpectedly, Liu proceeded to walk back outside.

"W-wait! Liu Kang, please, tell me what happened! Who hurt my brother! Why did this happen-" Fuji tries to stop Liu Kang by grabbing at his wrist, but she saw something that shocked him.

Liu Kang's eyes were red as if he was crying not too long ago.

"…What happened…"

There's a long pause between them. All that Liu Kang does is slightly tilt his head toward her, his white eyes meeting hers, before saying, "I'm sorry, Fuji. Your brother has been relieved from his service…And this will be the last time we will see each other."

And just like that, Liu Kang left. Fuji watched Liu Kang leave, fading away in the horizon, with more questions than answers.

"Ugh…My head."

Fuji nearly scares herself when she hears Raiden in the other room and moving about. She rushes back to him and helps support her brother when she sees that he is still unsteady.

"Raiden! Liu Kang, your boss from the States dropped you off, and you're bandaged, and unconscious, and Liu wouldn't tell me why you were like this and-"

"whoa, whoa, Fuji, slow down! Start over, who's Liu Kang again?"

Fuji pauses. "…Liu Kang…Your boss…"

"Fuji, I have no idea who that man is," Raiden hisses in pain as his muscles start to ache again. It's only now that he realizes that he was bandaged badly. "Did he do this?"

"I-I don't know. I thought…I thought you would tell me…"

"Well, I don't know who I angered to get this treatment, but if this Liu Kang fellow helped me back home, I'm surely appreciative. I'll have to lay back down. Can you get me a hot towel, please?"

Fuji helped her brother back to bed and gave him his requested towel, but she found herself staying in his room for the entire night as if she were a child again. She couldn't sleep as she was plagued with questions about what happened to Raiden. Better yet, the line of work that he was in that he got this terrible treatment. And unfortunately, she might never get those answers again. Raiden doesn't remember anything in the past couple of years, even seemingly forgotten about Kung Lao's death and funeral. His memories were missing and he couldn't give a reliable answer to what happened in his life past the day that he went into Madam Bo's restaurant after a bet with Kung Lao.

Even worse, she can't ask Liu Kang. Because just as he promised and foretold, they never saw Liu Kang again. - ~Holy shit this was longer than I anticipated. Also, I do not like Liu Kang's memories loss powers, but will I use it for the sake of angst? You fucking know I will bby! This is my pseudo-first fan work for an official fandom and I hope everyone liked it. Once again, a lot of this was inspired thanks to the lovely artists who contributed to the "oops, Kung Lao dies again" AU and I want to thank them for jumpstarting this silly little AU in this silly little game about beheading people with your bare hands. Sorry if there were some grammatical and spelling errors, was working on this throughout the evening and past midnight (quite literally 4:26 where I'm at lmao). I might make a sequel to this because I'm getting ideas of Kung Lao returning, but not as he used to be (Revenants in MK1, ayo?)~ UPDATE! I have now officially made a writer's blog so that this doesn't get lost in my clustered main blog! Any future installments about this and other writing pieces will go to this blog! @420thewritersroom

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 1 #MK1 #Raiden #Liu Kang #Kung Lao

65 notes · View notes

bunthebreadboy · 9 months ago

Text

so i’ve been on my atla bs once again, and while rewatching today i got the lovely thought that azula reminded me of a specific kpop idol and spiraled from there. so. here’s my personal list of kpop idols as atla characters!!

these are mostly based on vibes and/or visuals. by no means do i mean to make idols i think are similar to the show’s antagonists out to be bad people!!! i will give an explanation behind my thoughts as well.

also disclaimer, i know next to nothing about boy groups, so please spare me lol

anyways

seungkwan (seventeen) as aang

- once again, i know nothing about boy groups

- i did however watch the devil’s plan (amazing show by the way, it’s on netflix) and the positive but still very determined vibe seungkwan brought to the show reminded me of aang

- also, this selfie of him reminds me of the one scene with aang in the flower crown

jihyo (twice/soloist) as katara

- extremely hard workers who trained for years to get to where they are now

- have natural leadership abilities and are total mom friends

- would cuss someone out if they were very annoyed

- thanks to jeongyeon and her water bottles, jihyo is actually a pro waterbender already (jeongyeon is pakku but without the misogyny. the entire pakku/katara fight is just a compilation every single concert encore where jeong and jihyo bicker)

chan (skz) as sokka

- this honestly just felt right

- every time i see a clip of chan on a live i end up laughing

- i have also heard from stays that skz would collapse without chan and i very much think the same of sokka since he’s the ideas guy

- also aussie sokka lmao

hyunjin (loossemble) as toph

- competitive level 1000000 (please watch one episode of loossemble assemble and tell me i’m wrong)

- would do something out of spite but is also very protective of friends

- cannot be left alone without causing hazards

- theft (“stealing can be fun” -hyunjin)

- chaos reincarnate when younger, calmer (a bit) when older

- toph would also wear that shirt and pretend she didn’t know what it said even though sokka told her

heejin (artms/soloist) as suki

- i mostly thought of this because heejin and hyunjin are former loona members and good friends. which would make the scene where suki saves toph from drowning even funnier imo

- but also have you SEEN this woman’s muscles??? i have full confidence that heejin could handle her own in a fight

- every sapphic i know who’s seen atla had a crush on suki growing up and every sapphic loona stan i’ve met (which is most loona stans) has had a crush on heejin

- heejin’s lore in loonaverse is basically being a god and i personally equate that to suki

- also, they’re dorks

siyeon (dreamcatcher) as azula

- LITERALLY THE REASON I THOUGHT OF THIS POST (specifically vision era hello???) LOOK AT HER

- siyeon is at the scene of the crime like 90% of the time something chaotic happens in dreamcatcher so i can fully imagine her cosplaying azula and running around with sparklers or something

- she’s also very good at looking evil in mvs so i think she could play azula

- that scene in the deja vu music video right before the last chorus when fire shoots up from behind her? she’s literally a firebender

seonghwa (ateez) as zuko

- i know absolutely NOTHING about ateez aside from a couple of their title tracks but this man looks so much like siyeon i couldn’t resist

- idk i just feel like they’d be good at being the fire disaster siblings

- he also looks like he’d eat up the “the scar is not on the wrong side” line for some reason???

- was probably an angsty teenager at some point

miyeon (gidle) as ty lee

- nobody can out femme either of these two

- cute extroverts who could also be deadly (like imagine x-file miyeon during boiling rock)

- i feel like ty lee would LOVE doing dance challenges with anyone and everyone

bibi (soloist) as mai

- i am fully aware that bibi isn’t an idol but i couldn’t resist

- she just gives the mai vibes honestly. you know that trope where the guard asks the character to hand over all of their weapons and just stands there and stares as said character pulls out knives from everywhere? that is both bibi and mai

- bibi is also the queen of every concept so i fully believe she could probably play the entire cast of atla in a chaotic one-woman show

anyways i hope you enjoyed my chaos rambling and i kind of want to do this with other shows so if you liked this please leave me recommendations!

28 notes · View notes

420thewritersroom · 11 months ago

Text

Thunderstorms in Spring

~Welp, just as fast as I posted that first installment, now we have a second one! I didn't expect everyone to like the first one so much, and I wanna thank you guys for your loving words! And the previous piece honestly gave me so much work to go off on that I decided to continue with a sequel (will this become a possible series, idk, but there's a second one now, so who knows).~

~I, once again, want to thanks the artists in this community who made their pieces of White Haired!Raiden and contributed to the whole "Oops, Kung Lao's Dead Again" AU, you can find them credited in the previous post since I don't want to annoy them with constantly tagging them whenever I make another installment with this series lol.~

~Before we continue just wanted to put some mild context to ensure this makes sense. Fire God Liu Kang starts getting deja vu as certain coincidences and events start playing out that are too eerily similar to how things played out during the MK9 game. All roads were seemingly leading to Kung Lao dying in his timeline, and Liu Kang struggled with how to cope and deal with this. On one hand, he did not want his friend-…His new teacher…To die, especially since he tried so hard to tailor-make this timeline to ensure everyone got a happy ending.

Yet, at the same time, he refused to stoop down to Kronika's level and start altering the timeline until it was his "perfect" utopia. However, his fears and suspicion about the situation become even more realized when Raiden gets gravely injured, and the only thing that prevented him from kneeling over was the thunder amulet infused with his person (and some other magical shit, idk). From this, Raiden gains his iconic white hair, and this gives Liu Kang a heart attack. To make a long story short, Kung Lao ends up dying at the hands of the villains, Raiden is going through the stages of grief, but he's going down the same dark path as the previous Raiden, now becoming Dark Raiden. And Liu Kang has to finally interfere.~

Still confused? Too late, now on to the story!

Previous // Next

Wilted Cherry Blossoms, Dark Thunderstorms, Burning Hopes: Remastered

Characters: Raiden, Raiden's Sister (Fuji), Johnny Cage, Kenshi, Mentions of Kung Lao, Liu Kang, Madam Bo, and Jax

Word Count - 8,001 (wow!)

Ships: Johnny/Kenshi - Past Raiden/Kung Lao

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (with less blood), Heavy Talks About Character Death

~The Netherrealms - Undisclosed time and place~

Sulfur, ash, smoke, burning stone, and landscapes; the smell of the Netherrealm. Although Raiden's memories are fuzzy at best and nonexistent at worst, he remembers this in near clarity. His vision presents him looking up at the hellish sky as if he's lying down on the ground. He remembers not moving; it's too painful to move. He remembers breathing heavily. Is it because of the suffocating air of the Netherrealms? Or perhaps because of the blinding pain that Raiden remembers experiencing.

He can remember not just hissing and groaning in pain but screaming and writhing-silently begging for it to end. In this mnemonic dream, everything was selective when it came to what he saw, heard, smelled, and tasted. For taste, he can taste the iron of his own blood mixed in with something foul. Could it be the rancid air or the fact that this mixture almost tasted like poison?

His hearing in this dream is quite literally selective. Some people sounded horribly muffled, requiring Raiden to strain his ears to hear them. Others, he could perceive with great clarity, and then there were those he could not hear at all, their lips moving with no audible sound. Then there was his sight. Like the other senses, Raiden was faced with blurred faces, some only possessing one discernable feature, such as their eyes, nose, mouths, ears, hair, etc. Others were completely faceless to Raiden, with only their speech or smell being the one thing Raiden could cling to.

But what often overrode all these senses was the overwhelming pain he felt at this moment. Three figures stood above him. One was featureless; the only distinguishing aspect of this entity was that they were female-presenting as their speech sounded feminine, but it was horribly dimmed. Another figure was only distinguishable thanks to the glowing eyes they possessed and distinct dragon tattoos that crawled up their arms. If Raiden concentrates, he can maybe recollect what this individual is saying, but this pain prevents him from doing so.

Then there was Kung Lao. Deadass, just his long-time best friend, Kung Lao. Out of all the figures in front of Raiden in this instance, Kung Lao-he could see and hear with such perspicuity. Kung Lao stood beside the lying Raiden, tears in his eyes, slurring his speech, holding tightly to the thunder wielders' shaking hand.

"It's ok, Raiden! It's ok, you're going to be ok!" Kung Lao sobbed, trying, but failing, to smile at Raiden despite his tears actively gracing Raiden's face.

Raiden doesn't remember if he said anything back to him. His sight throughout this scene remained on his friend…At least, he thinks they're friends. There's a foreign feeling that encompasses him whenever he looks at Lao, and it's an overwhelming sense of love. And, I mean, people can definitely love their best friends. He and Kung Lao had known each other since they were children. Lao was a reckless, poor kid, and Raiden was a boy from a well-off family. Despite their class differences, they saw something likable about the other. But this love was more than just having a natural affinity for someone he's known all his life.

This felt…Stronger? Louder? Raiden doesn't know how to describe it. If it wasn't for the pain, Raiden would get lost in Kung Lao's chocolate eyes. He would untie his short ponytail and play with his hair before readjusting his look. Raiden notices little details about his friend that others might not have picked up on. Like his dimples when he smiles, even under such stressful circumstances, the way his face piercings adds to his cocky personality, and his undercut brings back fond memories of the pair trying to learn how to cut his hair which ended disastrously. Raiden wanted…To kiss him dearly…

And just like how Raiden held his perspective on Lao, Kung Lao hasn't torn away his gaze on Raiden, spitting out promises of what they will do together once Raiden was right as rain in rapid fire. What ended up redirecting Kung Lao's attention was when the figure with the glowing eyes was mumbling something.

"What?" Kung Lao snaps his head over to the tattooed figure with hopeful confusion on his face.

This tattooed individual, Raiden could not understand fully. However, he was able to catch on to some words: Amulet, Raiden, Entity, and Consequences. The fully faceless being, who was also present, gestures as if they're conversing with the pair - but Raiden cannot hear their input on the matter.

"I don't care how you do it! I…I just want him to survive! Please, Liu! Save him! Save Raiden!" Kung Lao cries, holding onto Raiden's hand like his life depended on it. As if, if he didn't clutch onto Raiden, he would lose him forever.

The tattooed individual holds their gaze toward Kung Lao, their silence and body language hinting that they were…Uneased and uncertain. The tattooed looks at the feminine figure and nods, saying something in the mumbled jargon they spoke. But the three individuals in front of Raiden were all in agreement. They were going to save him. He was going to survive this…Somehow.

Kung Lao focuses back on Raiden, smiling at his downed friend. "Look at me. Look at me, Raiden. You're going to be alright! Liu is gonna help ya. You…" Kung Lao looks Raiden over, primarily where his stomach is. Why was he looking there? "You're going to be alright. I love you. I love you so much, and I'm not going to let you die, ok?"

Raiden feels his heart flutter as if Kung Lao said something that would've usually made the thunder wielder swoon. But what was it? Despite being able to understand everything Kung Lao was telling him, his dream censored him; twice it did. Raiden feels something swell within him, this desire to respond to Kung Lao. Words at the tip of his tongue that he wanted to get out.

But then the pain gets worse. A LOT worse. His body was on fire as if electricity was coursing through his body. Raiden screams, making sounds that one would not think a human could make. He writhes, so much so that he feels someone holding him down. He remembers wanting it to stop; that dying was a better alternative than enduring this much pain.

Raiden jolts awake, sitting upright, sweaty, and breathing heavily. His eyes roam about his room, taking stock of what's around him. It was just a dream. He's in his room, in his bed. Not in…That hellish place…Whatever that was. Yet, he's not calming down. It felt real, too real. The pain, the heat, the people talking to him. It was as if he experienced it before, and there was a part of himself that felt like it was factual. But it was so…Surreal…

"Ugh! Aaah!" Raiden clutches his stomach, where his lower and upper body meet. It's happening again.

He can feel static dancing off his person in painful waves, coursing through his body from his stomach. He doubles over as he clutches his stomach in a hugging position. He can feel it wanting to get out again, this strange, unknown power, as it swells in electric prowess, begging to be let out.

"Raiden? Raiden!" Fuji's voice sounds distant, yet tangible, as she rushes to her brother's side. "Raiden, what's wrong? Is it happening aga-ah!" Fuji feels a jolt of electricity shock her, and she pulls away from touching her brother.

Raiden hisses through the growing pain, "Y-yes, it's happening again! It's stronger this time!"

"Come on, let's get you outside!" Fuji says in a hurried tone as she quickly dresses herself in whatever she can get her hands on in her brother's room.

Raiden groans as he tries to remove himself from his bed (something he kinda doesn't want to do right now) but ends up rolling off the mattress onto the floor with an audible grunt. Fuji is quick to Raiden's side again and helps him up with all her strength. Despite having a sleeper build in terms of muscularity and being leanly built, he was heavy to carry and drag around for someone of her strength and stature.

"Come on, come on, let's go, Raiden! We're almost to the door; let's go!" Fuji tries to encourage her brother.

"I-I'm trying, Ji. It hurts!" Raiden whines.

They both get past the front door and rush to hop onto Fuji's motorbike (she saved up ALOT of money to get this baby). She revs the engine and speeds away down the road, biking to a remote area so that her brother can let out…Whatever the fuck is going on with him.

"We're almost out of here, Raiden! Just give me-HOLY SHIT!"

Suddenly, an arc of lightning strikes the ground, deadly close to them. It's only now that Fuji notices that the night cloudy skies above were crackling with thunder and lightning (fortunately, no rain…Yet…).

"Raiden, control yourself! Just give me 2 minutes! AAH!" Fuji dodges a lightning strike that landed 3 seconds ahead of them.

"I'M TRYING!" Raiden shouts in pain, his hair and eyes glowing intensely as the power of the amulet strengthens. Throughout the trip, Raiden KNOWS that he was unintentionally shocking his sister, the poor farm boy constantly apologizing as he tries to reign in the energies coming off him.

Fuji is able to bob & weave around the constant lightning strikes and endure the shocks her brother kept giving her, just enough to reach not just the outskirts of the village but into the remote parts outside their settlement. Once they were a good 15 minutes away from Fengjian, Fuji slows down to park her bike, but this would nearly cost her. As they were about to stop, another strike of lightning hits them from behind, kicking up dirt, debris, and their bike. The motorbike ends up being tipped forward forcefully, sending the siblings flying.

"AAAAHHH!" Fuji screams as she soars above the ground before crashlanding into the tall grass nearby. Although she didn't gain that much air, thanks to her slowing down not too long ago, she still felt her ears ringing and her head and muscles aching. She makes sharp gasps as she slightly rolls in pain.

"Damnit, Raiden," Fuji hisses. "Fuck, Raiden! Raiden?" Fuji picks herself up, almost losing her footing, as she frantically looks for her older brother.

The sounds of her brother screaming gave her an idea of where he was at. He wasn't too far from her. Fuji could see lighting bouncing off his person as he was in the fetal position. As Fuji was attempting to approach him, Raiden yelled out to her, "DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!"

Fuji immediately stops in her tracks, watching her brother uselessly as he suffered. Ever since he came back home a year and a half ago, ever since Liu Kang dropped her brother off at their family home, he's had these strange abilities. But nothing like this. It has never gotten this bad! It's gotten out of control. Whatever's happening to Raiden, it's trying to get out. Fuji anxiously scours through her brain as she considers WHAT she can do to help her brother that she hasn't done before. But…BUT WHAT THE FUCK WOULD ANYONE DO IN THIS SITUATION!?! Her brother is becoming a malfunctioning transmission tower! No amount of guidance from their parents, friends, workmates, or even TikTok inspiration posts could prepare her to handle this!

There is one thing she notices about her brother in this situation. It's almost as if he's trying to hold back whatever this electrifying beast is. This gives her an idea.

"R-Raiden! Raiden, you need to let go! You can't keep holding back…Whatever this is!" Fuji shouts as loud as she can, the raging thunder clouds, cracks of lightning, and howling wind overpowering her voice.

"NO!" Raiden screams in response, fear heavily apparent in his tone. "I-FUCK-I'LL HURT YOU! LIKE LAST TIME, I'LL HURT YOU!"

Oh…

Fuji stares uselessly at Raiden as that incident plays in her head again. It was a couple months since Liu Kang returned her brother home. Raiden was…He was going through alot. What, with his sudden memory loss and having to come to terms with the lost memories, Raiden was silently coping with this alone. It's unnatural for him to bottle up his emotions. Fuji has always known her brother to speak his mind when something troubled him…Then again, his trusted confidant when he didn't want to turn to his family was Kung Lao…Who's dead…Even Madam Bo he couldn't look to for guidance; she died many years ago (peacefully, surrounded by her family). And despite the natural trust, as siblings, they both had for each other; Raiden clearly avoided speaking with her about what he was thinking and feeling.

And it finally came overhead when the siblings had a mild dispute. She doesn't even remember what they were arguing about. Could've been typical brother/sister shit. Maybe she finally confronted him about his silence and reluctance to speak about what had happened to him. Regardless, things got a bit personal, and Raiden, who is usually the patient and calm one, even during their little disagreement bouts; lashed out.

And quite literally did he lashed out. Fuji probably should've seen the telltale signs when his eyes and hair were giving a dim, white glow, but she was too riled up in the conversation to pay attention. Then it happened, Raiden yelled back at her, and suddenly, an arc of lightning erupted from him. Striking Fuji.

With a highly concentrated energy of electricity, it shocked her to the point that her body shut down temporarily…But Raiden didn't see it like that, at the moment. His sister, his closest friend aside from Kung Lao, was lying on the kitchen floor, dead. Their elderly parents arrived home to see Raiden sobbing loudly as he tried to revive his sister while lightning was pulsing off him. They couldn't get close enough to each reach the phone to call for emergency services as arcs of lightning were going everywhere in the house, practically destroying it (the expenses were much, even for their family). And maybe it was the constant shock of electricity that restarted Fuji and kept her from fully kneeling over. Who knows, there was a lot of pandemonium going on at that moment, but she remembered jolting back to life, breathing heavily as she tried to scoot away from her brother.

But there was one thing she regretted that day. Being so scared of Raiden that she had the look of someone seeing a monster, a threat.

Fuji can ascertain that he's been holding it in ever since that day. Because he's scared of hurting her again. And sure, they would both go out of town to a remote area to let Raiden air out and release the energies of the amulet infused to his body. But there was a deafening disconnect since that day. And it pains Fuji that it wasn't until now that she realized she'd shut Raiden out because she was scared of her brother.

Another painful cry emits from Raiden. The storms above were becoming dangerous, Fuji felt like she was going to be swept off her feet by the roaring winds. Although Fuji was scared of the mystical prowess her brother possessed, she loved him more than she feared him.

"Raiden, you're not going to hurt me! I know you won't, I trust that you won't!" Fuji has to now scream over the raging storm as she puts some further distance between her and her brother, readjusting her fallen motorbike. "Whatever you're holding on to, you have to let it go!"

"Fuji, I-"

"Raiden, don't you fucking argue with me!" Fuji shouts, using her "mom voice." Fuji might be just as soft-spoken as her brother, but she knew when to assert herself and take up space when needed. "You're going to harm me far worse the longer you keep holding on to...Well, that! You'll destroy all of Fengjian doing what you're doing RIGHT NOW!"

I mean, Fuji can't say for certain that it will. But storms like this can definitely level villages, and she's not about to wait and find out if this is the case. Fuji yelps loudly as a soaring large tree branch flies by her, the dark-haired sister ducking behind her bike for safety. There's another resounding scream from Raiden, and she looks in his direction with extreme worry. However, there was something different about this scene.

Raiden was howling, sure, but he was releasing the energies of the amulet. The best way one could describe this scene is that it's like watching Raiden raise his power level as if he's a Dragon Ball Z character. The storm around this time worsens, so much so that Fuji ends up holding onto her, albeit skidding, bike while screaming herself.

Then it...Stops...The roiling thunder, the crack of lightning, the raging winds calmed. Fuji opens her eyes and looks to the still-night sky, the dark clouds slowly parting to reveal the gibbous moon above, the sound of thunder now becoming an infrequent presence. When she finally takes a look at her brother...She might as well be looking at an all-powerful being, maybe even a god.

Raiden was levitating, hair and clothes flowing as if he were in water, sparks of electricity visibly coursing through his being as his hair and eyes glowed a godly white. Fuji stared in awe as electric energies sparked off him, unsure of how else to take in this scene in front of her. Her brother would soon gracefully touch the ground again before kneeling over. Fuji cautiously approaches her brother as if she's entering an emperor's throne room unannounced.

"...Raiden?"

"...Yeah?" Raiden, now sounding like his usual, soft-spoken, self, looks up at his sister. His face plastered with the same amazement as she possessed.

"Are you...Ok?"

"I think so," Raiden looks himself over, watching the energies pulse around him. "...Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm alright now."

"What was that? This never happened before." Fuji starts getting more bold as she approaches her brother. She wanted to dust him down but hesitated as the energies continued to encompass Raiden.

Raiden is quiet for a moment. During this silence, the electrical current finally dissipated. "...I'm sorry, Fuji."

"For what?"

"For...For everything."

Fuji's heart nearly breaks the moment she hears Raiden's voice crack. Raiden's eyes become glassy as he begins to cry. "No. No, Raiden," Fuji takes the first step to break the space between them, holding his shaking hand in hers. "I should be the one apologizing. I...I'm not going to pretend that I know what happened to you that caused all this. These strange powers, you're new color," Fuji brushes some stray hair behind Raiden's ear, "Or why you can't remember the past...I don't even know how many years."

"But you clearly needed help. I can't assist with any physical help, but I can help with this," Fuji pokes at his heart, smiling at her elder brother. "I was scared of you, Raiden...Because you became...Unrecognizable to me. But I was wrong to emotionally shut you out. You're still my brother, and I'm going to still be your sister."

Raiden chuckles, smiling through his tears as he fondly looks at Fuji. "Thank you, sis."

"Now come on, we best get home. Mom and Dad, if they're not awake already, are going to be worried about why we were gone during an active storm. Also, you're still in your underwear."

"What?" Raiden looks at himself, finally realizing that he's still in a t-shirt and boxers. "W-why didn't you help me get dressed!?!"

"You were literally screaming and shooting lightning out of your hands, what did you want me to do?" Fuji responds as she gets her motorbike prepped for departure.

"I would've been fine with a hoodie or something," Raiden says, now in a bit of a jesting mood. He does notice that his sister is wearing his clothes and points at her. "Can you at least hand me my hoodie?"

"Can't. Not wearing anything under this."

"I can literally see your PJs under there, Ji."

"Ok, but it's cold. No thanks to you," Fuji sticks her tongue at him teasingly.

The pair continue their sibling banter as they make their way back to Fengjian. The back & forth is interrupted as Raiden grows silent suddenly. Growing increasingly uncomfortable with the silence, Fuji breaks the ice.

"Something on your mind?"

Raiden remains still.

"...Come on, Raiden. If something is troubling you...Listen, I might not have all the answers, but at least let me know what's going on."

~Two Days Later~

Raiden closes the mirrored medicine cabinet, the soft click of the small door indicating it was successfully shut. Raiden is faced with his reflection. White, shoulder-length hair, brown eyes (that occasionally turn white, he has noticed), upside-down heart-shaped face, chubby cheeks, oval brows; these features he has seen time and time again. Yet, this look still feels...Foreign to him. How did he get the white hair? Nothing in his memories can track down the point in time when he dyed his hair (Fuji says that he dyed his hair...But...).

He looked...Older. As if he's experienced many things in his life. What those experiences are though-he cannot tell you. Raiden places a hairband in his mouth as he gathers his strands to recreate the man-bun he fondly prefers to wear. It's the one thing that gives him a sense of familiarity. He can remember precisely how he favors pinning up his hair. Raiden looks at himself in the mirror again, staring into his reflections' brown eyes as if he's searching for something behind them. His gaze then focuses on a small picture. A photo was taken when he, Kung Lao, and Fuji went on a school trip in their elementary years. Their class went fishing that day, and he can distinctly remember his kid self getting frustrated because he couldn't catch a single fish that day. Despite living in a village that was on the water, fishing wasn't a skill Raiden acquired. He remembers Kung Lao always being able to catch a large or small one, bragging about how he was going to take his catches back home to eat.

Perhaps it was Kung Lao's bragging that made his younger self jealous and throw a fit. But in that same instance, Kung Lao actually taught him the tricks he used to capture fish. It was Kung Lao that turned that sour trip into a journey he will always remember.

...

Why can't he remember anything? Past that day, when the pair competed to see who could harvest the most cabbages and pay for the loser's meal at Madam Bo's, everything else is a blur. And maybe this wouldn't bother him much; people can have fuzzy memories, especially if they were beaten so severely they had to be bandaged with extreme care by a stranger. But it's not just a few memories that he can't recollect; it's practically all of them past that day at Madam Bo's. Even more alarming...

...He had forgotten that his best friend, Kung Lao, had died. Now, unless he's getting a grave case of early dementia, who would miss that their own best friend died, their own funeral procession? When his sister and parents came forward about this with him, it was only then that Raiden realized that some years passed as well. That meant that he was missing years-YEARS-of life experiences that were now gone from his mind. Even more confusing, he wasn't in a coma. At least, he doesn't think he was.

Ok, lemme explain. Based on what Fuji and his parents told him, some man named Liu Kang offered him a position of high-paying work. It required him to work in the United States, and both he and Kung Lao were offered the job; both men said yes to this opportunity. Looking back at it, in his family's words, they should've pushed back further as they were suspicious of this Liu Kang fellow and this job he was offering their son. But seeing the joy on Raiden's face and his determination to leave with Liu Kang convinced them that their son could handle themselves and pave his own future. Occasionally, he would visit home and send money & unique souvenirs before promptly leaving back to the States. Apparently, he was a martial arts teacher in the States, but everything else was unknown to them. It was a shock to everyone when they heard that Kung Lao died. It came out of left field. Based on what Liu Kang and Raiden told them, an accident happened where some equipment malfunctioned and blew up in Kung Lao's face, a lacerated throat being the primary cause of death. After that, Raiden was radio silent to his family. It wasn't until Liu Kang came to their house in the dead of night years later with Raiden in tow, bandaged and bruised, and left without another word. They haven't seen Liu Kang since.

Aside from the mild inconsistencies (if he was in the States while his family was in China, of course, there would be some muddled details), their story was pretty straightforward based on their point of view...Yet, deep down, Raiden couldn't help but...Feel like there's more to this story. Not that he's distrustful of his family; he truly believes what they said. However, somewhere deep within his conscience, it felt like the story they told him was the tale he WANTED them to believe. As if Raiden knew the truth that explains the holes and contradictions that riddled their recollection of previous events. Yet, the answers to these truths are hidden even from Raiden. Always at the tip of his tongue but forbidden from ever speaking them.

Raiden enters the kitchen; his mother and sister preparing breakfast and lunch for Raiden. Seeing him enter, Fuji smiles from ear to ear. "You slept in, lazy butt."

"Oh?" Raiden looks at the mounted clock, and yep! He's an hour and thirty minutes late to work. "Aw, crap!"

"Calm yourself, boy. I already called the Farm. They were understanding and said to come in when you're ready." His mother says as she sets down a bowl full of steamed Bao Buns. Enough to last until lunch, really.

Looking at the bowl, Raiden knew why they cooked so much. Kung Lao, the gluttonous butt he was, would always visit Raiden so that they could travel to work together. And without fail, he was always raiding their kitchen for any leftovers no one else wanted. It became nearly tradition to cook a bit extra in case Kung Lao decided to pay them a visit.

...Apparently, old habits die hard...Raiden smiles and kisses his mother gingerly on the cheek. "Thank you, mother. I don't want to keep them longer, though. I'll see you guys when I get back." Raiden quickly packs his own lunch, thanks to the assistance of his sister, Fuji, who was already 3 steps ahead of him and grabs a couple Bao Buns before heading out the house.

Walking to the Farm, Raiden couldn't help but feel a sorrowful, almost lonely, acceptance of the village around him. Every building, path, small body of water, old face, new face, everything about Fengjian felt like a ghost to him. It was familiar, yet so dissimilar to Raiden. This village has grown in the past years he was in and out of this settlement. But what disheartens him is the absence of his friend. Raiden only wishes that Kung Lao was here, perhaps he would've helped him make sense of all of this. This...Amnesia mess that he's in. And Raiden would've confided with Madam Bo...You know, if she were still alive. Her death had more consistency; she simply died of old age. It was still a shock; she was his adopted grandmother in Raiden's eyes. So in Raiden's mind, he not only lost a close friend but also a family member and valuable mentor.

Raiden found himself staring at points of interest that held significance to him, especially if it related to Kung Lao. There was a cherry blossom tree up a hill nearby that he and Lao would frequent without fail. Be it to do school work, to see who can climb that tree the fastest and highest, or to chill. It was there that Kung Lao, at the age of 15, expressed his desire to explore their horizons past Fengjian. Raiden still grins to himself, thinking back on the many adventurers Kung Lao wanted to have (although few of them were a bit exaggerated). How they both promised-once they were older-they would travel outside of Fengjian, and experience the world together. Somewhere, deep down, Raiden feels like this has come true if they have gone to the States before...But it feels like more was there than simply hopping over to another country.

There's a convenience store nearby where Kung Lao's house was. It was a favorite, and every time the pair visited it, Kung Lao would rant and rave about all the many meals one could make from just a few store-bought convenience items. Being a child of a middle-class family, Raiden was always baffled by the "dishes" Kung Lao would make, most of them hit or miss due to the cheap ingredients. But Kung Lao loved to cook. He probably would've wanted to become one with the kind of passion he had. But Kung Lao cooked to survive due to...Well, let's just say, he was a poor kid.

Then there was the Farm. They were always getting into some kind of trouble there. Playing daring jokes on each other, helping one another with the back-breaking labor, then the fulfilling trip to Madam Bo's Teahouse. All fond memories.

Before Raiden knew it, the day was already reaching its finale. Raiden worked overtime, something he was often known to do. And, you know, working such late hours without Kung Lao there was...Disheartening. Kung Lao wouldn't assist in the work. In his mind, his shift ended at 5:30 P.M. But he would at least stay with Raiden. To provide him company during the late hours. This time around, the nightlife critters and beasts were his only company. The walk home was seemingly worse. The darkened village felt quiet, with only a few shops open that had loud commotion going on. Friends hanging out and enjoying a good drink together as they drank and ate the rest of the evening away.

The only moment of solace Raiden gained was when he walked back into his house. His mother, father, and sister were loud in conversation as they went over the recent village gossip, village news & politics, and pastime activities they engaged in. It was a breath of fresh air having this personal community that broke the solemn silence that his best friend filled. The night ended with Raiden sitting down with his family and enjoying the dinner they made. It closed with him and his sister, Fuji, cleaning up after their parents as they turned in early for the night.

"Hey."

"Hmm?" Raiden gives Fuji a side glance as he continues to clean up dishes.

"You feeling ok?" Fuji eyes him curiously.

Two days ago, Raiden finally came forward with Fuji about the emptiness he's been feeling. Even though he's in a village that he was born & raised in, filled with familiar faces and family, the fact of the matter is that he dearly missed Kung Lao. But...But it was more than just grieving for a best friend, not that it would make a difference. But Kung Lao filled deeper shoes than just simply being a friend. When he's in bed, he feels like the mattress is too big all of a sudden. He can't eat certain dishes because it will all remind him of Lao. He finds himself crying to himself because he forgot for a moment that Kung Lao would not answer his door or his phone if Raiden were to call. All these things, even as a best friend, would be reasonable to miss and grieve over. But there was something more to their friendship than that.

"Do you think you loved him?" Raiden remembers Fuji asking him when he came forward with this.

"...I don't know...And if I did...Now I have to reconcile with the fact that I'll never get to tell him..."

Raiden smiles at his sister and playfully bumps shoulders with her. "Now that I'm home? I'm feeling good, for now. The rice and pork was really good, Fuji."

"I know right! I used this new spice that my friends were crazy about. It's a Korean spice-"

Fuji rambled on about how she made the dish they had for dinner, and Raiden eagerly listened and conversed with her. Even though Kung Lao was gone, he could try to fill that space with more people who loved him.

Outside the residence where Raiden lived, a shadowed figure rests on the rooftops of the sleeping Fengjian village, watching the building like a predator that has found its prey. Blazing red eyes stare through the open windows, watching closely the two figures who pass it daily, unaware they have an interested third party observing them. The being in question, however, was laser-focused on Raiden, watching his every move, taking them to memory. The show would be over, unfortunately, as they closed the curtains and cut off the lights, slumbering like the rest of the village.

The shadowed individual smiles, "Worry not, Raiden. We'll be reunited soon enough. You'll see. Then not even death will tear us apart."

And in a flash of mystical air and dead cherry blossom petals, the figure is gone.

~Somewhere in California~

Kenshi groans awake as he feels inklings of the sun peering out from the half-closed curtains. Half-naked, Kenshi, through his sight provided by Sento, is greeted with the ceiling of the luxury apartment belonging to Jonathan Carlton, Johnny Cage. Kenshi felt an added weight on the bed he slept on, knowing who was sharing the mattress with him. Despite this, Kenshi twisted his head to drink in the blissfully still-sleeping man beside him, Johnny.

You know, if you asked Kenshi that he would end up in the loving arms of a pompous Hollywood star, he would've had you killed for even thinking about it. Even when their relationship evolved from enemies to friends, Kenshi would've thought that was the final step in their relationship. Just being friends. But it all fell into place when...When Kung Lao died. Funny how shared trauma can bring others together...

You see, Before Kung Lao died, Johnny was good friends with Kung Lao. They both had their similarities. They were both friends with whom some would consider "the straight man" of their other half, they were both hella self-confident and prideful of their capabilities. The only thing that seemingly differentiated them was that one was poor while the other was rich. Oh, and the fact that Kung Lao was more disciplined when it came to his fighting prowess, compared to Johnny, who was more of a "free-form jazz" type of guy. Although Kung Lao expressed mild annoyance at the actor's Hollywood pride (even Kung Lao wasn't that egotistical), the pair worked off each other pretty well to be good friends.

So when Kung Lao died, aside from Raiden, Johnny took his death the hardest. Being perhaps the more foolhardy of the group (even with his years of maturity the more he was asked to help Liu Kang with other realm matters), that moment was when Johnny really "grew up." It's not like he was new to death, the kind of work they did, they have met many instances where they watched people die in front of them or saw corpses in horrendous states. But it was one thing when it was someone who you weren't close to or didn't know in general. It's another thing when it's someone you do know and have history with.

After Kung Lao's death, Johnny's way of coping was trying to fill in the shoes that Kung Lao left behind. Kung Lao always had a way of lightening the mood that was unique compared to what Johnny would do. Where the actor would constantly spill movie references that no one but Johnny understood, Kung Lao knew how to inspire from the heart. And that took skill and experience to pull off, something Johnny wasn't too well versed in. Looking back on it, Kenshi sees them in a more positive light than before. However, he can't say the same for Raiden. When they were still considered the protectors of Earthrealm, Raiden was spiraling into his own self-hatred and grief. With good intentions, Johnny tried to be a friend to Raiden, wanting to reassure Raiden that they had his back...It didn't end well.

Johnny's desire to keep their friend group together, even though they were drifting apart was harming Johnny more than he thought it was. So when Liu Kang suddenly announced that he would no longer be needing their services, Johnny was quick to take his offer. Now, to the untrained ear, one would think:

"Of course, Johnny Cage dipped out after the going got going! He's an actor who never saw any of the cruelties of the real world because of his wealth!"

Which, in some way, could be the reason. But Kenshi saw something else to Johnny's reason for dipping out. As stated before, Johnny put a lot of emotional energy trying to keep their friend group alive. He tried to fill the shoes that Kung Lao left behind, and in the process, he was draining himself as he tried to keep everyone happy while everyone was coping with Lao's death. No longer being obligated to be Earthrealms protector, meant that Johnny no longer had to hold onto the tearing strings since they were all going their separate ways.

Their relationship still wouldn't blossom until nearly a year and a half ago. Granted, looking back at their previous interactions, perhaps it was fate that they would find solace with each other. Kenshi, with the line of work he involved himself in, had to go into hiding but had nowhere to turn to. Hunkering down with Johnny would've been a foolish thought; he was the exact opposite of discreet. But, because he had to cut back on some expenses, Johnny was living in an apartment building that was a perfect "hiding in plain sight" spot. With Kenshi as his new roommate, Johnny got a bit personal with Kenshi as he was helped dress his wounds. The rest was history as Kenshi found himself kissing Johnny in the heat of the moment. A year and a half later, Kenshi is still in disbelief that they're together still.

While Kenshi would love to admire the sleeping person beside him, he knew that he couldn't stay long. He was still in hiding, and he promised Jax that he would meet him at a disclosed location to discuss next steps. He's careful to slip out of bed without disturbing Johnny, swiftly getting cleaned up and dressed before walking into the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of joe.

"Mmhm. Morning sunshine."

Kenshi nearly jumps out of his skin as he feels strong arms wrap around his waist. He smiles as he cranes his head back to look at Johnny. "Did I wake you?"

"Didn't feel your body keeping me warm, honey. You leaving already?" Johnny says in a husky tone as he nuzzles behind the blind swordsman.

"Have to. I have an associate who's waiting for me. I might not be able to stay here for much longer."

"Again?" Johnny complains in an overexaggerated tone. "How long will you be gone?"

"Don't know, depends on the situation."

This isn't the first time Kenshi and Johnny been separated for long periods of time, something they were both well accustomed to. Johnny was an actor/director, which means he was constantly traveling to other states and countries for filming. Working for the OIA (Outworld Investigation Agency) and the FBI, Kenshi was either traveling the world or traveling realms. Perhaps being the only Earthrealmer who didn't hang up the mantle of being Liu Kang's warrior.

Johnny continues to whine about being alone without Kenshi (even though he'll be alright), playing up his desperation for Kenshi to "stay home" with him. And Kenshi will admit, he can definitely see why he was, and still is, a popular star in Hollywood.

"Can you at least leave me a goodbye gift?" Johnny's fingers start to linger towards Kenshi's waistbelt.

"Johnny," Kenshi chuckles as he moves one of his hands away from his waist, kissing the fingers individually. "I can't right now; I'm going to be late."

"Aw, come on! Just a quicky?"

"No, Johnny."

Cage huffs, but there is no anger hinted there. He just kisses Kenshi's neck and sighs. "Fine. Just come back sooner than later, ok? Bed feels empty without ya."

"I bet it does," Kenshi jests.

"I know it does." As Johnny giggles, his eyes glance at the reflection displayed on the microwave mirror, and he sees…Something moving. A tall, humanoid figure attempting to stealth because it assumes it hasn't been seen.

Just as quickly as Johnny notices this, he quickly grabs a kitchen knife from the knife holder and swiftly throws it at the intruder. Even with his fast reflexes, they weren't as fast as the unwanted guest. The Intruder grabs the knife, blade in hand, while their glowing red eyes stay trained on the couple.

Kenshi, already alerted that something is wrong, calls for Sento to his hand. The magic sword unsheathes itself and flies over to their location. Before reaching Kenshi's hand, with his mystical sight and ability to utilize Sento, even if the weapon is not in his hand, he sharply gestures his one hand in multiple directions in slicing motions. Sento redirects its trajectory as it starts to aim for the home invader. Although the sword was able to get a few good slices in, the individual was fast…Too fast…

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment!?!" Johnny growls as he grabs another weapon of his own (it's another knife).

The figure doesn't respond, only growling as it attempts to rush at Johnny and Kenshi. The pair dodge out of the way, both separated on opposite sides of the person.

"Listen, I'm willing to not press charges AND give you the comfiest dirt nap you'll ever experience IF you tell us what you're doing in my place and why you're attacking us!"

"Something tells me they're not here to talk, Johnny," Kenshi replies as he commands Sento to his hand.

"Ok, dirt nap it is then."

The pair rush the intruder, hoping to overwhelm them with their combined might. Johnny's theatrical and dirty fighting tactics with Kenshi's samurai-like skills and roughhousing tricks. Yet, even with their combined might, this individual was swift and able to counter almost all their attacks while also producing devastating blows of their own.

Very quickly, Kenshi caught on that this person possessed some superhuman strength. Every punch sent Kenshi and Johnny flying in some instances during the fight. This intruder also had some cracks in their skin that had a glow to them. Unfortunately, while Sento gave him sight, it didn't provide Kenshi clarity on specific details like colors. Johnny, however, could see that this person had ashen gray skin, much like how a corpse would look, and the supposed "cracks" were actually the outlines of their inner veins, glowing to an unnatural degree.

Another thing too, this guy just would not quit. Their back and forth was eventually tiring Johnny & Kenshi as they missed one too many close calls that would've killed them. But this home invader had stamina for days. Johnny and Kenshi had to resort to going on the defensive as they had to dodge his attacks while waiting for openings.

Johnny is nearly choked out by this creature before grabbing the heated french press on the stove and slamming it against the intruder's head. Granting the actor time to build some distance.

"Kenshi, I'm gonna need you to think of something, and think of it quick because I'm going to be paying for all these expenses that this prick is breaking!" Johnny windily fusses as he lands a one-two punch on the intruder.

"Get him closer to the living room!" Kenshi says as he provides a helpful block for Johnny, using Sento to slash at the intruder before they can land a hit on Johnny.

"What?" Johnny looks at Kenshi confused before taking a punch to the face.

"Just follow my lead!"

Where Johnny's luxurious apartment was located it was built into a tall skyscraper building, and Johnny paid to get a good view of the city he was living in. That meant that his room was exceptionally high up in the building; leading to an estimated 250 ft drop. And Kenshi was getting some sneaking suspicions that this creature could survive all 250 of it.

Kenshi dares to get closer to the intruder, putting all his might into pushing and fighting this man closer to the living room which had an entire glass wall that showcased that good Californian view. Helping him, Johnny also jumped into the fray, along with Sento as they brought him closer to the glass windows. The intruder was able to block their attacks, but he was inching toward the glass, and they finally grabbed at Kenshi's throat in a crushing grip.

"You will join us, Takahashi. Our family will gladly welcome you." The intruder says.

"I'm all for visiting in-laws and relatives, but we're gonna have to decline the invitation to the family barbeque!" Johnny says. And in that same second, he drops it low and hits your man with the most devastating nutcracker they'll ever experience.

The intruder makes an audible moan as they double over, covering their private bits. Seems this was just enough to not only get them winded but grant Kenshi enough time to perform a flying roundhouse kick and send the intruder falling 230 feet back to the lobby.

"Yo, Kenshi! What the hell, man! I didn't think you were going to kill him!?!" Johnny exclaims. "Dude, I live on this floor!?! And it's 10 in the fucking morning! People are going to see, and then the police are going to be called, then what the fuck am I going to do then? I mean, sure, we were fighting in self-defense, I think that guy had the intent to kill us, but I'm a famous star, dickhead! What am I going to tell the press? Fuck, fucking A, I can already see it, 'Johnny Cage: Famous Actor, Director, and Killer?' Fucking fuck, Kenshi!"

Despite Johnny's angry rambles, Kenshi paid him no mind as he carefully leaned out the side of the broken window, trying to get a good view of the intruder and seeing if his prediction was correct.

…The motherfucker got up.

"Johnny, get dressed, we gotta go," Kenshi says in a hurry as he picks up Sento and the sheath it belongs to.

"Wait, what? Were you even hearing me-"

"We don't have time, get dressed!"

"Ok, ok, I am!" Johnny windily says as he rushes to his bedroom. "Fucking hell, what a goddamn mess."

As the pair are leaving the apartment, Johnny is just getting his best shoes tied, hopping on one leg as he tries to follow the hurried Kenshi. "Wait, Kenshi, what the hell is going on. You're doing that 'I know way more than I let on' schtick that you often do. Did you know that guy?"

"I'll explain once we're far from here. Right now, you're about to meet a good friend of mine."

~Wow, this was even longer lmao! I made a second installment! Very excited to keep working on this because we're about to get to the part where Kung Lao returns >:). Had a lot of fun writing Amnesia!Raiden trying to cope with Kung Lao's sudden departure in his life and writing his sister Fuji. BTW, you can check out this post I made of my picrew interpretation of what Raiden's Sister looks like (Fuji - Raiden's Sister). Not too happy with the Johnny & Kenshi scene, but I've been, once again, working all evening and well into the night with this one, so I'm gonna make my peace with it. Hope you guys enjoy it. Can't wait to start writing up the next installment! Pray that I make this one shorter ;A;~

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 1 #MK1 #oops kung lao's dead again au #MK1 Raiden #Raiden's Sister #Fuji #MK1 Kung Lao #MK1 Johnny Cage #MK1 Kenshi #Raiden #Kung Lao #Johnny Cage #Kenshi #Wilted Cherry Blossoms Dark Thunderstorms Burning Hopes

25 notes · View notes